Datasets:

Svak

/

test

like 0

I Everybody has been at me, right and left, to write this story from the great (represented by Lord Nasby) to the small (represented by our late maid of all work, Emily, whom I saw when I was last in England. Lor, miss, what a beyewtiful book you might make out of it alljust like the pictures!). Ill admit that Ive certain qualifications for the task. I was mixed up in the affair from the very beginning, I was in the thick of it all through, and I was triumphantly in at the death. Very fortunately, too, the gaps that I cannot supply from my own knowledge are amply covered by Sir Eustace Pedlers diary, of which he has kindly begged me to make use. So here goes. Anne Beddingfeld starts to narrate her adventures. Id always longed for adventures. You see, my life had such a dreadful sameness. My father, Professor Beddingfeld, was one of Englands greatest living authorities on Primitive Man. He really was a geniuseveryone admits that. His mind dwelt in Palaeolithic times, and the inconvenience of life for him was that his body inhabited the modern world. Papa did not care for modern maneven Neolithic Man he despised as a mere herder of cattle, and he did not rise to enthusiasm until he reached the Mousterian period. Unfortunately one cannot entirely dispense with modern men. One is forced to have some kind of truck with butchers and bakers and milkmen and greengrocers. Therefore, Papa being immersed in the past, Mamma having died when I was a baby, it fell to me to undertake the practical side of living. Frankly, I hate Palaeolithic Man, be he Aurignacian, Mousterian, Chellian, or anything else, and though I typed and revised most of Papas Neanderthal Man and His Ancestors, Neanderthal men themselves fill me with loathing, and I always reflect what a fortunate circumstance it was that they became extinct in remote ages. I do not know whether Papa guessed my feelings on the subject, probably not, and in any case he would not have been interested. The opinion of other people never interested him in the slightest degree. I think it was really a sign of his greatness. In the same way, he lived quite detached from the necessities of daily life. He ate what was put before him in an exemplary fashion, but seemed mildly pained when the question of paying for it arose. We never seemed to have any money. His celebrity was not of the kind that brought in a cash return. Although he was a fellow of almost every important society, and had rows of letters after his name, the general public scarcely knew of his existence, and his long learned books, though adding signally to the sum total of human knowledge, had no attraction for the masses. Only on one occasion did he leap into the public gaze. He had read a paper before some society on the subject of the young of the chimpanzee. The young of the human race show some anthropoid features, whereas the young of the chimpanzee approach more nearly to the human than the adult chimpanzee does. That seems to show that whereas our ancestors were more simian than we are, the chimpanzees were of a higher type than the present speciesin other words, the chimpanzee is a degenerate. That enterprising newspaper, the Daily Budget, being hard up for something spicy, immediately brought itself out with large headlines. We are not descended from monkeys, but are monkeys descended from us? Eminent professor says chimpanzees are decadent humans. Shortly afterwards a reporter called to see Papa, and endeavoured to induce him to write a series of popular articles on the theory. I have seldom seen Papa so angry. He turned the reporter out of the house with scant ceremony, much to my secret sorrow, as we were particularly short of money at the moment. In fact, for a moment I meditated running after the young man and informing him that my father had changed his mind and would send the articles in question. I could easily have written them myself, and the probabilities were that Papa would never have learnt of the transaction, not being a reader of the Daily Budget. However, I rejected this course as being too risky, so I merely put on my best hat and went sadly down the village to interview our justly irate grocer. The reporter from the Daily Budget was the only young man who ever came to our house. There were times when I envied Emily, our little servant, who walked out whenever occasion offered with a large sailor to whom she was affianced. In between times, to keep her hand in as she expressed it, she walked out with the greengrocers young man, and the chemists assistant. I reflected sadly that I had no one to keep my hand in with. All Papas friends were aged professorsusually with long beards. It is true that Professor Peterson once clasped me affectionately and said I had a neat little waist and then tried to kiss me. The phrase alone dated him hopelessly. No selfrespecting female has had a neat little waist since I was in my cradle. I yearned for adventure, for love, for romance, and I seemed condemned to an existence of drab utility. The village possessed a lending library, full of tattered works of fiction, and I enjoyed perils and lovemaking at second hand, and went to sleep dreaming of stern, silent Rhodesians, and of strong men who always felled their opponent with a single blow. There was no one in the village who even looked as though he could fell an opponent, with a single blow or with several. There was the Kinema too, with a weekly episode of The Perils of Pamela. Pamela was a magnificent young woman. Nothing daunted her. She fell out of aeroplanes, adventured in submarines, climbed skyscrapers and crept about in the underworld without turning a hair. She was not really clever, the Master Criminal of the Underworld caught her each time, but as he seemed loath to knock her on the head in a simple way, and always doomed her to death in a sewergas chamber or by some new and marvellous means, the hero was always able to rescue her at the beginning of the following weeks episode. I used to come out with my head in a delirious whirland then I would get home and find a notice from the gas company threatening to cut us off if the outstanding account was not paid! And yet, though I did not suspect it, every moment was bringing adventure nearer to me. It is possible that there are many people in the world who have never heard of the finding of an antique skull at the Broken Hill Mine in Northern Rhodesia. I came down one morning to find Papa excited to the point of apoplexy. He poured out the whole story to me. You understand, Anne? There are undoubtedly certain resemblances to the Java skull, but superficialsuperficial only. No, here we have what I have always maintainedthe ancestral form of the Neanderthal race. You grant that the Gibraltar skull is the most primitive of the Neanderthal skulls found? Why? The cradle of the race was in Africa. They passed to Europe Not marmalade on kippers, papa, I said hastily, arresting my parents absentminded hand. Yes, you were saying? They passed to Europe on Here he broke down with a bad fit of choking, the result of an immoderate mouthful of kipper bones. But we must start at once, he declared, as he rose to his feet at the conclusion of the meal. There is no time to be lost. We must be on the spotthere are doubtless incalculable finds to be found in the neighbourhood. I shall be interested to note whether the implements are typical of the Mousterian periodthere will be the remains of the primitive ox, I should say, but not those of the woolly rhinoceros. Yes, a little army will be starting soon. We must get ahead of them. You will write to Cooks today, Anne? What about money, papa? I hinted delicately. He turned a reproachful eye upon me. Your point of view always depresses me, my child. We must not be sordid. No, no, in the cause of science one must not be sordid. I feel Cooks might be sordid, papa. Papa looked pained. My dear Anne, you will pay them in ready money. I havent got any ready money. Papa looked thoroughly exasperated. My child, I really cannot be bothered with these vulgar money details. The bankI had something from the manager yesterday, saying I had twentyseven pounds. Thats your overdraft, I fancy. Ah, I have it! Write to my publishers. I acquiesced doubtfully, Papas books bringing in more glory than money. I liked the idea of going to Rhodesia immensely. Stern silent men, I murmured to myself in an ecstasy. Then something in my parents appearance struck me as unusual. You have odd boots on, papa, I said. Take off the brown one and put on the other black one. And dont forget your muffler. Its a very cold day. In a few minutes Papa stalked off, correctly booted and well mufflered. He returned late that evening, and, to my dismay, I saw his muffler and overcoat were missing. Dear me, Anne, you are quite right. I took them off to go into the cavern. One gets so dirty there. I nodded feelingly, remembering an occasion when Papa had returned literally plastered from head to foot with rich Pleiocene clay. Our principal reason for settling in Little Hampsly had been the neighbourhood of Hampsly Cavern, a buried cave rich in deposits of the Aurignacian culture. We had a tiny museum in the village, and the curator and Papa spent most of their days messing about underground and bringing to light portions of woolly rhinoceros and cave bear. Papa coughed badly all the evening, and the following morning I saw he had a temperature and sent for the doctor. Poor Papa, he never had a chance. It was double pneumonia. He died four days later. II Everyone was very kind to me. Dazed as I was, I appreciated that. I felt no overwhelming grief. Papa had never loved me, I knew that well enough. If he had, I might have loved him in return. No, there had not been love between us, but we had belonged together, and I had looked after him, and had secretly admired his learning and his uncompromising devotion to science. And it hurt me that Papa should have died just when the interest of life was at its height for him. I should have felt happier if I could have buried him in a cave, with paintings of reindeer and flint implements, but the force of public opinion constrained a neat tomb (with marble slab) in our hideous local churchyard. The vicars consolations, though well meant, did not console me in the least. It took some time to dawn upon me that the thing I had always longed forfreedomwas at last mine. I was an orphan, and practically penniless, but free. At the same time I realized the extraordinary kindness of all these good people. The vicar did his best to persuade me that his wife was in urgent need of a companion help. Our tiny local library suddenly made up its mind to have an assistant librarian. Finally, the doctor called upon me, and after making various ridiculous excuses for failing to send in a proper bill, he hummed and hawed a good deal and suddenly suggested that I should marry him. I was very much astonished. The doctor was nearer forty than thirty, and a round, tubby little man. He was not at all like the hero of The Perils of Pamela, and even less like a stern and silent Rhodesian. I reflected a minute and then asked him why he wanted to marry me. That seemed to fluster him a good deal, and he murmured that a wife was a great help to a general practitioner. The position seemed even more unromantic than before, and yet something in me urged towards its acceptance. Safety, that was what I was being offered. Safetyand a comfortable home. Thinking it over now, I believe I did the little man an injustice. He was honestly in love with me, but a mistaken delicacy prevented him from pressing his suit on those lines. Anyway, my love of romance rebelled. Its extremely kind of you, I said. But its impossible. I could never marry a man unless I loved him madly. You dont think? No, I dont, I said firmly. He sighed. But, my dear child, what do you propose to do? Have adventures and see the world, I replied, without the least hesitation. Miss Anne, you are very much of a child still. You dont understand The practical difficulties? Yes, I do, doctor. Im not a sentimental schoolgirlIm a hardheaded mercenary shrew! Youd know it if you married me! I wish you would reconsider I cant. He sighed again. I have another proposal to make. An aunt of mine who lives in Wales is in want of a young lady to help her. How would that suit you? No, doctor, Im going to London. If things happen anywhere, they happen in London. I shall keep my eyes open and youll see, something will turn up! Youll hear of me next in China or Timbuktu. My next visitor was Mr. Flemming, Papas London solicitor. He came down specially from town to see me. An ardent anthropologist himself, he was a great admirer of Papas works. He was a tall, spare man with a thin face and grey hair. He rose to meet me as I entered the room and, taking both my hands in his, patted them affectionately. My poor child, he said. My poor, poor child. Without conscious hypocrisy, I found myself assuming the demeanour of a bereaved orphan. He hypnotized me into it. He was benignant, kind and fatherlyand without the least doubt he regarded me as a perfect fool of a girl left adrift to face an unkind world. From the first I felt that it was quite useless to try to convince him of the contrary. As things turned out, perhaps it was just as well I didnt. My dear child, do you think you can listen to me whilst I try to make a few things clear to you? Oh, yes. Your father, as you know, was a very great man. Posterity will appreciate him. But he was not a good man of business. I knew that quite as well, if not better than Mr. Flemming, but I restrained myself from saying so. He continued I do not suppose you understand much of these matters. I will try to explain as clearly as I can. He explained at unnecessary length. The upshot seemed to be that I was left to face life with the sum of 87, 17s. 4d. It seemed a strangely unsatisfying amount. I waited in some trepidation for what was coming next. I feared that Mr. Flemming would be sure to have an aunt in Scotland who was in want of a bright young companion. Apparently, however, he hadnt. The question is, he went on, the future. I understand you have no living relatives? Im alone in the world, I said, and was struck anew by my likeness to a film heroine. You have friends? Everyone has been very kind to me, I said gratefully. Who would not be kind to one so young and charming? said Mr. Flemming gallantly. Well, well, my dear, we must see what can be done. He hesitated a minute, and then said Supposinghow would it be if you came to us for a time? I jumped at the chance. London! The place for things to happen. Its awfully kind of you, I said. Might I really? Just while Im looking round. I must start out to earn my living, you know? Yes, yes, my dear child. I quite understand. We will look round for somethingsuitable. I felt instinctively that Mr. Flemmings ideas of something suitable and mine were likely to be widely divergent, but it was certainly not the moment to air my views. That is settled then. Why not return with me today? Oh, thank you, but will Mrs. Flemming My wife will be delighted to welcome you. I wonder if husbands know as much about their wives as they think they do. If I had a husband, I should hate him to bring home orphans without consulting me first. We will send her a wire from the station, continued the lawyer. My few personal belongings were soon packed. I contemplated my hat sadly before putting it on. It had originally been what I call a Mary hat, meaning by that the kind of hat a housemaid ought to wear on her day outbut doesnt! A limp thing of black straw with a suitably depressed brim. With the inspiration of genius, I had kicked it once, punched it twice, dented in the crown and affixed to it a thing like a cubists dream of a jazz carrot. The result had been distinctly chic. The carrot I had already removed, of course, and now I proceeded to undo the rest of my handiwork. The Mary hat resumed its former status with an additional battered appearance which made it even more depressing than formerly. I might as well look as much like the popular conception of an orphan as possible. I was just a shade nervous of Mrs. Flemmings reception, but hoped my appearance might have a sufficiently disarming effect. Mr. Flemming was nervous too. I realized that as we went up the stairs of the tall house in a quiet Kensington Square. Mrs. Flemming greeted me pleasantly enough. She was a stout, placid woman of the good wife and mother type. She took me up to a spotless chintzhung bedroom, hoped I had everything I wanted, informed me that tea would be ready in about a quarter of an hour, and left me to my own devices. I heard her voice, slightly raised, as she entered the drawing room below on the first floor. Well, Henry, why on earth I lost the rest, but the acerbity of the tone was evident. And a few minutes later another phrase floated up to me, in an even more acid voice I agree with you! She is certainly very goodlooking. It is really a very hard life. Men will not be nice to you if you are not goodlooking, and women will not be nice to you if you are. With a deep sigh I proceeded to do things to my hair. I have nice hair. It is blacka real black, not dark brown, and it grows well back from my forehead and down over the ears. With a ruthless hand I dragged it upwards. As ears, my ears are quite all right, but there is no doubt about it, ears are dmod nowadays. They are like the Queen of Spains legs in Professor Petersons young day. When I had finished I looked almost unbelievably like the kind of orphan that walks out in a queue with a little bonnet and a red cloak. I noticed when I went down that Mrs. Flemmings eyes rested on my exposed ears with quite a kindly glance. Mr. Flemming seemed puzzled. I had no doubt that he was saying to himself, What has the child done to herself? On the whole the rest of the day passed off well. It was settled that I was to start at once to look for something to do. When I went to bed, I stared earnestly at my face in the glass. Was I really goodlooking? Honestly, I couldnt say I thought so! I hadnt got a straight Grecian nose, or a rosebud mouth, or any of the things you ought to have. It is true that a curate once told me that my eyes were like imprisoned sunshine in a dark, dark woodbut curates always know so many quotations, and fire them off at random. Id much prefer to have Irish blue eyes than dark green ones with yellow flecks! Still, green is a good colour for adventuresses. I wound a black garment tightly round me, leaving my arms and shoulders bare. Then I brushed back my hair and pulled it well down over my ears again. I put a lot of powder on my face, so that the skin seemed even whiter than usual. I fished about until I found some old lip salve, and I put oceans of it on my lips. Then I did under my eyes with burnt cork. Finally, I draped a red ribbon over my bare shoulder, stuck a scarlet feather in my hair, and placed a cigarette in one corner of my mouth. The whole effect pleased me very much. Anna the Adventuress, I said aloud, nodding at my reflection. Anna the Adventuress. Episode I, The House in Kensington! Girls are foolish things. III In the succeeding weeks I was a good deal bored. Mrs. Flemming and her friends seemed to me to be supremely uninteresting. They talked for hours of themselves and their children and of the difficulties of getting good milk for the children and of what they said to the dairy when the milk wasnt good. Then they would go on to servants, and the difficulties of getting good servants and of what they had said to the woman at the registry office and of what the woman at the registry office had said to them. They never seemed to read the papers or to care about what went on in the world. They disliked travellingeverything was so different to England. The Riviera was all right, of course, because one met all ones friends there. I listened and contained myself with difficulty. Most of these women were rich. The whole wide beautiful world was theirs to wander in and they deliberately stayed in dirty dull London and talked about milkmen and servants! I think now, looking back, that I was perhaps a shade intolerant. But they were stupidstupid even at their chosen job most of them kept the most extraordinarily inadequate and muddled housekeeping accounts. My affairs did not progress very fast. The house and furniture had been sold, and the amount realized had just covered our debts. As yet, I had not been successful in finding a post. Not that I really wanted one! I had the firm conviction that, if I went about looking for adventure, adventure would meet me halfway. It is a theory of mine that one always gets what one wants. My theory was about to be proved in practice. It was early in Januarythe 8th, to be exact. I was returning from an unsuccessful interview with a lady who said she wanted a secretarycompanion, but really seemed to require a strong charwoman who would work twelve hours a day for 25 a year. Having parted with mutual veiled impolitenesses, I walked down Edgware Road (the interview had taken place in a house in St. Johns Wood) and across Hyde Park to St. Georges Hospital. There I entered Hyde Park Corner tube station and took a ticket to Gloucester Road. Once on the platform I walked to the extreme end of it. My inquiring mind wished to satisfy itself as to whether there really were points and an opening between the two tunnels just beyond the station in the direction of Down Street. I was foolishly pleased to find I was right. There were not many people on the platform, and at the extreme end there was only myself and one man. As I passed him, I sniffed dubiously. If there is one smell I cannot bear it is that of moth balls! This mans heavy overcoat simply reeked of them. And yet most men begin to wear their winter overcoats before January, and consequently by this time the smell ought to have worn off. The man was beyond me, standing close to the edge of the tunnel. He seemed lost in thought, and I was able to stare at him without rudeness. He was a small thin man, very brown of face, with light blue eyes and a small dark beard. Just come from abroad, I deduced. Thats why his overcoat smells so. Hes come from India. Not an officer, or he wouldnt have a beard. Perhaps a tea planter. At this moment the man turned as though to retrace his steps along the platform. He glanced at me and then his eyes went on to something behind me, and his face changed. It was distorted by fearalmost panic. He stood a step backwards as though involuntarily recoiling from some danger, forgetting that he was standing on the extreme edge of the platform, and went down and over. There was a vivid flash from the rails and a crackling sound. I shrieked. People came running up. Two station officials seemed to materialize from nowhere and took command. I remained where I was, rooted to the spot by a sort of horrible fascination. Part of me was appalled at the sudden disaster, and another part of me was coolly and dispassionately interested in the methods employed for lifting the man off the live rail and back onto the platform. Let me pass, please. I am a medical man. A tall man with a brown beard pressed past me and bent over the motionless body. As he examined it, a curious sense of unreality seemed to possess me. The thing wasnt realcouldnt be. Finally, the doctor stood upright and shook his head. Dead as a doornail. Nothing to be done. We had all crowded nearer, and an aggrieved porter raised his voice. Now then, stand back there, will you? Whats the sense in crowding round. A sudden nausea seized me, and I turned blindly and ran up the stairs again towards the lift. I felt that it was too horrible. I must get out into the open air. The doctor who had examined the body was just ahead of me. The lift was just about to go up, another having descended, and he broke into a run. As he did so, he dropped a piece of paper. I stopped, picked it up, and ran after him. But the lift gates clanged in my face, and I was left holding the paper in my hand. By the time the second lift reached the street level, there was no sign of my quarry. I hoped it was nothing important that he had lost, and for the first time I examined it. It was a plain halfsheet of notepaper with some figures and words scrawled upon it in pencil. This is a facsimile of it On the face of it, it certainly did not appear to be of any importance. Still, I hesitated to throw it away. As I stood there holding it, I involuntarily wrinkled my nose in displeasure. Moth balls again! I held the paper gingerly to my nose. Yes, it smelt strongly of them. But, then I folded up the paper carefully and put it in my bag. I walked home slowly and did a good deal of thinking. I explained to Mrs. Flemming that I had witnessed a nasty accident in the tube and that I was rather upset and would go to my room and lie down. The kind woman insisted on my having a cup of tea. After that I was left to my own devices, and I proceeded to carry out a plan I had formed coming home. I wanted to know what it was that had produced that curious feeling of unreality whilst I was watching the doctor examine the body. First I lay down on the floor in the attitude of the corpse, then I laid a bolster down in my stead, and proceeded to duplicate, so far as I could remember, every motion and gesture of the doctor. When I had finished I had got what I wanted. I sat back on my heels and frowned at the opposite walls. There was a brief notice in the evening papers that a man had been killed in the tube, and a doubt was expressed whether it was suicide or accident. That seemed to me to make my duty clear, and when Mr. Flemming heard my story he quite agreed with me. Undoubtedly you will be wanted at the inquest. You say no one else was near enough to see what happened? I had the feeling someone was coming up behind me, but I cant be sureand, anyway, they wouldnt be as near as I was. The inquest was held. Mr. Flemming made all the arrangements and took me there with him. He seemed to fear that it would be a great ordeal to me, and I had to conceal from him my complete composure. The deceased had been identified as L. B. Carton. Nothing had been found in his pockets except a house agents order to view a house on the river near Marlow. It was in the name of L. B. Carton, Russell Hotel. The bureau clerk from the hotel identified the man as having arrived the day before and booked a room under that name. He had registered as L. B. Carton, Kimberley, S. Africa. He had evidently come straight off the steamer. I was the only person who had seen anything of the affair. You think it was an accident? the coroner asked me. I am positive of it. Something alarmed him, and he stepped backwards blindly without thinking what he was doing. But what could have alarmed him? That I dont know. But there was something. He looked panic stricken. A stolid juryman suggested that some men were terrified of cats. The man might have seen a cat. I didnt think his suggestion a very brilliant one, but it seemed to pass muster with the jury, who were obviously impatient to get home and only too pleased at being able to give a verdict of accident as opposed to suicide. It is extraordinary to me, said the coroner, that the doctor who first examined the body has not come forward. His name and address should have been taken at the time. It was most irregular not to do so. I smiled to myself. I had my own theory in regard to the doctor. In pursuance of it, I determined to make a call upon Scotland Yard at an early date. But the next morning brought a surprise. The Flemmings took in the Daily Budget, and the Daily Budget was having a day after its own heart. Extraordinary Sequel to Tube Accident. Woman Found Stabbed in Lonely House. I read eagerly. A sensational discovery was made yesterday at the Mill House, Marlow. The Mill House, which is the property of Sir Eustace Pedler, M.P., is to be let unfurnished, and an order to view this property was found in the pocket of the man who was at first thought to have committed suicide by throwing himself on the live rail at Hyde Park Corner tube station. In an upper room of the Mill House the body of a beautiful young woman was discovered yesterday, strangled. She is thought to be a foreigner, but so far has not been identified. The police are reported to have a clue. Sir Eustace Pedler, the owner of the Mill House, is wintering on the Riviera. IV Nobody came forward to identify the dead woman. The inquest elicited the following facts. Shortly after one oclock on January 8th, a welldressed woman with a slight foreign accent had entered the offices of Messrs. Butler and Park, house agents, in Knightsbridge. She explained that she wanted to rent or purchase a house on the Thames within easy reach of London. The particulars of several were given to her, including those of the Mill House. She gave the name of Mrs. de Castina and her address as the Ritz, but there proved to be no one of that name staying there, and the hotel people failed to identify the body. Mrs. James, the wife of Sir Eustace Pedlers gardener, who acted as caretaker to the Mill House and inhabited the small lodge opening on the main road, gave evidence. About three oclock that afternoon, a lady came to see over the house. She produced an order from the house agents, and, as was the usual custom, Mrs. James gave her the keys of the house. It was situated at some distance from the lodge, and she was not in the habit of accompanying prospective tenants. A few minutes later a young man arrived. Mrs. James described him as tall and broadshouldered, with a bronzed face and light grey eyes. He was clean shaven and was wearing a brown suit. He explained to Mrs. James that he was a friend of the lady who had come to look over the house, but had stopped at the post office to send a telegram. She directed him to the house, and thought no more about the matter. Five minutes later he reappeared, handed her back the keys and explained that he feared the house would not suit them. Mrs. James did not see the lady, but thought that she had gone on ahead. What she did notice was that the young man seemed very much upset about something. He looked like a man whod seen a ghost. I thought he was taken ill. On the following day another lady and gentleman came to see the property and discovered the body lying on the floor in one of the upstairs rooms. Mrs. James identified it as that of the lady who had come the day before. The house agents also recognized it as that of Mrs. de Castina. The police surgeon gave it as his opinion that the woman had been dead about twentyfour hours. The Daily Budget had jumped to the conclusion that the man in the tube had murdered the woman and afterwards committed suicide. However, as the tube victim was dead at two oclock, and the woman was alive and well at three oclock, the only logical conclusion to come to was that the two occurrences had nothing to do with each other, and that the order to view the house at Marlow found in the dead mans pocket was merely one of those coincidences which so often occur in this life. A verdict of Wilful murder against some person or persons unknown was returned, and the police (and the Daily Budget) were left to look for the man in the brown suit. Since Mrs. James was positive that there was no one in the house when the lady entered it, and that nobody except the young man in question entered it until the following afternoon, it seemed only logical to conclude that he was the murderer of the unfortunate Mrs. de Castina. She had been strangled with a piece of stout black cord, and had evidently been caught unawares with no time to cry out.

The black silk handbag which she carried contained a wellfilled notecase and some loose change, a fine lace handkerchief, unmarked, and the return half of a firstclass ticket to London. Nothing much there to go upon. Such were the details published broadcast by the Daily Budget, and Find the Man in the Brown Suit was their daily war cry. On an average about five hundred people wrote daily to announce their success in the quest, and tall young men with welltanned faces cursed the day when their tailors had persuaded them to a brown suit. The accident in the tube, dismissed as a coincidence, faded out of the public mind. Was it a coincidence? I was not so sure. No doubt I was prejudicedthe tube incident was my own pet mysterybut there certainly seemed to me to be a connection of some kind between the two fatalities. In each there was a man with a tanned faceevidently an Englishman living abroad, and there were other things. It was the consideration of these other things that finally impelled me to what I considered a dashing step. I presented myself at Scotland Yard and demanded to see whoever was in charge of the Mill House case. My request took some time to understand, as I had inadvertently selected the department for lost umbrellas, but eventually I was ushered into a small room and presented to Detective Inspector Meadows. Inspector Meadows was a small man with a ginger head and what I considered a peculiarly irritating manner. A satellite, also in plain clothes, sat unobtrusively in a corner. Good morning, I said nervously. Good morning. Will you take a seat? I understand youve something to tell me that you think may be of use to us. His tone seemed to indicate that such a thing was unlikely in the extreme. I felt my temper stirred. Of course you know about the man who was killed in the tube? The man who had an order to view this same house at Marlow in his pocket. Ah! said the inspector. You are the Miss Beddingfeld who gave evidence at the inquest. Certainly the man had an order in his pocket. A lot of other people may have had tooonly they didnt happen to be killed. I rallied my forces. You dont think it odd that this man had no ticket in his pocket? Easiest thing in the world to drop your ticket. Done it myself. And no money. He had some loose change in his trousers pocket. But no notecase. Some men dont carry a pocketbook or notecase of any kind. I tried another tack. You dont think its odd that the doctor never came forward afterwards? A busy medical man very often doesnt read the papers. He probably forgot all about the accident. In fact, inspector, you are determined to find nothing odd, I said sweetly. Well, Im inclined to think youre a little too fond of the word, Miss Beddingfeld. Young ladies are romantic, I knowfond of mysteries and suchlike. But as Im a busy man I took the hint and rose. The man in the corner raised a meek voice. Perhaps the young lady would tell us briefly what her ideas really are on the subject, inspector? The inspector fell in with the suggestion readily enough. Yes, come now, Miss Beddingfeld, dont be offended. Youve asked questions and hinted things. Just say straight out what it is youve got in your head. I wavered between injured dignity and the overwhelming desire to express my theories. Injured dignity went to the wall. You said at the inquest you were positive it wasnt suicide? Yes, Im quite certain of that. The man was frightened. What frightened him? It wasnt me. But someone might have been walking up the platform towards ussomeone he recognized. You didnt see anyone? No, I admitted. I didnt turn my head. Then, as soon as the body was recovered from the line, a man pushed forward to examine it, saying he was a doctor. Nothing unusual in that, said the inspector dryly. But he wasnt a doctor. What? He wasnt a doctor, I repeated. How do you know that, Miss Beddingfeld? Its difficult to say, exactly. Ive worked in hospital during the war, and Ive seen doctors handle bodies. Theres a sort of deft professional callousness that this man hadnt got. Besides, a doctor doesnt usually feel for the heart on the right side of the body. He did that? Yes, I didnt notice it specially at the timeexcept that I felt there was something wrong. But I worked it out when I got home, and then I saw why the whole thing had looked so unhandy to me at the time. Hm, said the inspector. He was reaching slowly for pen and paper. In running his hands over the upper part of the mans body he would have ample opportunity to take anything he wanted from the pockets. Doesnt sound likely to me, said the inspector. Butwell, can you describe him at all? He was tall and broadshouldered, wore a dark overcoat and black boots, a bowler hat. He had a dark pointed beard and goldrimmed eyeglasses. Take away the overcoat, the beard and the eyeglasses, and there wouldnt be much to know him by, grumbled the inspector. He could alter his appearance easy enough in five minutes if he wanted towhich he would do if hes the swell pickpocket you suggest. I had not intended to suggest anything of the kind. But from this moment I gave the inspector up as hopeless. Nothing more you can tell us about him? he demanded, as I rose to depart. Yes, I said. I seized my opportunity to fire a parting shot. His head was markedly brachycephalic. He will not find it so easy to alter that. I observed with pleasure that Inspector Meadows pen wavered. It was clear that he did not know how to spell brachycephalic. V In the first heat of indignation I found my next step unexpectedly easy to tackle. I had had a halfformed plan in my head when I went into Scotland Yard. One to be carried out if my interview there was unsatisfactory (it had been profoundly unsatisfactory). That is, if I had the nerve to go through with it. Things that one would shrink from attempting normally are easily tackled in a flush of anger. Without giving myself time to reflect, I walked straight to the house of Lord Nasby. Lord Nasby was the millionaire owner of the Daily Budget. He owned other papersseveral of them, but the Daily Budget was his special child. It was as the owner of the Daily Budget that he was known to every householder in the United Kingdom. Owing to the fact that an itinerary of the great mans daily proceedings had just been published, I knew exactly where to find him at this moment. It was his hour for dictating to his secretary in his own house. I did not, of course, suppose that any young woman who chose to come and ask for him would be at once admitted to the august presence. But I had attended to that side of the matter. In the card tray in the hall of the Flemmings house I had observed the card of the Marquis of Loamsley, Englands most famous sporting peer. I had removed the card, cleaned it carefully with breadcrumbs, and pencilled upon it the words Please give Miss Beddingfeld a few moments of your time. Adventuresses must not be too scrupulous in their methods. The thing worked. A powdered footman received the card and bore it away. Presently a pale secretary appeared. I fenced with him successfully. He retired defeated. He again reappeared and begged me to follow him. I did so. I entered a large room, a frightenedlooking shorthand typist fled past me like a visitant from the spirit world. Then the door shut and I was face to face with Lord Nasby. A big man. Big head. Big face. Big moustache. Big stomach. I pulled myself together. I had not come here to comment on Lord Nasbys stomach. He was already roaring at me. Well, what is it? What does Loamsley want? You his secretary? Whats it all about? To begin with, I said with as great an appearance of coolness as I could manage, I dont know Lord Loamsley, and he certainly knows nothing about me. I took his card from the tray in the house of the people Im staying with, and I wrote those words on it myself. It was important that I should see you. For a moment it appeared to be a toss up as to whether Lord Nasby had apoplexy or not. In the end, he swallowed twice and got over it. I admire your coolness, young woman. Well, you see me! If you interest me, you will continue to see me for exactly two minutes longer. That will be ample, I replied. And I shall interest you. Its the Mill House Mystery. If youve found the man in the brown suit, write to the editor, he interrupted hastily. If you will interrupt, I shall be more than two minutes, I said sternly. I havent found the man in the brown suit, but Im quite likely to do so. In as few words as possible I put the facts of the tube accident and the conclusions I had drawn from them before him. When I had finished he said unexpectedly What do you know of brachycephalic heads? I mentioned Papa. The monkey man? Eh? Well, you seem to have a head of some kind upon your own shoulders, young woman. But its all pretty thin, you know. Not much to go upon. And no use to usas it stands. Im perfectly aware of that. What dyou want, then? I want a job on your paper to investigate this matter. Cant do that. Weve got our own special man on it. And Ive got my own special knowledge. What youve just told me, eh? Oh, no, Lord Nasby. Ive still got something up my sleeve. Oh, you have, have you? You seem a bright sort of girl. Well, what is it? When this socalled doctor got into the lift, he dropped a piece of paper. I picked it up. It smelt of moth balls. So did the dead man. The doctor didnt. So I saw at once that the doctor must have taken it off the body. It had two words written on it and some figures. Lets see it. Lord Nasby stretched out a careless hand. I think not, I said, smiling. Its my find, you see. Im right. You are a bright girl. Quite right to hang on to it. No scruples about not handing it over to the police? I went there to do so this morning. They persisted in regarding the whole thing as having nothing to do with the Marlow affair, so I thought that in the circumstances I was justified in retaining the paper. Besides, the inspector put my back up. Shortsighted man. Well, my dear girl, heres all I can do for you. Go on working on this line of yours. If you get anythinganything thats publishablesend it along and you shall have your chance. Theres always room for real talent on the Daily Budget. But youve got to make good first. See? I thanked him, and apologized for my methods. Dont mention it. I rather like cheekfrom a pretty girl. By the way, you said two minutes and youve been three, allowing for interruptions. For a woman, thats quite remarkable! Must be your scientific training. I was in the street again, breathing hard as though I had been running. I found Lord Nasby rather wearing as a new acquaintance. VI I went home with a feeling of exultation. My scheme had succeeded far better than I could possibly have hoped. Lord Nasby had been positively genial. It only now remained for me to make good, as he expressed it. Once locked in my own room, I took out my precious piece of paper and studied it attentively. Here was the clue to the mystery. To begin with, what did the figures represent? There were five of them, and a dot after the first two. Seventeenone hundred and twentytwo, I murmured. That did not seem to lead to anything. Next I added them up. That is often done in works of fiction and leads to surprising deductions. One and seven make eight and one is nine and two are eleven and two are thirteen. Thirteen! Fateful number! Was this a warning to me to leave the whole thing alone? Very possibly. Anyway, except as a warning, it seemed to be singularly useless. I declined to believe that any conspirator would take that way of writing thirteen in real life. If he meant thirteen, he would write thirteen. 13like that. There was a space between the one and the two. I accordingly subtracted twentytwo from a hundred and seventyone. The result was a hundred and fiftynine. I did it again and made it a hundred and fortynine. These arithmetical exercises were doubtless excellent practice, but as regarded the solution of the mystery, they seemed totally ineffectual. I left arithmetic alone, not attempting fancy division or multiplication, and went on to the words. Kilmorden Castle. That was something definite. A place. Probably the cradle of an aristocratic family. (Missing heir? Claimant to title?) Or possibly a picturesque ruin. (Buried treasure?) Yes, on the whole I inclined to the theory of buried treasure. Figures always go with buried treasure. One pace to the right, seven paces to the left, dig one foot, descend twentytwo steps. That sort of idea. I could work out that later. The thing was to get to Kilmorden Castle as quickly as possible. I made a strategic sally from my room and returned laden with books of reference. Whos Who, Whitaker, a Gazetteer, a History of Scotch Ancestral Homes, and somebody or others British Isles. Time passed. I searched diligently, but with growing annoyance. Finally, I shut the last book with a bang. There appeared to be no such place as Kilmorden Castle. Here was an unexpected check. There must be such a place. Why should anyone invent a name like that and write it down on a piece of paper? Absurd! Another idea occurred to me. Possibly it was a castellated abomination in the suburbs with a highsounding name invented by its owner. But if so, it was going to be extraordinarily hard to find. I sat back gloomily on my heels (I always sit on the floor to do anything really important) and wondered how on earth I was to set about it. Was there any other line I could follow? I reflected earnestly and then sprang to my feet delightedly. Of course! I must visit the scene of the crime. Always done by the best sleuths! And no matter how long afterwards it may be, they always find something that the police have overlooked. My course was clear. I must go to Marlow. But how was I to get into the house? I discarded several adventurous methods, and plumped for stern simplicity. The house had been to letpresumably was still to let. I would be a prospective tenant. I also decided on attacking the local house agents, as having fewer houses on their books. Here, however, I reckoned without my host. A pleasant clerk produced particulars of about half a dozen desirable properties. It took all my ingenuity to find objections to them. In the end I feared I had drawn a blank. And youve really nothing else? I asked, gazing pathetically into the clerks eyes. Something right on the river, and with a fair amount of garden and a small lodge, I added, summing up the main points of the Mill House, as I had gathered them from the papers. Well, of course theres Sir Eustace Pedlers place, said the man doubtfully. The Mill House, you know. Notnot where I faltered. (Really, faltering is getting to be my strong point.) Thats it! Where the murder took place. But perhaps you wouldnt like Oh, I dont think I should mind, I said with an appearance of rallying. I felt my bona fides was now quite established. And perhaps I might get it cheapin the circumstances. A master touch that, I thought. Well, its possible. Theres no pretending that it will be easy to let nowservants and all that, you know. If you like the place after youve seen it, I should advise you to make an offer. Shall I write you out an order? If you please. A quarter of an hour later I was at the lodge of the Mill House. In answer to my knock, the door flew open and a tall middleaged woman literally bounced out. Nobody can go into the house, do you hear that? Fairly sick of you reporters, I am. Sir Eustaces orders are I understood the house was to let, I said freezingly, holding out my order. Of course, if its already taken Oh, Im sure I beg your pardon, miss. Ive been fairly pestered with these newspaper people. Not a minutes peace. No, the house isnt letnor likely to be now. Are the drains wrong? I asked in an anxious whisper. Oh, Lord, miss, the drains is all right! But surely youve heard about that foreign lady as was done to death here? I believe I did read something about it in the papers, I said carelessly. My indifference piqued the good woman. If I had betrayed any interest, she would probably have closed up like an oyster. As it was, she positively bridled. I should say you did, miss! Its been in all the newspapers. The Daily Budgets out still to catch the man who did it. It seems, according to them, as our police are no good at all. Well, I hope theyll get himalthough a nicelooking young fellow he was and no mistake. A kind of soldierly look about himah, well, I dare say hed been wounded in the war, and sometimes they go a bit queer afterwards, my sisters boy did. Perhaps shed used him badtheyre a bad lot, those foreigners. Though she was a finelooking woman. Stood there where youre standing now. Was she dark or fair? I ventured. You cant tell from these newspaper portraits. Dark hair, and a very white facetoo white for nature, I thought, and her lips reddened something cruel. I dont like to see ita little powder now and then is quite another thing. We were conversing like old friends now. I put another question. Did she seem nervous or upset at all? Not a bit. She was smiling to herself, quiet like, as though she was amused at something. Thats why you could have knocked me down with a feather when, the next afternoon, those people came running out calling for the police and saying thered been murder done. I shall never get over it, and as for setting foot in that house after dark I wouldnt do it, not if it was ever so. Why, I wouldnt even stay here at the lodge, if Sir Eustace hadnt been down on his bended knees to me. I thought Sir Eustace Pedler was at Cannes? So he was, miss. He come back to England when he heard the news, and, as to the bended knees, that was a figure of speech, his secretary, Mr. Pagett, having offered us double pay to stay on, and, as my John says, money is money nowadays. I concurred heartily with Johns by no means original remarks. The young man now, said Mrs. James, reverting suddenly to a former point in the conversation. He was upset. His eyes, light eyes, they were, I noticed them particular, was all shining. Excited, I thought. But I never dreamt of anything being wrong. Not even when he came out again looking all queer. How long was he in the house? Oh, not long, a matter of five minutes maybe. How tall was he, do you think? About six foot? I should say so maybe. He was clean shaven, you say? Yes, missnot even one of these toothbrush moustaches. Was his chin at all shiny? I asked on a sudden impulse. Mrs. James stared at me with awe. Well, now you come to mention it, miss, it was. However did you know? Its a curious thing, but murderers often have shiny chins, I explained wildly. Mrs. James accepted the statement in all good faith. Really, now, miss. I never heard that before. You didnt notice what kind of a head he had, I suppose? Just the ordinary kind, miss. Ill fetch you the keys, shall I? I accepted them, and went on my way to the Mill House. My reconstructions so far I considered good. All along I had realized that the differences between the man Mrs. James had described and my tube doctor were those of nonessentials. An overcoat, a beard, goldrimmed eyeglasses. The doctor had appeared middleaged, but I remembered that he had stooped over the body like a comparatively young man. There had been a suppleness which told of young joints. The victim of the accident (the mothball man, as I called him to myself) and the foreign woman, Mrs. de Castina, or whatever her real name was, had had an assignation to meet at the Mill House. That was how I pieced the thing together. Either because they feared they were being watched or for some other reason, they chose the rather ingenious method of both getting an order to view the same house. Thus their meeting there might have the appearance of pure chance. That the mothball man had suddenly caught sight of the doctor, and that the meeting was totally unexpected and alarming to him, was another fact of which I was fairly sure. What had happened next? The doctor had removed his disguise and followed the woman to Marlow. But it was possible that had he removed it rather hastily traces of spirit gum might still linger on his chin. Hence my question to Mrs. James. Whilst occupied with my thoughts I had arrived at the low oldfashioned door of the Mill House. Unlocking it with the key, I passed inside. The hall was low and dark, the place smelt forlorn and mildewy. In spite of myself, I shivered. Did the woman who had come here smiling to herself a few days ago feel no chill of premonition as she entered this house? I wondered. Did the smile fade from her lips, and did a nameless dread close round her heart? Or had she gone upstairs, smiling still, unconscious of the doom that was so soon to overtake her? My heart beat a little faster. Was the house really empty? Was doom waiting for me in it also? For the first time, I understood the meaning of the muchused word, atmosphere. There was an atmosphere in this house, an atmosphere of cruelty, of menace, of evil. VII Shaking off the feelings that oppressed me, I went quickly upstairs. I had no difficulty in finding the room of the tragedy. On the day the body was discovered it had rained heavily, and large muddy boots had trampled the uncarpeted floor in every direction. I wondered if the murderer had left any footmarks the previous day. It was likely that the police would be reticent on the subject if he had, but on consideration I decided it was unlikely. The weather had been fine and dry. There was nothing of interest about the room. It was almost square with two big bay windows, plain white walls and a bare floor, the boards being stained round the edges where the carpet had ceased. I searched it carefully, but there was not so much as a pin lying about. The gifted young detective did not seem likely to discover a neglected clue. I had brought with me a pencil and notebook. There did not seem much to note, but I duly dotted down a brief sketch of the room to cover my disappointment at the failure of my quest. As I was in the act of returning the pencil to my bag, it slipped from my fingers and rolled along the floor. The Mill House was really old, and the floors were very uneven. The pencil rolled steadily, with increasing momentum, until it came to rest under one of the windows. In the recess of each window there was a broad window seat, underneath which there was a cupboard. My pencil was lying right against the cupboard door. The cupboard was shut, but it suddenly occurred to me that if it had been open my pencil would have rolled inside. I opened the door, and my pencil immediately rolled in and sheltered modestly in the farthest corner. I retrieved it, noting as I did so that owing to the lack of light and the peculiar formation of the cupboard one could not see it, but had to feel for it. Apart from my pencil the cupboard was empty, but being thorough by nature I tried the one under the opposite window. At first sight, it looked as though that also was empty, but I grubbed about perseveringly, and was rewarded by feeling my hand close on a hard paper cylinder which lay in a sort of trough, or depression, in the far corner of the cupboard. As soon as I had it in my hand, I knew what it was. A roll of Kodak films. Here was a find! I realized, of course, that these films might very well be an old roll belonging to Sir Eustace Pedler which had rolled in here and had not been found when the cupboard was emptied. But I did not think so. The red paper was far too freshlooking. It was just as dusty as it would have been had it laid there for two or three daysthat is to say, since the murder. Had it been there for any length of time, it would have been thickly coated. Who had dropped it? The woman or the man? I remembered that the contents of her handbag had appeared to be intact. If it had been jerked open in the struggle and the roll of films had fallen out, surely some of the loose money would have been scattered about also? No, it was not the woman who had dropped the films. I sniffed suddenly and suspiciously. Was the smell of moth balls becoming an obsession with me? I could swear that the roll of films smelt of it also? I held them under my nose. They had, as usual, a strong smell of their own, but apart from that I could clearly detect the odour I disliked so much. I soon found the cause. A minute shred of cloth had caught on a rough edge of the centre wood, and that shred was strongly impregnated with moth balls. At some time or another the films had been carried in the overcoat pocket of the man who was killed in the tube. Was it he who had dropped them here? Hardly. His movements were all accounted for. No, it was the other man, the doctor. He had taken the films when he had taken the paper. It was he who had dropped them here during his struggle with the woman. I had got my clue! I would have the roll developed, and then I would have further developments to work upon. Very elated, I left the house, returned the keys to Mrs. James and made my way as quickly as possible to the station. On the way back to town, I took out my paper and studied it afresh. Suddenly the figures took on a new significance. Suppose they were a date? 17 1 22. The 17th of January, 1922. Surely that must be it! Idiot that I was not to have thought of it before. But in that case I must find out the whereabouts of Kilmorden Castle, for today was actually the 14th. Three days. Little enoughalmost hopeless when one had no idea of where to look! It was too late to hand in my roll today. I had to hurry home to Kensington so as not to be late for dinner. It occurred to me that there was an easy way of verifying whether some of my conclusions were correct. I asked Mr. Flemming whether there had been a camera amongst the dead mans belongings. I knew that he had taken an interest in the case and was conversant with all the details. To my surprise and annoyance he replied that there had been no camera. All Cartons effects had been gone over very carefully in the hopes of finding something that might throw light upon his state of mind. He was positive that there had been no photographic apparatus of any kind. That was rather a setback to my theory. If he had no camera, why should he be carrying a roll of films? I set out early next morning to take my precious roll to be developed. I was so fussy that I went all the way to Regent Street to the big Kodak place. I handed it in and asked for a print of each film. The man finished stacking together a heap of films packed in yellow tin cylinders for the tropics, and picked up my roll. He looked at me. Youve made a mistake, I think, he said, smiling. Oh, no, I said. Im sure I havent. Youve given me the wrong roll. This is an unexposed one. I walked out with what dignity I could muster. I dare say it is good for one now and again to realize what an idiot one can be! But nobody relishes the process. And then, just as I was passing one of the big shipping offices, I came to a sudden halt. In the window was a beautiful model of one of the companys boats, and it was labelled Kenilworth Castle. A wild idea shot through my brain. I pushed the door open and went in. I went up to the counter and in faltering voice (genuine this time!) I murmured Kilmorden Castle? On the 17th from Southampton. Cape Town? First or second class? How much is it? First class, eightyseven pounds I interrupted him. The coincidence was too much for me. Exactly the amount of my legacy! I would put all my eggs in one basket. First class, I said. I was now definitely committed to the adventure. VIII (Extracts from the diary of Sir Eustace Pedler, M.P.) It is an extraordinary thing that I never seem to get any peace. I am a man who likes a quiet life. I like my club, my rubber of bridge, a wellcooked meal, a sound wine. I like England in the summer, and the Riviera in the winter. I have no desire to participate in sensational happenings. Sometimes, in front of a good fire, I do not object to reading about them in the newspaper. But that is as far as I am willing to go. My object in life is to be thoroughly comfortable. I have devoted a certain amount of thought, and a considerable amount of money, to further that end. But I cannot say that I always succeed. If things do not actually happen to me, they happen round me, and frequently, in spite of myself, I become involved. I hate being involved. All this because Guy Pagett came into my bedroom this morning with a telegram in his hand and a face as long as a mute at a funeral. Guy Pagett is my secretary, a zealous, painstaking, hardworking fellow, admirable in every respect. I know no one who annoys me more. For a long time I have been racking my brains as to how to get rid of him. But you cannot very well dismiss a secretary because he prefers work to play, likes getting up early in the morning, and has positively no vices. The only amusing thing about the fellow is his face. He has the face of a fourteenthcentury poisonerthe sort of man the Borgias got to do their odd jobs for them. I wouldnt mind so much if Pagett didnt make me work too. My idea of work is something that should be undertaken lightly and airilytrifled with, in fact! I doubt if Guy Pagett has ever trifled with anything in his life. He takes everything seriously. That is what makes him so difficult to live with. Last week I had the brilliant idea of sending him off to Florence. He talked about Florence and how much he wanted to go there. My dear fellow, I cried, you shall go tomorrow. I will pay all your expenses. January isnt the usual time for going to Florence, but it would be all one to Pagett. I could imagine him going about, guidebook in hand, religiously doing all the picture galleries. And a weeks freedom was cheap to me at the price. It has been a delightful week. I have done everything I wanted to, and nothing that I did not want to do. But when I blinked my eyes open, and perceived Pagett standing between me and the light at the unearthly hour of 9 a.m. this morning, I realized that freedom was over. My dear fellow, I said, has the funeral already taken place, or is it for later in the morning? Pagett does not appreciate dry humour. He merely stared. So you know, Sir Eustace? Know what? I said crossly. From the expression of your face I inferred that one of your near and dear relatives was to be interred this morning. Pagett ignored the sally as far as possible. I thought you couldnt know about this. He tapped the telegram. I know you dislike being aroused earlybut it is nine oclockPagett insists on regarding 9 a.m. as practically the middle of the dayand I thought that under the circumstances He tapped the telegram again. What is that thing? I asked. Its a telegram from the police at Marlow. A woman has been murdered in your house. That aroused me in earnest. What colossal cheek, I exclaimed. Why in my house? Who murdered her? They dont say. I suppose we shall go back to England at once, Sir Eustace? You need suppose nothing of the kind. Why should we go back? The police What on earth have I to do with the police? Well, it was your house. That, I said, appears to be more my misfortune than my fault. Guy Pagett shook his head gloomily. It will have a very unfortunate effect upon the constituency, he remarked lugubriously. I dont see why it should haveand yet I have a feeling that in such matters Pagetts instincts are always right. On the face of it, a member of parliament will be none the less efficient because a stray young woman comes and gets herself murdered in an empty house that belongs to himbut there is no accounting for the view the respectable British public takes of a matter. Shes a foreigner too, and that makes it worse, continued Pagett gloomily. Again I believe he is right. If it is disreputable to have a woman murdered in your house, it becomes more disreputable if the woman is a foreigner. Another idea struck me.

Good heavens, I exclaimed, I hope this wont upset Caroline. Caroline is the lady who cooks for me. Incidentally she is the wife of my gardener. What kind of a wife she makes I do not know, but she is an excellent cook. James, on the other hand, is not a good gardenerbut I support him in idleness and give him the lodge to live in solely on account of Carolines cooking. I dont suppose shell stay after this, said Pagett. You always were a cheerful fellow, I said. I expect I shall have to go back to England. Pagett clearly intends that I shall. And there is Caroline to pacify. Three days later. It is incredible to me that anyone who can get away from England in winter does not do so! It is an abominable climate. All this trouble is very annoying. The house agents say it will be next to impossible to let the Mill House after all the publicity. Caroline has been pacifiedwith double pay. We could have sent her a cable to that effect from Cannes. In fact, as I have said all along, there was no earthly purpose to serve by our coming over. I shall go back tomorrow. One day later. Several very surprising things have occurred. To begin with, I met Augustus Milray, the most perfect example of an old ass the present government has produced. His manner oozed diplomatic secrecy as he drew me aside in the club into a quiet corner. He talked a good deal. About South Africa and the industrial situation there. About the growing rumours of a strike on the Rand. Of the secret causes actuating that strike. I listened as patiently as I could. Finally, he dropped his voice to a whisper and explained that certain documents had come to light which ought to be placed in the hands of General Smuts. Ive no doubt youre quite right, I said, stifling a yawn. But how are we to get them to him? Our position in the matter is delicatevery delicate. Whats wrong with the post? I said cheerfully. Put a twopenny stamp on and drop em in the nearest letterbox. He seemed quite shocked at the suggestion. My dear Pedler! The common post! It has always been a mystery to me why governments employ Kings Messengers and draw such attention to their confidential documents. If you dont like the post, send one of your young Foreign Office fellows. Hell enjoy the trip. Impossible, said Milray, wagging his head in a senile fashion. There are reasons, my dear PedlerI assure you there are reasons. Well, I said, rising, all this is very interesting, but I must be off One minute, my dear Pedler, one minute, I beg of you. Now tell me, in confidence, is it not true that you intend visiting South Africa shortly yourself? You have large interests in Rhodesia, I know, and the question of Rhodesia joining in the Union is one in which you have a vital interest. Well, I had thought of going out in about a months time. You couldnt possibly make it sooner? This month? This week, in fact? I could, I said, eyeing him with some interest. But I dont know that I particularly want to. You would be doing the government a great servicea very great service. You would not find themerungrateful. Meaning, you want me to be the postman? Exactly. Your position is an unofficial one, your journey is bona fide. Everything would be eminently satisfactory. Well, I said slowly, I dont mind if I do. The one thing I am anxious to do is to get out of England again as soon as possible. You will find the climate of South Africa delightfulquite delightful. My dear fellow, I know all about the climate. I was out there shortly before the war. I am really much obliged to you, Pedler. I will send you round the package by messenger. To be placed in General Smutss own hands, you understand? The Kilmorden Castle sails on Saturdayquite a good boat. I accompanied him a short way along Pall Mall before we parted. He shook me warmly by the hand, and thanked me again effusively. I walked home reflecting on the curious byways of governmental policy. It was the following evening that Jarvis, my butler, informed me that a gentleman wished to see me on private business, but declined to give his name. I have always a lively apprehension of insurance touts, so told Jarvis to say I could not see him. Guy Pagett, unfortunately, when he might for once have been of real use, was laid up with a bilious attack. These earnest, hardworking young men with weak stomachs are always liable to bilious attacks. Jarvis returned. The gentleman asked me to tell you, Sir Eustace, that he comes to you from Mr. Milray. That altered the complexion of things. A few minutes later I was confronting my visitor in the library. He was a wellbuilt young fellow with a deeply tanned face. A scar ran diagonally from the corner of his eye to the jaw, disfiguring what would otherwise have been a handsome though somewhat reckless countenance. Well, I said, whats the matter? Mr. Milray sent me to you, Sir Eustace. I am to accompany you to South Africa as your secretary. My dear fellow, I said, Ive got a secretary already. I dont want another. I think you do, Sir Eustace. Where is your secretary now? Hes down with a bilious attack, I explained. You are sure its only a bilious attack? Of course it is. Hes subject to them. My visitor smiled. It may or may not be a bilious attack. Time will show. But I can tell you this, Sir Eustace, Mr. Milray would not be surprised if an attempt were made to get your secretary out of the way. Oh, you need have no fear for yourselfI suppose a momentary alarm had flickered across my faceyou are not threatened. Your secretary out of the way, access to you would be easier. In any case, Mr. Milray wishes me to accompany you. The passage money will be our affair, of course, but you will take the necessary steps about the passport, as though you had decided that you needed the services of a second secretary. He seemed a determined young man. We stared at each other and he stared me down. Very well, I said feebly. You will say nothing to anyone as to my accompanying you. Very well, I said again. After all, perhaps it was better to have this fellow with me, but I had a premonition that I was getting into deep waters. Just when I thought I had attained peace! I stopped my visitor as he was turning to depart. It might be just as well if I knew my new secretarys name, I observed sarcastically. He considered for a minute. Harry Rayburn seems quite a suitable name, he observed. It was a curious way of putting it. Very well, I said for the third time. IX (Annes narrative resumed) It is most undignified for a heroine to be seasick. In books the more it rolls and tosses, the better she likes it. When everybody else is ill, she alone staggers along the deck, braving the elements and positively rejoicing in the storm. I regret to say that at the first roll the Kilmorden gave, I turned pale and hastened below. A sympathetic stewardess received me. She suggested dry toast and ginger ale. I remained groaning in my cabin for three days. Forgotten was my quest. I had no longer any interest in solving mysteries. I was a totally different Anne to the one who had rushed back to the South Kensington square so jubilantly from the shipping office. I smile now as I remember my abrupt entry into the drawing room. Mrs. Flemming was alone there. She turned her head as I entered. Is that you, Anne, my dear? There is something I want to talk over with you. Yes? I said, curbing my impatience. Miss Emery is leaving me. Miss Emery was the governness. As you have not yet succeeded in finding anything, I wondered if you would careit would be so nice if you remained with us altogether? I was touched. She didnt want me, I knew. It was sheer Christian charity that prompted the offer. I felt remorseful for my secret criticism of her. Getting up, I ran impulsively across the room and flung my arms round her neck. Youre a dear, I said. A dear, a dear, a dear! And thank you ever so much. But its all right, Im off to South Africa on Saturday. My abrupt onslaught had startled the good lady. She was not used to sudden demonstrations of affection. My words startled her still more. To South Africa? My dear Anne. We would have to look into anything of that kind very carefully. That was the last thing I wanted. I explained that I had already taken my passage, and that upon arrival I proposed to take up the duties of a parlourmaid. It was the only thing I could think of on the spur of the moment. There was, I said, a great demand for parlourmaids in South Africa. I assured her that I was equal to taking care of myself, and in the end, with a sigh of relief at getting me off her hands, she accepted the project without further query. At parting, she slipped an envelope into my hand. Inside it I found five new crisp fivepound notes and the words I hope you will not be offended and will accept this with my love. She was a very good, kind woman. I could not have continued to live in the same house with her, but I did recognize her intrinsic worth. So here I was, with twentyfive pounds in my pocket, facing the world and pursuing my adventure. It was on the fourth day that the stewardess finally urged me up on deck. Under the impression that I should die quicker below, I had steadfastly refused to leave my bunk. She now tempted me with the advent of Madeira. Hope rose in my breast. I could leave the boat and go ashore and be a parlourmaid there. Anything for dry land. Muffled in coats and rugs, and weak as a kitten on my legs, I was hauled up and deposited, an inert mass, on a deck chair. I lay there with my eyes closed, hating life. The purser, a fairhaired young man, with a round boyish face, came and sat down beside me. Hullo! Feeling rather sorry for yourself, eh? Yes, I replied, hating him. Ah, you wont know yourself in another day or two. Weve had rather a nasty dusting in the bay, but theres smooth weather ahead. Ill be taking you on at quoits tomorrow. I did not reply. Think youll never recover, eh? But Ive seen people much worse than you, and two days later they were the life and soul of the ship. Youll be the same. I did not feel sufficiently pugnacious to tell him outright that he was a liar. I endeavoured to convey it by a glance. He chatted pleasantly for a few minutes more, then he mercifully departed. People passed and repassed, brisk couples exercising, curvetting children, laughing young people. A few other pallid sufferers lay, like myself, in deck chairs. The air was pleasant, crisp, not too cold, and the sun was shining brightly. Insensibly, I felt a little cheered. I began to watch the people. One woman in particular attracted me. She was about thirty, of medium height and very fair with a round dimpled face and very blue eyes. Her clothes, though perfectly plain, had that indefinable air of cut about them which spoke of Paris. Also, in a pleasant but selfpossessed way, she seemed to own the ship! Deck stewards ran to and fro obeying her commands. She had a special deck chair, and an apparently inexhaustible supply of cushions. She changed her mind three times as to where she would like it placed. Throughout everything she remained attractive and charming. She appeared to be one of those rare people in the world who know what they want, see that they get it, and manage to do so without being offensive. I decided that if I ever recoveredbut of course I shouldntit would amuse me to talk to her. We reached Madeira about midday. I was still too inert to move, but I enjoyed the picturesquelooking merchants who came on board and spread their merchandise about the decks. There were flowers too. I buried my nose in an enormous bunch of sweet wet violets and felt distinctly better. In fact, I thought I might just possibly last out the end of the voyage. When my stewardess spoke of the attractions of a little chicken broth, I only protested feebly. When it came I enjoyed it. My attractive woman had been ashore. She came back escorted by a tall, soldierlylooking man with dark hair and a bronzed face whom I had noticed striding up and down the deck earlier in the day. I put him down at once as one of the strong, silent men of Rhodesia. He was about forty, with a touch of greying hair at either temple, and was easily the bestlooking man on board. When the stewardess brought me up an extra rug I asked her if she knew who my attractive woman was. Thats a wellknown society lady, the Hon. Mrs. Clarence Blair. You must have read about her in the papers. I nodded, looking at her with renewed interest. Mrs. Blair was very well known indeed as one of the smartest women of the day. I observed, with some amusement, that she was the centre of a good deal of attention. Several people essayed to scrape acquaintance with the pleasant informality that a boat allows. I admired the polite way that Mrs. Blair snubbed them. She appeared to have adopted the strong, silent man as her special cavalier, and he seemed duly sensible of the privilege accorded him. The following morning, to my surprise, after taking a few turns round the deck with her attentive companion, Mrs. Blair came to a halt by my chair. Feeling better this morning? I thanked her, and said I felt slightly more like a human being. You did look ill yesterday. Colonel Race and I decided that we should have the excitement of a funeral at seabut youve disappointed us. I laughed. Being up in the air has done me good. Nothing like fresh air, said Colonel Race, smiling. Being shut up in those stuffy cabins would kill anyone, declared Mrs. Blair, dropping into a seat by my side and dismissing her companion with a little nod. Youve got an outside one, I hope? I shook my head. My dear girl! Why dont you change? Theres plenty of room. A lot of people got off at Madeira, and the boats very empty. Talk to the purser about it. Hes a nice little boyhe changed me into a beautiful cabin because I didnt care for the one Id got. You talk to him at lunchtime when you go down. I shuddered. I couldnt move. Dont be silly. Come and take a walk now with me. She dimpled at me encouragingly. I felt very weak on my legs at first, but as we walked briskly up and down I began to feel a brighter and better being. After a turn or two, Colonel Race joined us again. You can see the Grand Peak of Tenerife from the other side. Can we? Can I get a photograph of it, do you think? Nobut that wont deter you from snapping off at it. Mrs. Blair laughed. You are unkind. Some of my photographs are very good. About three percent effective, I should say. We all went round to the other side of the deck. There glimmering white and snowy, enveloped in a delicate rosecoloured mist, rose the glistening pinnacle. I uttered an exclamation of delight. Mrs. Blair ran for her camera. Undeterred by Colonel Races sardonic comments, she snapped vigorously There, thats the end of the roll. Oh, her tone changed to one of chagrin, Ive had the thing at bulb all the time. I always like to see a child with a new toy, murmured the colonel. How horrid you arebut Ive got another roll. She produced it in triumph from the pocket of her sweater. A sudden roll of the boat upset her balance, and as she caught at the rail to steady herself the roll of films flashed over the side. Oh! cried Mrs. Blair, comically dismayed. She leaned over. Do you think they have gone overboard? No, you may have been fortunate enough to brain an unlucky steward in the deck below. A small boy who had arrived unobserved a few paces to our rear blew a deafening blast on a bugle. Lunch, declared Mrs. Blair ecstatically. Ive had nothing to eat since breakfast, except two cups of beef tea. Lunch, Miss Beddingfeld? Well, I said waveringly. Yes, I do feel rather hungry. Splendid. Youre sitting at the pursers table, I know. Tackle him about the cabin. I found my way down to the saloon, began to eat gingerly, and finished by consuming an enormous meal. My friend of yesterday congratulated me on my recovery. Everyone was changing cabins today, he told me, and he promised that my things should be moved to an outside one without delay. There were only four at our table, myself, a couple of elderly ladies, and a missionary who talked a lot about our poor black brothers. I looked round at the other tables. Mrs. Blair was sitting at the captains table, Colonel Race next to her. On the other side of the captain was a distinguishedlooking, greyhaired man. A good many people I had already noticed on deck, but there was one man who had not previously appeared. Had he done so, he could hardly have escaped my notice. He was tall and dark, and had such a peculiarly sinister type of countenance that I was quite startled. I asked the purser, with some curiosity, who he was. That man? Oh, thats Sir Eustace Pedlers secretary. Been very seasick, poor chap, and not appeared before. Sir Eustace has got two secretaries with him, and the seas been too much for both of them. The other fellow hasnt turned up yet. This mans name is Pagett. So Sir Eustace Pedler, the owner of the Mill House, was on board. Probably only a coincidence, and yet Thats Sir Eustace, my informant continued, sitting next to the captain. Pompous old ass. The more I studied the secretarys face, the less I liked it. Its even pallor, the secretive, heavylidded eyes, the curiously flattened headit all gave me a feeling of distaste, of apprehension. Leaving the saloon at the same time as he did, I was close behind him as he went up on deck. He was speaking to Sir Eustace, and I overheard a fragment or two. Ill see about the cabin at once then, shall I? Its impossible to work in yours, with all your trunks. My dear fellow, Sir Eustace replied. My cabin is intended (a) for me to sleep in, and (b) to attempt to dress in. I never had any intentions of allowing you to sprawl about the place making an infernal clicking with that typewriter of yours. Thats just what I say, Sir Eustace, we must have somewhere to work Here I parted company from them, and went below to see if my removal was in progress. I found my steward busy at the task. Very nice cabin, miss. On D deck. No. 13. Oh, no! I cried. Not 13. Thirteen is the one thing I am superstitious about. It was a nice cabin too. I inspected it, wavered, but a foolish superstition prevailed. I appealed almost tearfully to the steward. Isnt there any other cabin I can have? The steward reflected. Well, theres 17, just along on the starboard side. That was empty this morning, but I rather fancy its been allotted to someone. Still, as the gentlemans things arent in yet, and as gentlemen arent anything like so superstitious as ladies, I dare say he wouldnt mind changing. I hailed the proposition gratefully, and the steward departed to obtain permission from the purser. He returned grinning. Thats all right, miss. We can go along. He led the way to 17. It was not quite as large as no. 13, but I found it eminently satisfactory. Ill fetch your things right away, miss, said the steward. But at that moment, the man with the sinister face (as I had nicknamed him) appeared in the doorway. Excuse me, he said, but this cabin is reserved for the use of Sir Eustace Pedler. Thats all right, sir, explained the steward. Were fitting up no. 13 instead. No, it was no. 17 I was to have. No. 13 is a better cabin, sirlarger. I specially selected no. 17, and the purser said I could have it. Im sorry, I said coldly. But no. 17 has been allotted to me. I cant agree to that. The steward put in his oar. The other cabins just the same, only better. I want no. 17. Whats all this? demanded a new voice. Steward, put my things in here. This is my cabin. It was my neighbor at lunch, the Rev. Edward Chichester. I beg your pardon, I said. Its my cabin. It is allotted to Sir Eustace Pedler, said Mr. Pagett. We were all getting rather heated. Im sorry to have to dispute the matter, said Chichester with a meek smile which failed to mask his determination to get his own way. Meek men are always obstinate, I have noticed. He edged himself sideways into the doorway. Youre to have no. 28 on the port side, said the steward. A very good cabin, sir. I am afraid that I must insist. No. 17 was the cabin promised to me. We had come to an impasse. Each one of us was determined not to give way. Strictly speaking, I, at any rate, might have retired from the contest and eased matters by offering to accept cabin 28. So long as I did not have 13 it was immaterial to me what other cabin I had. But my blood was up. I had not the least intention of being the first to give way. And I disliked Chichester. He had false teeth which clicked when he ate. Many men have been hated for less. We all said the same things over again. The steward assured us, even more strongly, that both the other cabins were better cabins. None of us paid any attention to him. Pagett began to lose his temper. Chichester kept his serenely. With an effort I also kept mine. And still none of us would give way an inch. A wink and a whispered word from the steward gave me my cue. I faded unobtrusively from the scene. I was lucky enough to encounter the purser almost immediately. Oh, please, I said, you did say I could have cabin 17? And the others wont go away. Mr. Chichester and Mr. Pagett. You will let me have it, wont you? I always say that there are no people like sailors for being nice to women. My little purser came to the scratch splendidly. He strode to the scene, informed the disputants that no. 17 was my cabin, they could have nos. 13 and 28 respectively or stay where they werewhichever they chose. I permitted my eyes to tell him what a hero he was and then installed myself in my new domain. The encounter had done me worlds of good. The sea was smooth, the weather growing daily warmer. Seasickness was a thing of the past! I went up on deck and was initiated into the mysteries of deck quoits. I entered my name for various sports. Tea was served on deck, and I ate heartily. After tea, I played shovelboard with some pleasant young men. They were extraordinarily nice to me. I felt that life was satisfactory and delightful. The dressing bugle came as a surprise and I hurried to my new cabin. The stewardess was awaiting me with a troubled face. Theres a terrible smell in your cabin, miss. What it is, Im sure I cant think, but I doubt if youll be able to sleep here. Theres a deck cabin up on C deck, I believe. You might move into thatjust for the night, anyway. The smell really was pretty badquite nauseating. I told the stewardess I would think over the question of moving whilst I dressed. I hurried over my toilet, sniffing distastefully as I did so. What was the smell? Dead rat? No, worse than thatand quite different. Yet I knew it! It was something I had smelt before. SomethingAh! I had got it. Asafoetida! I had worked in a hospital dispensary during the war for a short time and had become acquainted with various nauseous drugs. Asafoetida, that was it. But how I sank down on the sofa, suddenly realizing the thing. Somebody had put a pinch of asafoetida in my cabin. Why? So that I should vacate it? Why were they so anxious to get me out? I thought of the scene this afternoon from a rather different point of view. What was there about cabin 17 that made so many people anxious to get hold of it? The other two cabins were better cabins, why had both men insisted on sticking to 17? 17. How the number persisted. It was on the 17th I had sailed from Southampton. It was a 17I stopped with a sudden gasp. Quickly I unlocked my suitcase, and took my precious paper from its place of concealment in some rolled stockings. 17 1 22I had taken that for a date, the date of departure of the Kilmorden Castle. Supposing I was wrong. When I came to think of it, would anyone, writing down a date, think it necessary to put the year as well as the month? Supposing 17 meant cabin 17? And 1? The timeone oclock. Then 22 must be the date. I looked up at my little almanac. Tomorrow was the 22nd! X I was violently excited. I was sure that I had hit on the right trail at last. One thing was clear, I must not move out of the cabin. The asafoetida had got to be borne. I examined my facts again. Tomorrow was the 22nd, and at 1 a.m. or 1 p.m. something would happen. I plumped for 1 a.m. It was now seven oclock. In six hours I should know. I dont know how I got through the evening. I retired to my cabin fairly early. I had told the stewardess that I had a cold in the head and didnt mind smells. She still seemed distressed, but I was firm. The evening seemed interminable. I duly retired to bed, but in view of emergencies I swathed myself in a thick flannel dressing gown, and encased my feet in slippers. Thus attired I felt that I could spring up and take an active part in anything that happened. What did I expect to happen? I hardly knew. Vague fancies, most of them wildly improbable, flitted through my brain. But one thing I was firmly convinced of, at one oclock something would happen. At various times, I heard my fellowpassengers coming to bed. Fragments of conversation, laughing good nights, floated in through the open transom. Then, silence. Most of the lights went out. There was still one in the passage outside, and there was therefore a certain amount of light in my cabin. I heard eight bells go. The hour that followed seemed the longest I had ever known. I consulted my watch surreptitiously to be sure I had not overshot the time. If my deductions were wrong, if nothing happened at one oclock, I should have made a fool of myself, and spent all the money I had in the world on a mares nest. My heart beat painfully. Two bells went overhead. One oclock! And nothing. Waitwhat was that? I heard the quick light patter of feet runningrunning along the passage. Then with the suddenness of a bombshell my cabin door burst open and a man almost fell inside. Save me, he said hoarsely. Theyre after me. It was not a moment for argument or explanation. I could hear footsteps outside. I had about forty seconds in which to act. I had sprung to my feet and was standing facing the stranger in the middle of the cabin. A cabin does not abound in hiding places for a sixfoot man. With one arm I pulled out my cabin trunk. He slipped down behind it under the bunk. I raised the lid. At the same time, with the other hand I pulled down the washbasin. A deft movement and my hair was screwed into a tiny knot on the top of my head. From the point of view of appearance it was inartistic, from another standpoint it was supremely artistic. A lady, with her hair screwed into an unbecoming knob and in the act of removing a piece of soap from her trunk with which, apparently to wash her neck, could hardly be suspected of harbouring a fugitive. There was a knock at the door, and without waiting for me to say, Come in, it was pushed open. I dont know what I expected to see. I think I had vague ideas of Mr. Pagett brandishing a revolver. Or my missionary friend with a sandbag, or some other lethal weapon. But certainly I did not expect to see a night stewardess, with an inquiring face and looking the essence of respectability. I beg your pardon, miss, I thought you called out. No, I said, I didnt. Im sorry for interrupting you. Thats all right, I said. I couldnt sleep. I thought a wash would do me good. It sounded rather as though it were a thing I never had as a general rule. Im so sorry, miss, said the stewardess again. But theres a gentleman about whos rather drunk, and we are afraid he might get into one of the ladies cabins and frighten them. How dreadful, I said, looking alarmed. He wont come in here, will he? Oh, I dont think so, miss. Ring the bell if he does. Good night. Good night. I opened the door and peeped down the corridor. Except for the retreating form of the stewardess, there was nobody in sight. Drunk! So that was the explanation of it. My histrionic talents had been wasted. I pulled the cabin trunk out a little farther and said Come out at once, please, in an acid voice. There was no answer. I peered under the bunk. My visitor lay immovable. He seemed to be asleep. I tugged at his shoulder. He did not move. Dead drunk, I thought vexedly. What am I to do? Then I saw something that made me catch my breath, a small scarlet spot on the floor. Using all my strength, I succeeded in dragging the man out into the middle of the cabin. The dead whiteness of his face showed that he had fainted. I found the cause of his fainting easily enough. He had been stabbed under the left shoulder bladea nasty deep wound. I got his coat off and set to work to attend to it. At the sting of the cold water he stirred, then sat up. Keep still, please, I said. He was the kind of young man who recovers his faculties very quickly. He pulled himself to his feet and stood there swaying a little. Thank you, I dont need anything done for me. His manner was defiant, almost aggressive. Not a word of thanksof even common gratitude! That is a nasty wound. You must let me dress it. You will do nothing of the kind. He flung the words in my face as though I had been begging a favour of him. My temper, never placid, rose. I cannot congratulate you upon your manners, I said coldly. I can at least relieve you of my presence. He started for the door, but reeled as he did so. With an abrupt movement I pushed him down upon the sofa. Dont be a fool, I said unceremoniously. You dont want to go bleeding all over the ship, do you? He seemed to see the sense of that, for he sat quietly whilst I bandaged up the wound as best I could. There, I said, bestowing a pat on my handiwork, that will have to do for the present. Are you better tempered now and do you feel inclined to tell me what its all about? Im sorry that I cant satisfy your very natural curiosity. Why not? I said, chagrined. He smiled nastily. If you want a thing broadcasted, tell a woman. Otherwise keep your mouth shut. Dont you think I could keep a secret? I dont thinkI know. He rose to his feet. At any rate, I said spitefully, I shall be able to do a little broadcasting about the events of this evening. Ive no doubt you will too, he said indifferently. How dare you? I cried angrily. We were facing each other, glaring at each other with the ferocity of bitter enemies. For the first time, I took in the details of his appearance, the closecropped dark head, the lean jaw, the scar on the brown cheek, the curious light grey eyes that looked into mine with a sort of reckless mockery hard to describe. There was something dangerous about him. You havent thanked me yet for saving your life? I said with false sweetness. I hit him there. I saw him flinch distinctly. Intuitively I knew that he hated above all to be reminded that he owed his life to me. I didnt care. I wanted to hurt him. I had never wanted to hurt anyone so much. I wish to God you hadnt! he said explosively. Id be better dead and out of it. Im glad you acknowledge the debt. You cant get out of it. I saved your life and Im waiting for you to say Thank you. If looks could have killed, I think he would have liked to kill me then. He pushed roughly past me. At the door he turned back, and spoke over his shoulder. I shall not thank younow or at any other time. But I acknowledge the debt. Some day I will pay it. He was gone, leaving me with clenched hands, and my heart beating like a mill race. XI There were no further excitements that night. I had breakfast in bed and got up late the next morning. Mrs. Blair hailed me as I came on deck. Good morning, gipsy girl, sit down here by me. You look as though you hadnt slept well. Why do you call me that? I asked, as I sat down obediently. Do you mind? It suits you somehow. Ive called you that in my own mind from the beginning. Its the gipsy element in you that makes you so different from anyone else. I decided in my own mind that you and Colonel Race were the only two people on board who wouldnt bore me to death to talk to. Thats funny, I said, I thought the same about youonly its more understandable in your case.

Youreyoure such an exquisitely finished product. Not badly put, said Mrs. Blair, nodding her head. Tell me all about yourself, gipsy girl. Why are you going to South Africa? I told her something about Papas life work. So youre Charles Beddingfelds daughter? I thought you werent a mere provincial miss! Are you going to Broken Hill to grub up more skulls? I may, I said cautiously. Ive got other plans as well. What a mysterious minx you are. But you do look tired this morning. Didnt you sleep well? I cant keep awake on board a boat. Ten hours sleep for a fool, they say! I could do with twenty! She yawned, looking like a sleepy kitten. An idiot of a steward woke me up in the middle of the night to return me that roll of films I dropped yesterday. He did it in the most melodramatic manner, stuck his arm through the ventilator and dropped them nearly in the middle of my tummy. I thought it was a bomb for a moment! Heres your colonel, I said, as the tall soldierly figure of Colonel Race appeared on the deck. Hes not my colonel particularly. In fact he admires you very much, gipsy girl. So dont run away. I want to tie something round my head. It will be more comfortable than a hat. I slipped quickly away. For some reason or other I was uncomfortable with Colonel Race. He was one of the few people who were capable of making me feel shy. I went down to my cabin and began looking for a broad band of ribbon, or a motorveil, with which I could restrain my rebellious locks. Now I am a tidy person, I like my things always arranged in a certain way and I keep them so. I had no sooner opened my drawer than I realized that somebody had been disarranging my things. Everything had been turned over and scattered. I looked in the other drawers and the small hanging cupboard. They told me the same tale. It was as though someone had been making a hurried and ineffectual search for something. I sat down on the edge of the bunk with a grave face. Who had been searching my cabin and what had they been looking for? Was it the halfsheet of paper with scribbled figures and words? I shook my head, dissatisfied. Surely that was past history now. But what else could there be? I wanted to think. The events of last night, though exciting, had not really done anything to elucidate matters. Who was the young man who had burst into my cabin so abruptly? I had not seen him on board previously, either on deck or in the saloon. Was he one of the ships company or was he a passenger? Who had stabbed him? Why had they stabbed him? And why, in the name of goodness, should cabin no. 17 figure so prominently? It was all a mystery, but there was no doubt that some very peculiar occurrences were taking place on the Kilmorden Castle. I counted off on my fingers the people on whom it behoved me to keep a watch. Setting aside my visitor of the night before, but promising myself that I would discover him on board before another day had passed, I selected the following persons as worthy of my notice. Sir Eustace Pedler. He was the owner of the Mill House and his presence on the Kilmorden Castle seemed something of a coincidence. Mr. Pagett, the sinisterlooking secretary, whose eagerness to obtain cabin 17 had been so very marked. N.B. Find out whether he had accompanied Sir Eustace to Cannes. The Rev. Edward Chichester. All I had against him was his obstinacy over cabin 17, and that might be entirely due to his own peculiar temperament. Obstinacy can be an amazing thing. But a little conversation with Mr. Chichester would not come amiss, I decided. Hastily tying a handkerchief round my rebellious locks, I went up on deck again, full of purpose. I was in luck. My quarry was leaning against the rail, drinking beef tea. I went up to him. I hope youve forgiven me over cabin 17, I said, with my best smile. I consider it unchristian to bear a grudge, said Mr. Chichester coldly. But the purser had distinctly promised me that cabin. Pursers are such busy men, arent they? I said vaguely. I suppose theyre bound to forget sometimes. Mr. Chichester did not reply. Is this your first visit to Africa? I inquired conversationally. To South Africa, yes. But I have worked for the last two years amongst the cannibal tribes in the interior of East Africa. How thrilling! Have you had many narrow escapes? Escapes? Of being eaten, I mean? You should not treat sacred subjects with levity, Miss Beddingfeld. I didnt know that cannibalism was a sacred subject, I retorted, stung. As the words left my lips, another idea struck me. If Mr. Chichester had indeed spent the last two years in the interior of Africa, how was it that he was not more sunburnt? His skin was as pink and white as a babys. Surely there was something fishy there? Yet his manner and voice were so absolutely it. Too much so perhaps. Was heor was he notjust a little like a stage clergyman? I cast my mind back to the curates I had known at Little Hampsly. Some of them I had liked, some of them I had not, but certainly none of them had been quite like Mr. Chichester. They had been humanhe was a glorified type. I was debating all this when Sir Eustace Pedler passed down the deck. Just as he was abreast of Mr. Chichester, he stooped and picked up a piece of paper which he handed to him, remarking Youve dropped something. He passed on without stopping, and so probably did not notice Mr. Chichesters agitation. I did. Whatever it was he had dropped, its recovery agitated him considerably. He turned a sickly green, and crumpled up the sheet of paper into a ball. My suspicions were accentuated a hundredfold. He caught my eye, and hurried into explanations. Aafragment of a sermon I was composing, he said with a sickly smile. Indeed? I rejoined politely. A fragment of a sermon, indeed! No, Mr. Chichestertoo weak for words! He soon left me with a muttered excuse. I wished, oh, how I wished, that I had been the one to pick up that paper and not Sir Eustace Pedler! One thing was clear, Mr. Chichester could not be exempted from my list of suspects. I was inclined to put him top of the three. After lunch, when I came up to the lounge for coffee, I noticed Sir Eustace and Pagett sitting with Mrs. Blair and Colonel Race. Mrs. Blair welcomed me with a smile, so I went over and joined them. They were talking about Italy. But it is misleading, Mrs. Blair insisted. Aqua calda certainly ought to be cold waternot hot. Youre not a Latin scholar, said Sir Eustace, smiling. Men are so superior about their Latin, said Mrs. Blair. But all the same I notice that when you ask them to translate inscriptions in old churches they can never do it! They hem and haw, and get out of it somehow. Quite right, said Colonel Race. I always do. But I love the Italians, continued Mrs. Blair. Theyre so obligingthough even that has its embarrassing side. You ask them the way somewhere, and instead of saying first to the right, second to the left or something that one could follow, they pour out a flood of well meaning directions, and when you look bewildered they take you kindly by the arm and walk all the way there with you. Is that your experience in Florence, Pagett? asked Sir Eustace, turning with a smile to his secretary. For some reason the question seemed to disconcert Mr. Pagett. He stammered and flushed. Oh, quite so, yeser quite so. Then with a murmured excuse, he rose and left the table. I am beginning to suspect Guy Pagett of having committed some dark deed in Florence, remarked Sir Eustace, gazing after his secretarys retreating figure. Whenever Florence or Italy is mentioned, he changes the subject, or bolts precipitately. Perhaps he murdered someone there, said Mrs. Blair hopefully. He looksI hope Im not hurting your feelings, Sir Eustacebut he does look as though he might murder someone. Yes, pure Cinquecento! It amuses me sometimesespecially when one knows as well as I do how essentially law abiding and respectable the poor fellow really is. Hes been with you some time, hasnt he, Sir Eustace? asked Colonel Race. Six years, said Sir Eustace, with a deep sigh. He must be quite invaluable to you, said Mrs. Blair. Oh, invaluable! Yes, quite invaluable. The poor man sounded even more depressed, as though the invaluableness of Mr. Pagett was a secret grief to him. Then he added more briskly But his face should really inspire you with confidence, my dear lady. No selfrespecting murderer would ever consent to look like one. Crippen, now, I believe, was one of the pleasantest fellows imaginable. He was caught on a liner, wasnt he? murmured Mrs. Blair. There was a slight rattle behind us. I turned quickly. Mr. Chichester had dropped his coffee cup. Our party soon broke up; Mrs. Blair went below to sleep and I went out on deck. Colonel Race followed me. Youre very elusive, Miss Beddingfeld. I looked for you everywhere last night at the dance. I went to bed early, I explained. Are you going to run away tonight too? Or are you going to dance with me? I shall be very pleased to dance with you, I murmured shyly. But Mrs. Blair Our friend, Mrs. Blair, doesnt care for dancing. And you do? I care for dancing with you. Oh! I said nervously. I was a little afraid of Colonel Race. Nevertheless I was enjoying myself. This was better than discussing fossilized skulls with stuffy old professors! Colonel Race was really just my ideal of a stern silent Rhodesian. Possibly I might marry him! I hadnt been asked, it is true, but, as the Boy Scouts say, Be Prepared! And all women, without in the least meaning it, consider every man they meet as a possible husband for themselves or for their best friend. I danced several times with him that evening. He danced well. When the dancing was over, and I was thinking of going to bed, he suggested a turn round the deck. We walked round three times and finally subsided into two deck chairs. There was nobody else in sight. We made desultory conversation for some time. Do you know, Miss Beddingfeld, I think that I once met your father? A very interesting manon his own subject, and its a subject that has a special fascination for me. In my humble way, Ive done a bit in that line myself. Why, when I was in the Dordogne region Our talk became technical. Colonel Races boast was not an idle one. He knew a great deal. At the same time, he made one or two curious mistakesslips of the tongue, I might almost have thought them. But he was quick to take his cue from me and to cover them up. Once he spoke of the Mousterian period as succeeding the Aurignacianan absurd mistake for one who knew anything of the subject. It was twelve oclock when I went to my cabin. I was still puzzling over those queer discrepancies. Was it possible that he had got the whole subject up for the occasionthat really he knew nothing of archaeology? I shook my head, vaguely dissatisfied with that solution. Just as I was dropping off to sleep, I sat up with a sudden start as another idea flashed into my head. Had he been pumping me? Were those slight inaccuracies just teststo see whether I really knew what I was talking about? In other words, he suspected me of not being genuinely Anne Beddingfeld. Why? XII (Extract from the diary of Sir Eustace Pedler) There is something to be said for life on board ship. It is peaceful. My grey hairs fortunately exempt me from the indignities of bobbing for apples, running up and down the deck with potatoes and eggs, and the more painful sports of Brother Bill and Bolster Bar. What amusement people can find in these painful proceedings has always been a mystery to me. But there are many fools in the world. One praises God for their existence and keeps out of their way. Fortunately I am an excellent sailor. Pagett, poor fellow, is not. He began turning green as soon as we were out of the Solent. I presume my other socalled secretary is also seasick. At any rate he has not yet made his appearance. But perhaps it is not seasickness, but high diplomacy. The great thing is that I have not been worried by him. On the whole, the people on board are a mangy lot. Only two decent bridge players and one decentlooking womanMrs. Clarence Blair. Ive met her in town of course. She is one of the only women I know who can lay claim to a sense of humour. I enjoy talking to her, and should enjoy it more if it were not for a longlegged taciturn ass who has attached himself to her like a limpet. I cannot think that this Colonel Race really amuses her. Hes goodlooking in his way, but dull as ditch water. One of these strong silent men that lady novelists and young girls always rave over. Guy Pagett struggled up on deck after we left Madeira and began babbling in a hollow voice about work. What the devil does anyone want to work for on board ship? It is true that I promised my publishers my reminiscences early in the summer, but what of it? Who really reads reminiscences? Old ladies in the suburbs. And what do my reminiscences amount to? Ive knocked against a certain number of socalled famous people in my lifetime. With the assistance of Pagett, I invent insipid anecdotes about them. And, the truth of the matter is, Pagett is too honest for the job. He wont let me invent anecdotes about the people I might have met but havent. I tried kindness with him. You look a perfect wreck still, my dear chap, I said easily. What you need is a deck chair in the sun. Nonot another word. The work must wait. The next thing I knew he was worrying about an extra cabin. Theres no room to work in your cabin, Sir Eustace. Its full of trunks. From his tone, you might have thought that trunks were blackbeetles, something that had no business to be there. I explained to him that, though he might not be aware of the fact, it was usual to take a change of clothing with one when travelling. He gave the wan smile with which he always greets my attempts at humour, and then reverted to the business in hand. And we could hardly work in my little hole. I know Pagetts little holeshe usually has the best cabin on the ship. Im sorry the captain didnt turn out for you this time, I said sarcastically. Perhaps youd like to dump some of your extra luggage in my cabin? Sarcasm is dangerous with a man like Pagett. He brightened up at once. Well, if I could get rid of the typewriter and the stationery trunk The stationery trunk weighs several solid tons. It causes endless unpleasantness with the porters, and it is the aim of Pagetts life to foist it on me. It is a perpetual struggle between us. He seems to regard it as my special personal property. I, on the other hand, regard the charge of it as the only thing where a secretary is really useful. Well get an extra cabin, I said hastily. The thing seemed simple enough, but Pagett is a person who loves to make mysteries. He came to me the next day with a face like a Renaissance conspirator. You know you told me to get cabin 17 for an office? Well, what of it? Has the stationery trunk jammed in the doorway? The doorways are the same size in all the cabins, replied Pagett seriously. But I tell you, Sir Eustace, theres something very queer about that cabin. Memories of reading The Upper Berth floated through my mind. If you mean that its haunted, I said, were not going to sleep there, so I dont see that it matters. Ghosts dont affect typewriters. Pagett said that it wasnt a ghost, and that, after all, he hadnt got cabin 17. He told me a long, garbled story. Apparently he, and a Mr. Chichester, and a girl called Beddingfeld, had almost come to blows over the cabin. Needless to say, the girl had won, and Pagett was apparently feeling sore over the matter. Both 13 and 28 are better cabins, he reiterated. But they wouldnt look at them. Well, I said, stifling a yawn, for that matter, no more would you, my dear Pagett. He gave me a reproachful look. You told me to get cabin 17. There is a touch of the boy upon the burning deck about Pagett. My dear fellow, I said testily, I mentioned no. 17 because I happened to observe that it was vacant. But I didnt mean you to make a stand to the death about it13 or 28 would have done us equally well. He looked hurt. Theres something more, though, he insisted. Miss Beddingfeld got the cabin, but this morning I saw Chichester coming out of it in a furtive sort of way. I looked at him severely. If youre trying to get up a nasty scandal about Chichester, who is a missionarythough a perfectly poisonous personand that attractive child, Anne Beddingfeld, I dont believe a word of it, I said coldly. Anne Beddingfeld is an extremely nice girlwith particularly good legs. I should say she had far and away the best legs on board. Pagett did not like my reference to Anne Beddingfelds legs. He is the sort of man who never notices legs himselfor, if he does, would die sooner than say so. Also he thinks my appreciation of such things frivolous. I like annoying Pagett, so I continued maliciously As youve made her acquaintance, you might ask her to dine at our table tomorrow night. Its the fancydress dance. By the way, youd better go down to the barber and select a fancy costume for me. Surely you will not go in fancy dress? said Pagett, in tones of horror. I could see that it was quite incompatible with his idea of my dignity. He looked shocked and pained. I had really had no intention of donning fancy dress, but the complete discomfiture of Pagett was too tempting to be forborne. What do you mean? I said. Of course I shall wear fancy dress. So will you. Pagett shuddered. So go down to the barbers and see about it, I finished. I dont think hell have any out sizes, murmured Pagett, measuring my figure with his eye. Without meaning it, Pagett can occasionally be extremely offensive. And order a table for six in the saloon, I said. Well have the captain, the girl with the nice legs, Mrs. Blair You wont get Mrs. Blair without Colonel Race, Pagett interposed. Hes asked her to dine with him, I know. Pagett always knows everything. I was justifiably annoyed. Who is Race? I demanded, exasperated. As I said before, Pagett always knows everythingor thinks he does. He looked mysterious again. They say hes a secret service chap, Sir Eustace. Rather a great gun too. But of course I dont know for certain. Isnt that like the government? I exclaimed. Heres a man on board whose business it is to carry about secret documents, and they go giving them to a peaceful outsider, who only asks to be let alone. Pagett looked even more mysterious. He came a pace nearer and dropped his voice. If you ask me, the whole thing is very queer, Sir Eustace. Look at that illness of mine before we started My dear fellow, I interrupted brutally, that was a bilious attack. Youre always having bilious attacks. Pagett winced slightly. It wasnt the usual sort of bilious attack. This time For Gods sake, dont go into the details of your condition, Pagett. I dont want to hear them. Very well, Sir Eustace. But my belief is that I was deliberately poisoned! Ah! I said. Youve been talking to Rayburn. He did not deny it. At any rate, Sir Eustace, he thinks soand he should be in a position to know. By the way, where is the chap? I asked. Ive not set eyes on him since we came on board. He gives out that hes ill, and stays in his cabin, Sir Eustace. Pagetts voice dropped again. But thats camouflage, Im sure. So that he can watch better. Watch? Over your safety, Sir Eustace. In case an attack should be made upon you. Youre such a cheerful fellow, Pagett, I said. I trust that your imagination runs away with you. If I were you I should go to the dance as a deaths head or an executioner. It will suit your mournful style of beauty. That shut him up for the time being. I went on deck. The Beddingfeld girl was deep in conversation with the missionary parson, Chichester. Women always flutter round parsons. A man of my figure hates stooping, but I had the courtesy to pick up a bit of paper that was fluttering round the parsons feet. I got no word of thanks for my pains. As a matter of fact, I couldnt help seeing what was written on the sheet of paper. There was just one sentence Dont try to play a lone hand or it will be the worse for you. Thats a nice thing for a parson to have. Who is this fellow Chichester, I wonder? He looks mild as milk. But looks are deceptive. I shall ask Pagett about him. Pagett always knows everything. I sank gracefully into my deck chair by the side of Mrs. Blair, thereby interrupting her ttette with Race, and remarked that I didnt know what the clergy were coming to nowadays. Then I asked her to dine with me on the night of the fancydress dance. Somehow or other Race managed to get included in the invitation. After lunch the Beddingfeld girl came and sat with us for coffee. I was right about her legs. They are the best on the ship. I shall certainly ask her to dinner as well. I would very much like to know what mischief Pagett was up to in Florence. Whenever Italy is mentioned, he goes to pieces. If I did not know how intensely respectable he isI should suspect him of some disreputable amour I wonder now! Even the most respectable menIt would cheer me up enormously if it was so. Pagettwith a guilty secret! Splendid! XIII It has been a curious evening. The only costume that fitted me in the barbers emporium was that of a teddy bear. I dont mind playing bears with some nice young girls on a winters evening in Englandbut its hardly an ideal costume for the equator. However, I created a good deal of merriment, and won first prize for brought on boardan absurd term for a costume hired for the evening. Still as nobody seemed to have the least idea whether they were made or brought, it didnt matter. Mrs. Blair refused to dress up. Apparently she is at one with Pagett on the matter. Colonel Race followed her example. Anne Beddingfeld had concocted a gipsy costume for herself, and looked extraordinarily well. Pagett said he had a headache and didnt appear. To replace him I asked a quaint little fellow called Reeves. Hes a prominent member of the South African Labour Party. Horrible little man, but I want to keep in with him, as he gives me information that I need. I want to understand this Rand business from both sides. Dancing was a hot affair. I danced twice with Anne Beddingfeld and she had to pretend she liked it. I danced once with Mrs. Blair, who didnt trouble to pretend, and I victimized various other damsels whose appearance struck me favourably. Then we went down to supper. I had ordered champagne; the steward suggested Clicquot 1911 as being the best they had on the boat and I fell in with his suggestion. I seemed to have hit on the one thing that would loosen Colonel Races tongue. Far from being taciturn, the man became actually talkative. For a while this amused me, then it occurred to me that Colonel Race, and not myself, was becoming the life and soul of the party. He chaffed me at length about keeping a diary. It will reveal all your indiscretions one of these days, Pedler. My dear Race, I said, I venture to suggest that I am not quite the fool you think me. I may commit indiscretions, but I dont write them down in black and white. After my death, my executors will know my opinion of a great many people, but I doubt if they will find anything to add or detract from their opinion of me. A diary is useful for recording the idiosyncrasies of other peoplebut not ones own. There is such a thing as unconscious selfrevelation, though. In the eyes of the psychoanalyst, all things are vile, I replied sententiously. You must have had a very interesting life, Colonel Race? said Miss Beddingfeld, gazing at him with wide, starry eyes. Thats how they do it, these girls! Othello charmed Desdemona by telling her stories, but, oh, didnt Desdemona charm Othello by the way she listened? Anyway, the girl set Race off all right. He began to tell lion stories. A man who has shot lions in large quantities has an unfair advantage over other men. It seemed to me that it was time I, too, told a lion story. One of a more sprightly character. By the way, I remarked, that reminds me of a rather exciting tale I heard. A friend of mine was out on a shooting trip somewhere in East Africa. One night he came out of his tent for some reason, and was startled by a low growl. He turned sharply and saw a lion crouching to spring. He had left his rifle in the tent. Quick as thought, he ducked, and the lion sprang right over his head. Annoyed at having missed him, the animal growled and prepared to spring again. Again he ducked, and again the lion sprang right over him. This happened a third time, but by now he was close to the entrance of the tent, and he darted in and seized his rifle. When he emerged, rifle in hand, the lion had disappeared. That puzzled him greatly. He crept round the back of the tent, where there was a little clearing. There, sure enough, was the lion, busily practising low jumps. This was received with a roar of applause. I drank some champagne. On another occasion, I remarked, this friend of mine had a second curious experience. He was trekking across country, and being anxious to arrive at his destination before the heat of the day he ordered his boys to inspan whilst it was still dark. They had some trouble in doing so, as the mules were very restive, but at last they managed it, and a start was made. The mules raced along like the wind, and when daylight came they saw why. In the darkness, the boys had inspanned a lion as the near wheeler. This, too, was well received, a ripple of merriment going round the table, but I am not sure that the greatest tribute did not come from my friend, the Labour member, who remained pale and serious. My God! he said anxiously. Who unarnessed them? I must go to Rhodesia, said Mrs. Blair. After what you have told us, Colonel Race, I simply must. Its a horrible journey though, five days in the train. You must join me on my private car, I said gallantly. Oh, Sir Eustace, how sweet of you, do you really mean it? Do I mean it! I exclaimed reproachfully, and drank another glass of champagne. Just about another week, and we shall be in South Africa, sighed Mrs. Blair. Ah, South Africa, I said sentimentally, and began to quote from a recent speech of mine at the Colonial Institute. What has South Africa to show the world? What indeed? Her fruit and her farms, her wool and her wattles, her herds and her hides, her gold and her diamonds I was hurrying on, because I knew that as soon as I paused Reeves would butt in and inform me that the hides were worthless because the animals hung themselves up on barbed wire or something of that sort, would crab everything else, and end up with the hardships of the miners on the Rand. And I was not in the mood to be abused as a capitalist. However, the interruption came from another source at the magic word diamonds. Diamonds! said Mrs. Blair ecstatically. Diamonds! breathed Miss Beddingfeld. They both addressed Colonel Race. I suppose youve been to Kimberley? I had been to Kimberley too, but I didnt manage to say so in time. Race was being inundated with questions. What were mines like? Was it true that the natives were kept shut up in compounds? And so on. Race answered their questions and showed a good knowledge of his subject. He described the methods of housing the natives, the searches instituted, and the various precautions that De Beers took. Then its practically impossible to steal any diamonds? asked Mrs. Blair with as keen an air of disappointment as though she had been journeying there for the express purpose. Nothings impossible, Mrs. Blair. Thefts do occurlike the case I told you of where the Kafir hid the stone in his wound. Yes, but on a large scale? Once, in recent years. Just before the war in fact. You must remember the case, Pedler. You were in South Africa at the time? I nodded. Tell us, cried Miss Beddingfeld. Oh, do tell us! Race smiled. Very well, you shall have the story. I suppose most of you have heard of Sir Laurence Eardsley, the great South African mining magnate? His mines were gold mines, but he comes into the story through his son. You may remember that just before the war rumours were afield of a new potential Kimberley hidden somewhere in the rocky floor of the British Guiana jungles. Two young explorers, so it was reported, had returned from that part of South America bringing with them a remarkable collection of rough diamonds, some of them of considerable size. Diamonds of small size had been found before in the neighbourhood of the Essequibo and Mazaruni rivers, but these two young men, John Eardsley and his friend Lucas, claimed to have discovered beds of great carbon deposits at the common head of two streams. The diamonds were of every colour, pink, blue, yellow, green, black, and the purest white. Eardsley and Lucas came to Kimberley where they were to submit their gems to inspection. At the same time a sensational robbery was found to have taken place at De Beers. When sending diamonds to England they are made up into a packet. This remains in the big safe, of which the two keys are held by two different men whilst a third man knows the combination. They are handed to the Bank, and the Bank send them to England. Each package is worth, roughly, about 100,000. On this occasion, the Bank were struck by something a little unusual about the sealing of the packet. It was opened, and found to contain knobs of sugar! Exactly how suspicion came to fasten on John Eardsley I do not know. It was remembered that he had been very wild at Cambridge and that his father had paid his debts more than once. Anyhow, it soon got about that this story of South American diamond fields was all a fantasy. John Eardsley was arrested. In his possession was found a portion of the De Beer diamonds. But the case never came to court. Sir Laurence Eardsley paid over a sum equal to the missing diamonds and De Beers did not prosecute. Exactly how the robbery was committed has never been known. But the knowledge that his son was a thief broke the old mans heart. He had a stroke shortly afterwards. As for John, his fate was in a way merciful. He enlisted, went to the war, fought there bravely, and was killed, thus wiping out the stain on his name. Sir Laurence himself had a third stroke and died about a month ago. He died intestate and his vast fortune passed to his next of kin, a man whom he hardly knew. The colonel paused. A babel of ejaculations and questions broke out. Something seemed to attract Miss Beddingfelds attention, and she turned in her chair. At the little gasp she gave, I, too, turned. My new secretary, Rayburn, was standing in the doorway. Under his tan, his face had the pallor of one who has seen a ghost. Evidently Races story had moved him profoundly. Suddenly conscious of our scrutiny, he turned abruptly and disappeared. Do you know who that is? asked Anne Beddingfeld abruptly. Thats my other secretary, I explained. Mr. Rayburn. Hes been seedy up to now. She toyed with the bread by her plate. Has he been your secretary long? Not very long, I said cautiously. But caution is useless with a woman, the more you hold back, the more she presses forward. Anne Beddingfeld made no bones about it. How long? she asked bluntly. WellerI engaged him just before I sailed. Old friend of mine recommended him. She said nothing more, but relapsed into a thoughtful silence. I turned to Race with the feeling that it was my turn to display an interest in his story. Who is Sir Laurences next of kin, Race? Do you know? I should say so, he replied, with a smile. I am! XIV (Annes narrative resumed) It was on the night of the fancydress dance that I decided that the time had come for me to confide in someone. So far I had played a lone hand and rather enjoyed it. Now suddenly everything was changed. I distrusted my own judgment and for the first time a feeling of loneliness and desolation crept over me. I sat on the edge of my bunk, still in my gipsy dress, and considered the situation.

I thought first of Colonel Race. He had seemed to like me. He would be kind, I was sure. And he was no fool. Yet, as I thought it over, I wavered. He was a man of commanding personality. He would take the whole matter out of my hands. And it was my mystery! There were other reasons, too, which I would hardly acknowledge to myself, but which made it inadvisable to confide in Colonel Race. Then I thought of Mrs. Blair. She, too, had been kind to me. I did not delude myself into the belief that that really meant anything. It was probably a mere whim of the moment. All the same, I had it in my power to interest her. She was a woman who had experienced most of the ordinary sensations of life. I proposed to supply her with an extraordinary one! And I liked her; liked her ease of manner, her lack of sentimentality, her freedom from any form of affectation. My mind was made up. I decided to seek her out then and there. She would hardly be in bed yet. Then I remembered that I did not know the number of her cabin. My friend, the night stewardess, would probably know. I rang the bell. After some delay it was answered by a man. He gave me the information I wanted. Mrs. Blairs cabin was no. 71. He apologized for the delay in answering the bell, but explained that he had all the cabins to attend to. Where is the stewardess, then? I asked. They all go off duty at ten oclock. NoI mean the night stewardess. No stewardess on at night, miss. Butbut a stewardess came the other nightabout one oclock. You must have been dreaming, miss. Theres no stewardess on duty after ten. He withdrew and I was left to digest this morsel of information. Who was the woman who had come to my cabin on the night of the 22nd? My face grew graver as I realized the cunning and audacity of my unknown antagonists. Then, pulling myself together, I left my own cabin and sought that of Mrs. Blair. I knocked at the door. Whos that? called her voice from within. Its meAnne Beddingfeld. Oh, come in, gipsy girl. I entered. A good deal of scattered clothing lay about, and Mrs. Blair herself was draped in one of the loveliest kimonos I had ever seen. It was all orange and gold and black and made my mouth water to look at it. Mrs. Blair, I said abruptly, I want to tell you the story of my lifethat is, if it isnt too late, and you wont be bored. Not a bit. I always hate going to bed, said Mrs. Blair, her face crinkling into smiles in the delightful way it had. And I should love to hear the story of your life. Youre a most unusual creature, gipsy girl. Nobody else would think of bursting in on me at 1 a.m. to tell me the story of their life. Especially after snubbing my natural curiosity for weeks as you have done! Im not accustomed to being snubbed. Its been quite a pleasing novelty. Sit down on the sofa and unburden your soul. I told her the whole story. It took some time as I was conscientious over all the details. She gave a deep sigh when I had finished, but she did not say at all what I had expected her to say. Instead she looked at me, laughed a little and said Do you know, Anne, youre a very unusual girl? Havent you ever had qualms? Qualms? I asked, puzzled. Yes, qualms, qualms, qualms! Starting off alone with practically no money. What will you do when you find yourself in a strange country with all your money gone? Its no good bothering about that until it comes. Ive got plenty of money still. The twentyfive pounds that Mrs. Flemming gave me is practically intact, and then I won the sweep yesterday. Thats another fifteen pounds. Why, Ive got lots of money. Forty pounds! Lots of money! My God! murmured Mrs. Blair. I couldnt do it, Anne, and Ive plenty of pluck in my own way. I couldnt start off gaily with a few pounds in my pocket and no idea as to what I was doing and where I was going. But thats the fun of it, I cried, thoroughly roused. It gives one such a splendid feeling of adventure. She looked at me, nodded once or twice, and then smiled. Lucky Anne! There arent many people in the world who feel as you do. Well, I said impatiently, what do you think of it all, Mrs. Blair? I think its the most thrilling thing I ever heard! Now, to begin with, you will stop calling me Mrs. Blair. Suzanne will be ever so much better. Is that agreed? I should love it, Suzanne. Good girl. Now lets get down to business. You say that in Sir Eustaces secretarynot that longfaced Pagett, the other oneyou recognized the man who was stabbed and came into your cabin for shelter? I nodded. That gives us two links connecting Sir Eustace with the tangle. The woman was murdered in his house, and its his secretary who gets stabbed at the mystic hour of one oclock. I dont suspect Sir Eustace himself, but it cant be all coincidence. Theres a connection somewhere even if he himself is unaware of it. Then theres the queer business of the stewardess, she continued thoughtfully. What was she like? I hardly noticed her. I was so excited and strung upand a stewardess seemed such an anticlimax. ButyesI did think her face was familiar. Of course it would be if Id seen her about the ship. Her face seemed familiar to you, said Suzanne. Sure she wasnt a man? She was very tall, I admitted. Hum. Hardly Sir Eustace, I should think, nor Mr. PagettWait! She caught up a scrap of paper and began drawing feverishly. She inspected the result with her head poised on one side. A very good likeness of the Rev. Edward Chichester. Now for the etceteras. She passed the paper over to me. Is that your stewardess? Why, yes, I cried. Suzanne, how clever of you! She disdained the compliment with a light gesture. Ive always had suspicions of that Chichester creature. Do you remember how he dropped his coffee cup and turned a sickly green when we were discussing Crippen the other day? And he tried to get Cabin 17! Yes, it all fits in so far. But what does it all mean? What was really meant to happen at one oclock in Cabin 17? It cant be the stabbing of the secretary. There would be no point in timing that for a special hour on a special day in a special place. No, it must have been some kind of appointment and he was on his way to keep it when they knifed him. But who was the appointment with? Certainly not with you. It might have been with Chichester. Or it might have been with Pagett. That seems unlikely, I objected, they can see each other any time. We both sat silent for a minute or two, then Suzanne started off on another tack. Could there have been anything hidden in the cabin? That seems more probable, I agreed. It would explain my things being ransacked the next morning. But there was nothing hidden there, Im sure of it. The young man couldnt have slipped something into a drawer the night before? I shook my head. I should have seen him. Could it have been your precious piece of paper they were looking for? It might have been, but it seems rather senseless. It was only a time and a dateand they were both past by then. Suzanne nodded. Thats so of course. No, it wasnt the paper. By the way, have you got it with you? Id rather like to see it. I had brought the paper with me as exhibit A, and I handed it over to her. She scrutinized it, frowning. Theres a dot after the 17. Why isnt there a dot after the 1 too? Theres a space, I pointed out. Yes, theres a space, but Suddenly she rose and peered at the paper, holding it as close under the light as possible. There was a repressed excitement in her manner. Anne, that isnt a dot! Thats a flaw in the paper! A flaw in the paper, you see? So youve got to ignore it, and just go by the spacesthe spaces! I had risen and was standing by her. I read out the figures as I now saw them. 1 71 22. You see, said Suzanne, its the same, but not quite. Its one oclock still, and the 22ndbut its cabin 71! My cabin, Anne! We stood staring at each other, so pleased with our new discovery and so rapt with excitement that you might have thought we had solved the whole mystery. Then I fell to earth with a bump. But, Suzanne, nothing happened here at one oclock on the 22nd? Her face fell also. Noit didnt. Another idea struck me. This isnt your own cabin, is it, Suzanne? I mean not the one you originally booked? No, the purser changed me into it. I wonder if it was booked before sailing for someonesomeone who didnt turn up. I suppose we could find out. We dont need to find out, gipsy girl, cried Suzanne. I know! The purser was telling me about it. The cabin was booked in the name of Mrs. Greybut it seems that Mrs. Grey was merely a pseudonym for the famous Madame Nadina. Shes a celebrated Russian dancer, you know. Shes never appeared in London, but Paris has been quite mad about her. She had a terrific success there all through the War. A thoroughly bad lot, I believe, but most attractive. The purser expressed his regrets that she wasnt on board in a most heartfelt fashion when he gave me her cabin, and then Colonel Race told me a lot about her. It seems there were very queer stories afloat in Paris. She was suspected of espionage, but they couldnt prove anything. I rather fancy Colonel Race was over there simply on that account. Hes told me some very interesting things. There was a regular organized gang, not German in origin at all. In fact the head of it, a man always referred to as the Colonel was thought to be an Englishman, but they never got any clue as to his identity. But there is no doubt that he controlled a considerable organization of international crooks. Robberies, espionages, assaults, he undertook them alland usually provided an innocent scapegoat to pay the penalty. Diabolically clever, he must have been! This woman was supposed to be one of his agents, but they couldnt get hold of anything to go upon. Yes, Anne, were on the right tack. Nadina is just the woman to be mixed up in this business. The appointment on the morning of the 22nd was with her in this cabin. But where is she? Why didnt she sail? A light flashed upon me. She meant to sail, I said slowly. Then why didnt she? Because she was dead. Suzanne, Nadina was the woman murdered at Marlow! My mind went back to the bare room in the empty house, and there swept over me again that indefinable sensation of menace and evil. With it came the memory of the falling pencil and the discovery of the roll of films. A roll of filmsthat struck a more recent note. Where had I heard of a roll of films? And why did I connect that thought with Mrs. Blair? Suddenly I flew at her and almost shook her in my excitement. Your films! The ones that were passed to you through the ventilator? Wasnt that on the 22nd? The ones I lost? How do you know they were the same? Why would anyone return them to you that wayin the middle of the night? Its a mad idea. Nothey were a message, the films had been taken out of the yellow tin case, and something else put inside. Have you got it still? I may have used it. No, here it is. I remember I tossed it into the rack at the side of the bunk. She held it out to me. It was an ordinary round tin cylinder, such as films are packed in for the tropics. I took it with trembling hand, but even as I did so my heart leapt. It was noticeably heavier than it should have been. With shaking fingers I peeled off the strip of adhesive plaster that kept it airtight. I pulled off the lid, and a stream of dull glassy pebbles rolled onto the bed. Pebbles, I said, keenly disappointed. Pebbles? cried Suzanne. The ring in her voice excited me. Pebbles? No, Anne, not pebbles! Diamonds! XV Diamonds! I stared, fascinated, at the glassy heap on the bunk. I picked up one which, but for the weight, might have been a fragment of broken bottle. Are you sure, Suzanne? Oh, yes, my dear. Ive seen rough diamonds too often to have any doubts. Theyre beauties too, Anneand some of them are unique, I should say. Theres a history behind these. The history we heard tonight, I cried. You mean? Colonel Races story. It cant be a coincidence. He told it for a purpose. To see its effect, you mean? I nodded. Its effect on Sir Eustace? Yes. But, even as I said it, a doubt assailed me. Was it Sir Eustace who had been subjected to a test, or had the story been told for my benefit? I remembered the impression I had received on that former night of having been deliberately pumped. For some reason or other, Colonel Race was suspicious. But where did he come in? What possible connection could he have with the affair? Who is Colonel Race? I asked. Thats rather a question, said Suzanne. Hes pretty well known as a biggame hunter, and, as you heard him say tonight, he was a distant cousin of Sir Laurence Eardsley. Ive never actually met him until this trip. He journeys to and from Africa a good deal. Theres a general idea that he does secret service work. I dont know whether its true or not. Hes certainly rather a mysterious creature. I suppose he came into a lot of money as Sir Laurence Eardsleys heir? My dear Anne, he must be rolling. You know, hed be a splendid match for you. I cant have a good go at him with you aboard the ship, I said, laughing. Oh, these married women! We do have a pull, murmured Suzanne complacently. And everybody knows that I am absolutely devoted to Clarencemy husband, you know. Its so safe and pleasant to make love to a devoted wife. It must be very nice for Clarence to be married to someone like you. Well, Im wearing to live with! Still, he can always escape to the foreign office, where he fixes his eyeglass in his eye, and goes to sleep in a big armchair. We might cable him to tell us all he knows about Race. I love sending cables. And they annoy Clarence so. He always says a letter would have done as well. I dont suppose hed tell us anything, though. He is so frightfully discreet. Thats what makes him so hard to live with for long on end. But let us go on with our matchmaking. Im sure Colonel Race is very attracted to you, Anne. Give him a couple of glances from those wicked eyes of yours, and the deed is done. Everyone gets engaged on board ship. Theres nothing else to do. I dont want to get married. Dont you? said Suzanne. Why not? I love being marriedeven to Clarence! I disdained her flippancy. What I want to know is, I said with determination, what has Colonel Race got to do with this? Hes in it somewhere. You dont think it was mere chance, his telling that story? No, I dont, I said decidedly. He was watching us all narrowly. You remember, some of the diamonds were recovered, not all. Perhaps these are the missing onesor perhaps Perhaps what? I did not answer directly. I should like to know, I said, what became of the other young man. Not Eardsley butwhat was his name?Lucas! Were getting some light on the thing, anyway. Its the diamonds all these people are after. It must have been to obtain possession of the diamonds that the man in the brown suit killed Nadina. He didnt kill her, I said sharply. Of course he killed her. Who else could have done so? I dont know. But Im sure he didnt kill her. He went into that house three minutes after her and came out as white as a sheet. Because he found her dead. But nobody else went in. Then the murderer was in the house already, or else he got in some other way. Theres no need for him to pass the lodge, he could have climbed over the wall. Suzanne glanced at me sharply. The man in the brown suit, she mused. Who was he, I wonder? Anyway, he was identical with the doctor in the tube. He would have had time to remove his makeup and follow the woman to Marlow. She and Carton were to have met there, they both had an order to view the same house, and if they took such elaborate precautions to make their meeting appear accidental they must have suspected they were being followed. All the same, Carton did not know that his shadower was the man in the brown suit. When he recognized him, the shock was so great that he lost his head completely and stepped back onto the line. That all seems pretty clear, dont you think so, Anne? I did not reply. Yes, thats how it was. He took the paper from the dead man, and in his hurry to get away he dropped it. Then he followed the woman to Marlow. What did he do when he left there, when he had killed heror, according to you, found her dead. Where did he go? Still I said nothing. I wonder, now, said Suzanne musingly. Is it possible that he induced Sir Eustace Pedler to bring him on board as his secretary? It would be a unique chance of getting safely out of England, and dodging the hue and cry. But how did he square Sir Eustace? It looks as though he had some hold over him. Or over Pagett, I suggested in spite of myself. You dont seem to like Pagett, Anne. Sir Eustace says hes a most capable and hardworking young man. And, really, he may be for all we know against him. Well, to continue my surmises. Rayburn is the man in the brown suit. He had read the paper he dropped. Therefore, misled by the dot as you were, he attempts to reach cabin 17 at one oclock on the 22nd, having previously tried to get possession of the cabin through Pagett. On the way there somebody knifes him Who? I interpolated. Chichester. Yes, it all fits in. Cable to Lord Nasby that you have found the man in the brown suit, and your fortunes made, Anne! There are several things youve overlooked. What things? Rayburns got a scar, I knowbut a scar can be faked easily enough. Hes the right height and build. Whats the description of a head with which you pulverized them at Scotland Yard? I trembled. Suzanne was a welleducated, wellread woman, but I prayed that she might not be conversant with technical terms of anthropology. Dolichocephalic, I said lightly. Suzanne looked doubtful. Was that it? Yes. Longheaded, you know. A head whose width is less than 75 percent of its length, I explained fluently. There was a pause. I was just beginning to breathe freely when Suzanne said suddenly Whats the opposite? What do you meanthe opposite? Well, there must be an opposite. What do you call the heads whose breadth is more than 75 percent of their length. Brachycephalic, I murmured unwillingly. Thats it. I thought that was what you said. Did I? It was a slip of the tongue. I meant dolichocephalic, I said with all the assurance I could muster. Suzanne looked at me searchingly. Then she laughed. You lie very well, gipsy girl. But it will save time and trouble now if you tell me all about it. Theres nothing to tell, I said unwillingly. Isnt there? said Suzanne gently. I suppose I shall have to tell you, I said slowly. Im not ashamed of it. You cant be ashamed of something that justhappens to you. Thats what he did. He was detestablerude and ungratefulbut that I think I understand. Its like a dog thats been chained upor badly treateditll bite anybody. Thats what he was likebitter and snarling. I dont know why I carebut I do. I care horribly. Just seeing him has turned my whole life upside down. I love him. I want him. Ill walk all over Africa barefoot till I find him, and Ill make him care for me. Id die for him. Id work for him, slave for him, steal for him, even beg or borrow for him! Therenow you know! Suzanne looked at me for a long time. Youre very unEnglish, gipsy girl, she said at last. Theres not a scrap of the sentimental about you. Ive never met anyone who was at once so practical and so passionate. I shall never care for anyone like thatmercifully for meand yetand yet I envy you, gipsy girl. Its something to be able to care. Most people cant. But what a mercy for your little doctor man that you didnt marry him. He doesnt sound at all the sort of individual who would enjoy keeping high explosive in the house! So theres to be no cabling to Lord Nasby? I shook my head. And yet you believe him to be innocent? I also believe that innocent people can be hanged. Hm! yes. But, Anne dear, you can face facts, face them now. In spite of all you say, he may have murdered this woman. No, I said. He didnt. Thats sentiment. No, it isnt. He might have killed her. He may even have followed her there with that idea in his mind. But he wouldnt take a bit of black cord and strangle her with it. If hed done it, he would have strangled her with his bare hands. Suzanne gave a little shiver. Her eyes narrowed appreciatively. Hm! Anne, I am beginning to see why you find this young man of yours so attractive! XVI I got an opportunity of tackling Colonel Race on the following morning. The auction of the sweep had just been concluded, and we walked up and down the deck together. Hows the gipsy this morning? Longing for land and her caravan? I shook my head. Now that the sea is behaving so nicely, I feel I should like to stay on it forever and ever. What enthusiasm! Well, isnt it lovely this morning? We leant together over the rail. It was a glassy calm. The sea looked as though it had been oiled. There were great patches of colour on it, blue, pale green, emerald, purple and deep orange, like a cubist picture. There was an occasional flash of silver that showed the flying fish. The air was moist and warm, almost sticky. Its breath was like a perfumed caress. That was a very interesting story you told us last night, I said, breaking the silence. Which one? The one about the diamonds. I believe women are always interested in diamonds. Of course we are. By the way, what became of the other young man? You said there were two of them. Young Lucas? Well, of course, they couldnt prosecute one without the other, so he went scotfree too. And what happened to himeventually, I mean. Does anyone know? Colonel Race was looking straight ahead of him out to sea. His face was as devoid of expression as a mask, but I had an idea that he did not like my questions. Nevertheless, he replied readily enough He went to the War and acquitted himself bravely. He was reported missing and woundedbelieved killed. That told me what I wanted to know. I asked no more. But more than ever I wondered how much Colonel Race knew. The part he was playing in all this puzzled me. One other thing I did. That was to interview the night steward. With a little financial encouragement, I soon got him to talk. The lady wasnt frightened, was she, miss? It seemed a harmless sort of joke. A bet, or so I understood. I got it all out of him, little by little. On the voyage from Cape Town to England one of the passengers had handed him a roll of films with instructions that they were to be dropped onto the bunk in Cabin 71 at 1 a.m. on January 22nd on the outward journey. A lady would be occupying the cabin, and the affair was described as a bet. I gathered that the steward had been liberally paid for his part in the transaction. The ladys name had not been mentioned. Of course, as Mrs. Blair went straight into Cabin 71, interviewing the purser as soon as she got on board, it never occurred to the steward that she was not the lady in question. The name of the passenger who had arranged the transaction was Carton, and his description tallied exactly with that of the man killed on the Tube. So one mystery, at all events, was cleared up, and the diamonds were obviously the key to the whole situation. Those last days on the Kilmorden seemed to pass very quickly. As we drew nearer and nearer to Cape Town, I was forced to consider carefully my future plans. There were so many people I wanted to keep an eye on. Mr. Chichester, Sir Eustace and his secretary, andyes, Colonel Race! What was I to do about it? Naturally it was Chichester who had first claim on my attention. Indeed, I was on the point of reluctantly dismissing Sir Eustace and Mr. Pagett from their position of suspicious characters, when a chance conversation awakened fresh doubts in my mind. I had not forgotten Mr. Pagetts incomprehensible emotion at the mention of Florence. On the last evening on board we were all sitting on deck and Sir Eustace addressed a perfectly innocent question to his secretary. I forget exactly what it was, something to do with railway delays in Italy, but at once I noticed that Mr. Pagett was displaying the same uneasiness which had caught my attention before. When Sir Eustace claimed Mrs. Blair for a dance, I quickly moved into the chair next to the secretary. I was determined to get to the bottom of the matter. I have always longed to go to Italy, I said. And especially to Florence. Didnt you enjoy it very much there? Indeed I did, Miss Beddingfeld. If you will excuse me, there is some correspondence of Sir Eustaces that I took hold of him firmly by his coat sleeve. Oh, you mustnt run away! I cried with the skittish accent of an elderly dowager. Im sure Sir Eustace wouldnt like you to leave me alone with no one to talk to. You never seem to want to talk about Florence. Oh, Mr. Pagett, I believe you have a guilty secret! I still had my hand on his arm, and I could feel the sudden start he gave. Not at all, Miss Beddingfeld, not at all, he said earnestly. I should be only too delighted to tell you all about it, but there really are some cables Oh, Mr. Pagett, what a thin pretence. I shall tell Sir Eustace I got no further. He gave another jump. The mans nerves seemed in a shocking state. What is it you want to know? The resigned martyrdom of his tone made me smile inwardly. Oh, everything! The pictures, the olive trees I paused, rather at a loss myself. I suppose you speak Italian? I resumed. Not a word, unfortunately. But of course, with hall porters anderguides. Exactly, I hastened to reply. And which was your favourite picture? Oh, erthe MadonnaerRaphael, you know. Dear old Florence, I murmured sentimentally. So picturesque on the banks of the Arno. A beautiful river. And the Duomo, you remember the Duomo? Of course, of course. Another beautiful river, is it not? I hazarded. Almost more beautiful than the Arno? Decidedly so, I should say. Emboldened by the success of my little trap, I proceeded further. But there was little room for doubt. Mr. Pagett delivered himself into my hands with every word he uttered. The man had never been in Florence in his life. But, if not in Florence, where had he been? In England? Actually in England at the time of the Mill House Mystery? I decided on a bold step. The curious thing is, I said, that I fancied I had seen you before somewhere. But I must be mistakensince you were in Florence at the time. And yet I studied him frankly. There was a hunted look in his eyes. He passed his tongue over his dry lips. Whereerwhere did I think I had seen you? I finished for him. At Marlow. You know Marlow? Why, of course, how stupid of me, Sir Eustace has a house there! But with an incoherent muttered excuse, my victim rose and fled. That night I invaded Suzannes cabin, alight with excitement. You see, Suzanne, I urged, as I finished my tale, he was in England, in Marlow, at the time of the murder. Are you so sure now that the man in the brown suit is guilty. Im sure of one thing, said Suzanne, twinkling unexpectedly. Whats that? That the man in the brown suit is better looking than poor Mr. Pagett. No, Anne, dont get cross. I was only teasing. Sit down here. Joking apart, I think youve made a very important discovery. Up till now, weve considered Pagett as having an alibi. Now we know he hasnt. Exactly, I said. We must keep an eye on him. As well as everybody else, she said ruefully. Well, thats one of the things I wanted to talk to you about. Thatand finance. No, dont stick your nose in the air. I know you are absurdly proud and independent, but youve got to listen to horse sense over this. Were partnersI wouldnt offer you a penny because I liked you, or because youre a friendless girlwhat I want is a thrill, and Im prepared to pay for it. Were going into this together regardless of expense. To begin with youll come with me to the Mount Nelson Hotel at my expense, and well plan out our campaign. We argued the point. In the end I gave in. But I didnt like it. I wanted to do the thing on my own. Thats settled, said Suzanne at last, getting up and stretching herself with a big yawn. Im exhausted with my own eloquence. Now then, let us discuss our victims. Mr. Chichester is going on to Durban. Sir Eustace is going to the Mount Nelson Hotel in Cape Town and then up to Rhodesia. Hes going to have a private car on the railway, and in a moment of expansion, after his fourth glass of champagne the other night, he offered me a place in it. I dare say he didnt really mean it, but, all the same, he cant very well back out if I hold him to it. Good, I approved. You keep an eye on Sir Eustace and Pagett, and I take on Chichester. But what about Colonel Race? Suzanne looked at me queerly. Anne, you cant possibly suspect I do. I suspect everybody. Im in the mood when one looks round for the most unlikely person. Colonel Race is going to Rhodesia too, said Suzanne thoughtfully. If we could arrange for Sir Eustace to invite him also You can manage it. You can manage anything. I love butter, purred Suzanne. We parted on the understanding that Suzanne should employ her talents to the best advantage. I felt too excited to go to bed immediately. It was my last night on board. Early tomorrow morning we should be in Table Bay. I slipped up on deck. The breeze was fresh and cool. The boat was rolling a little in the choppy sea. The decks were dark and deserted. It was after midnight. I leaned over the rail, watching the phosphorescent trail of foam. Ahead of us lay Africa, we were rushing towards it through the dark water. I felt alone in a wonderful world. Wrapped in a strange peace, I stood there, taking no heed of time, lost in a dream. And suddenly I had a curious intimate premonition of danger. I had heard nothing, but I swung round instinctively. A shadowy form had crept up behind me. As I turned, it sprang. One hand gripped my throat, stifling any cry I might have uttered. I fought desperately, but I had no chance. I was half choking from the grip on my throat, but I bit and clung and scratched in the most approved feminine fashion. The man was handicapped by having to keep me from crying out. If he had succeeded in reaching me unawares it would have been easy enough for him to sling me overboard with a sudden heave. The sharks would have taken care of the rest. Struggle as I would, I felt myself weakening. My assailant felt it too. He put out all his strength. And then, running on swift noiseless feet, another shadow joined in. With one blow of his fist, he sent my opponent crashing headlong to the deck. Released, I fell back against the rail, sick and trembling. My rescuer turned to me with a quick movement. Youre hurt! There was something savage in his tonea menace against the person who had dared to hurt me. Even before he spoke I had recognized him. It was my manthe man with the scar. But that one moment in which his attention had been diverted to me had been enough for the fallen enemy. Quick as a flash he had risen to his feet and taken to his heels down the deck. With an oath Rayburn sprang after him. I always hate being out of things. I joined the chasea bad third. Round the deck we went to the starboard side of the ship. There by the saloon door lay the man in a crumpled heap. Rayburn was bending over him. Did you hit him again? I called breathlessly. There was no need, he replied grimly. I found him collapsed by the door. Or else he couldnt get it open and is shamming. Well soon see about that. And well see who he is too. With a beating heart I drew near. I had realized at once that my assailant was a bigger man than Chichester. Anyway, Chichester was a flabby creature who might use a knife at a pinch, but who would have little strength in his bare hands. Rayburn struck a match. We both uttered an ejaculation. The man was Guy Pagett. Rayburn appeared absolutely stupefied by the discovery. Pagett, he muttered. My God, Pagett. I felt a slight sense of superiority. You seem surprised. I am, he said heavily. I never suspected He wheeled suddenly round on me. And you? Youre not? You recognized him, I suppose, when he attacked you? No, I didnt.

All the same, Im not so very surprised. He stared at me suspiciously. Where do you come in, I wonder? And how much do you know? I smiled. A good deal, Mr.erLucas! He caught my arm, the unconscious strength of his grip made me wince. Where did you get that name? he asked hoarsely. Isnt it yours? I demanded sweetly. Or do you prefer to be called the man in the brown suit? That did stagger him. He released my arm and fell back a pace or two. Are you a girl or a witch? he breathed. Im a friend. I advanced a step towards him. I offered you my help onceI offer it again. Will you have it? The fierceness of his answer took me aback. No. Ill have no truck with you or with any woman. Do your damnedest. As before, my own temper began to rise. Perhaps, I said, you dont realize how much in my power you are? A word from me to the captain Say it, he sneered. Then advancing with a quick step And whilst were realizing things, my girl, do you realize that youre in my power this minute? I could take you by the throat like this. With a swift gesture he suited the action to the word. I felt his two hands clasp my throat and pressever so little. Like thisand squeeze the life out of you! And thenlike our unconscious friend here, but with more successfling your dead body to the sharks. What do you say to that? I said nothing. I laughed. And yet I knew that the danger was real. Just at that moment he hated me. But I knew that I loved the danger, loved the feeling of his hands on my throat. That I would not have exchanged that moment for any other moment in my life. With a short laugh he released me. Whats your name? he asked abruptly. Anne Beddingfeld. Does nothing frighten you, Anne Beddingfeld? Oh, yes, I said, with an assumption of coolness I was far from feeling. Wasps, sarcastic women, very young men, cockroaches, and superior shop assistants. He gave the same short laugh as before. Then he stirred the unconscious form of Pagett with his feet. What shall we do with this junk? Throw it overboard? he asked carelessly. If you like, I answered with equal calm. I admire your wholehearted, bloodthirsty instincts, Miss Beddingfeld. But we will leave him to recover at his leisure. He is not seriously hurt. You shrink from a second murder, I see, I said sweetly. A second murder? He looked genuinely puzzled. The woman at Marlow, I reminded him, watching the effect of my words closely. An ugly brooding expression settled down on his face. He seemed to have forgotten my presence. I might have killed her, he said. Sometimes I believe that I meant to kill her. A wild rush of feeling, hatred of the dead woman, surged through me. I could have killed her that moment, had she stood before me. For he must have loved her oncehe musthe mustto have felt like that! I regained control of myself and spoke in my normal voice We seem to have said all there is to be saidexcept good night. Good night and goodbye, Miss Beddingfeld. Au revoir, Mr. Lucas. Again he flinched at the name. He came nearer. Why do you say thatau revoir, I mean? Because I have a fancy that we shall meet again. Not if I can help it! Emphatic as his tone was, it did not offend me. On the contrary I hugged myself with secret satisfaction. I am not quite a fool. All the same, I said gravely, I think we shall. Why? I shook my head, unable to explain the feeling that had actuated my words. I never wish to see you again, he said suddenly and violently. It was really a very rude thing to say, but I only laughed softly and slipped away into the darkness. I heard him start after me, and then pause, and a word floated down the deck. I think it was a witch! XVII (Extract from the diary of Sir Eustace Pedler) Mount Nelson Hotel, Cape Town. It is really the greatest relief to get off the Kilmorden. The whole time that I was on board I was conscious of being surrounded by a network of intrigue. To put the lid on everything, Guy Pagett must needs engage in a drunken brawl the last night. It is all very well to explain it away, but that is what it actually amounts to. What else would you think if a man comes to you with a lump the size of an egg on the side of his head and an eye coloured all the tints of the rainbow? Of course Pagett would insist on trying to be mysterious about the whole thing. According to him, you would think his black eye was the direct result of his devotion to my interests. His story was extraordinarily vague and rambling, and it was a long time before I could make head or tail of it. To begin with, it appears he caught sight of a man behaving suspiciously. Those are Pagetts words. He has taken them straight from the pages of a German spy story. What he means by a man behaving suspiciously he doesnt know himself. I said so to him. He was slinking along in a very furtive manner, and it was the middle of the night, Sir Eustace. Well, what were you doing yourself? Why werent you in bed and asleep like a good Christian? I demanded irritably. I had been coding those cables of yours, Sir Eustace, and typing the diary up to date. Trust Pagett to be always in the right and a martyr over it! Well? I just thought I would have a look around before turning in, Sir Eustace. The man was coming down the passage from your cabin. I thought at once there was something wrong by the way he looked about him. He slunk up the stairs by the saloon. I followed him. My dear Pagett, I said, why shouldnt the poor chap go on deck without having his footsteps dogged? Lots of people even sleep on deckvery uncomfortable, Ive always thought. The sailors wash you down with the rest of the deck at five in the morning. I shuddered at the idea. Anyway, I continued, if you went worrying some poor devil who was suffering from insomnia, I dont wonder he landed you one. Pagett looked patient. If you would hear me out, Sir Eustace. I was convinced the man had been prowling about near your cabin where he had no business to be. The only two cabins down that passage are yours and Colonel Races. Race, I said, lighting a cigar carefully, can look after himself without your assistance, Pagett. I added as an afterthought So can I. Pagett came nearer and breathed heavily as he always does before imparting a secret. You see, Sir Eustace, I fanciedand now indeed I am sureit was Rayburn. Rayburn? Yes, Sir Eustace. I shook my head. Rayburn has far too much sense to attempt to wake me up in the middle of the night. Quite so, Sir Eustace. I think it was Colonel Race he went to see. A secret meetingfor orders! Dont hiss at me, Pagett, I said, drawing back a little, and do control your breathing. Your idea is absurd. Why should they want to have a secret meeting in the middle of the night? If theyd anything to say to each other, they could hobnob over beef tea in a perfectly casual and natural manner. I could see that Pagett was not in the least convinced. Something was going on last night, Sir Eustace, he urged, or why should Rayburn assault me so brutally. Youre quite sure it was Rayburn? Pagett appeared to be perfectly convinced of that. It was the only part of the story that he wasnt vague about. Theres something very queer about all this, he said. To begin with, where is Rayburn? Its perfectly true that we havent seen the fellow since we came on shore. He did not come up to the hotel with us. I decline to believe that he is afraid of Pagett, however. Altogether the whole thing is very annoying. One of my secretaries has vanished into the blue, and the other looks like a disreputable prizefighter. I cant take him about with me in his present condition. I shall be the laughingstock of Cape Town. I have an appointment later in the day to deliver old Milrays billetdoux, but I shall not take Pagett with me. Confound the fellow and his prowling ways. Altogether I am decidedly out of temper. I had poisonous breakfast with poisonous people. Dutch waitresses with thick ankles who took half an hour to bring me a bad bit of fish. And this farce of getting up at 5 a.m. on arrival at the port to see a blinking doctor and hold your hands above your head simply makes me tired. Later. A very serious thing has occurred. I went to my appointment with the prime minister, taking Milrays sealed letter. It didnt look as though it had been tampered with, but inside was a blank sheet of paper! Now, I suppose, Im in the devil of a mess. Why I ever let that bleating old fool Milray embroil me in the matter I cant think. Pagett is a famous Jobs comforter. He displays a certain gloomy satisfaction that maddens me. Also, he has taken advantage of my perturbation to saddle me with the stationery trunk. Unless he is careful, the next funeral he attends will be his own. However, in the end I had to listen to him. Supposing, Sir Eustace, that Rayburn had overheard a word or two of your conversation with Mr. Milray in the street? Remember, you had no written authority from Mr. Milray. You accepted Rayburn on his own valuation. You think Rayburn is a crook, then? I said slowly. Pagett did. How far his views were influenced by resentment over his black eye I dont know. He made out a pretty fair case against Rayburn. And the appearance of the latter told against him. My idea was to do nothing in the matter. A man who has permitted himself to be made a thorough fool of is not anxious to broadcast the fact. But Pagett, his energy unimpaired by his recent misfortunes, was all for vigorous measures. He had his way of course. He bustled out to the police station, sent innumerable cables, and brought a herd of English and Dutch officials to drink whiskies and sodas at my expense. We got Milrays answer that evening. He knew nothing of my late secretary! There was only one spot of comfort to be extracted from the situation. At any rate, I said to Pagett, you werent poisoned. You had one of your ordinary bilious attacks. I saw him wince. It was my only score. Later. Pagett is in his element. His brain positively scintillates with bright ideas. He will have it now that Rayburn is none other than the famous man in the brown suit. I dare say he is right. He usually is. But all this is getting unpleasant. The sooner I get off to Rhodesia the better. I have explained to Pagett that he is not to accompany me. You see, my dear fellow, I said, you must remain here on the spot. You might be required to identify Rayburn any minute. And, besides, I have my dignity as an English Member of Parliament to think of. I cant go about with a secretary who has apparently recently been indulging in a vulgar street brawl. Pagett winced. He is such a respectable fellow that his appearance is pain and tribulation to him. But what will you do about your correspondence and the notes for your speeches, Sir Eustace? I shall manage, I said airily. Your private car is to be attached to the eleven oclock train tomorrow, Wednesday, morning, Pagett continued. I have made all arrangements. Is Mrs. Blair taking a maid with her? Mrs. Blair? I gasped. She tells me you offered her a place. So I did, now I come to think of it. On the night of the fancydress ball. I even urged her to come. But I never thought she would! Delightful as she is, I do not know that I want Mrs. Blairs society all the way to Rhodesia and back. Women require such a lot of attention. And they are confoundedly in the way sometimes. Have I asked anyone else? I said nervously. One does these things in moments of expansion. Mrs. Blair seemed to think you had asked Colonel Race as well. I groaned. I must have been very drunk if I asked Race. Very drunk indeed. Take my advice, Pagett, and let your black eye be a warning to you, dont go on the bust again. As you know, I am a teetotaller, Sir Eustace. Much wiser to take the pledge if you have a weakness that way. I havent asked anyone else, have I, Pagett? Not that I know of, Sir Eustace. I heaved a sigh of relief. Theres Miss Beddingfeld, I said thoughtfully. She wants to get to Rhodesia to dig up bones, I believe. Ive a good mind to offer her a temporary job as a secretary. She can typewrite, I know, for she told me so. To my surprise, Pagett opposed the idea vehemently. He does not like Anne Beddingfeld. Ever since the night of the black eye, he has displayed uncontrollable emotion whenever she is mentioned. Pagett is full of mysteries nowadays. Just to annoy him, I shall ask the girl. As I said before, she has extremely nice legs. XVIII (Annes narrative resumed) I dont suppose that as long as I live I shall forget my first sight of Table Mountain. I got up frightfully early and went out on deck. I went right up to the boat deck, which I believe is a heinous offence, but I decided to dare something in the cause of solitude. We were just steaming into Table Bay. There were fleecy white clouds hovering above Table Mountain, and nestling on the slopes below, right down to the sea, was the sleeping town, gilded and bewitched by the morning sunlight. It made me catch my breath and have that curious hungry pain inside that seizes one sometimes when one comes across something thats extra beautiful. Im not very good at expressing these things, but I knew well enough that I had found, if only for a fleeting moment, the thing that I had been looking for ever since I left Little Hampsly. Something new, something hitherto undreamed of, something that satisfied my aching hunger for romance. Perfectly silently, or so it seemed to me, the Kilmorden glided nearer and nearer. It was still very like a dream. Like all dreamers, however, I could not let my dream alone. We poor humans are so anxious not to miss anything. This is South Africa, I kept saying to myself industriously, South Africa, South Africa. You are seeing the world. This is the world. You are seeing it. Think of it, Anne Beddingfeld, you pudding head. Youre seeing the world. I had thought that I had the boat deck to myself, but now I observed another figure leaning over the rail, absorbed as I had been in the rapidly approaching city. Even before he turned his head I knew who it was. The scene of last night seemed unreal and melodramatic in the peaceful morning sunlight. What must he have thought of me? It made me hot to realize the things that I had said. And I hadnt meant themor had I? I turned my head resolutely away and stared hard at Table Mountain. If Rayburn had come up here to be alone, I, at least, need not disturb him by advertising my presence. But to my intense surprise I heard a light footfall on the deck behind me, and then his voice, pleasant and normal Miss Beddingfeld. Yes? I turned. I want to apologize to you. I behaved like a perfect boor last night. Itit was a peculiar night, I said hastily. It was not a very lucid remark, but it was absolutely the only thing I could think of. Will you forgive me? I held out my hand without a word. He took it. Theres something else I want to say. His gravity deepened. Miss Beddingfeld, you may not know it, but you are mixed up in a rather dangerous business. I gathered as much, I said. No, you dont. You cant possibly know. I want to warn you. Leave the whole thing alone. It cant concern you really. Dont let your curiosity lead you to tamper with other peoples business. No, please dont get angry again. Im not speaking of myself. Youve no idea of what you might come up againstthese men will stop at nothing. They are absolutely ruthless. Already youre in dangerlook at last night. They fancy you know something. Your only chance is to persuade them that theyre mistaken. But be careful, always be on the look out for danger, and, look here, if at any time you should fall into their hands, dont try and be clevertell the whole truth, it will be your only chance. You make my flesh creep, Mr. Rayburn, I said, with some truth. Why do you take the trouble to warn me? He did not answer for some minutes, then he said in a low voice It may be the last thing I can do for you. Once on shore I shall be all rightbut I may not get on shore. What? I cried. You see, Im afraid youre not the only person on board who knows that I am the man in the brown suit. If you think that I told I said hotly. He reassured me with a smile. I dont doubt you, Miss Beddingfeld. If I ever said I did, I lied. No, but theres one person on board whos known all along. Hes only got to speakand my numbers up. All the same, Im taking a sporting chance that he wont speak. Why? Because hes a man who likes playing a lone hand. And when the police have got me I should be of no further use to him. Free, I might be! Well, an hour will show. He laughed rather mockingly, but I saw his face harden. If he had gambled with fate, he was a good gambler. He could lose and smile. In any case, he said lightly, I dont suppose we shall meet again. No, I said slowly. I suppose not. Sogoodbye. Goodbye. He gripped my hand hard, just for a minute his curious light eyes seemed to burn into mine, then he turned abruptly and left me. I heard his footsteps ringing along the deck. They echoed and reechoed. I felt that I should hear them always. Footstepsgoing out of my life. I can admit frankly that I did not enjoy the next two hours. Not till I stood on the wharf, having finished with most of the ridiculous formalities that bureaucracies require, did I breathe freely once more. No arrest had been made, and I realized that it was a heavenly day, and that I was extremely hungry. I joined Suzanne. In any case, I was staying the night with her at the hotel. The boat did not go on to Port Elizabeth and Durban until the following morning. We got into a taxi and drove to the Mount Nelson. It was all heavenly. The sun, the air, the flowers! When I thought of Little Hampsly in January, the mud kneedeep, and the suretobefalling rain, I hugged myself with delight. Suzanne was not nearly so enthusiastic. She has travelled a great deal of course. Besides, she is not the type that gets excited before breakfast. She snubbed me severely when I let out an enthusiastic yelp at the sight of a giant blue convolvulus. By the way, I should like to make it clear here and now that this story will not be a story of South Africa. I guarantee no genuine local colouryou know the sort of thinghalf a dozen words in italics on every page. I admire it very much, but I cant do it. In South Sea Islands, of course, you make an immediate reference to bchedemer. I dont know what bchedemer is, I never have known, I probably never shall know. Ive guessed once or twice and guessed wrong. In South Africa I know you at once begin to talk about a stoepI do know what a stoep isits the thing round a house and you sit on it. In various other parts of the world you call it a veranda, a piazza, and a haha. Then again, there are pawpaws. I had often read of pawpaws. I discovered at once what they were, because I had one plumped down in front of me for breakfast. I thought at first that it was a melon gone bad. The Dutch waitress enlightened me, and persuaded me to use lemon juice and sugar and try again. I was very pleased to meet a pawpaw. I had always vaguely associated it with a hulahula, which, I believe, though I may be wrong, is a kind of straw skirt that Hawaiian girls dance in. No, I think I am wrongthat is a lavalava. At any rate, all these things are very cheering after England. I cant help thinking that it would brighten our cold island life if one could have a breakfast of baconbacon, and then go out clad in a jumperjumper to pay the books. Suzanne was a little tamer after breakfast. They had given me a room next to hers with a lovely view right out over Table Bay. I looked at the view whilst Suzanne hunted for some special face cream. When she had found it and started an immediate application, she became capable of listening to me. Did you see Sir Eustace? I asked. He was marching out of the breakfast room as we went in. Hed had some bad fish or something and was just telling the head waiter what he thought about it, and he bounced a peach on the floor to show how hard it wasonly it wasnt quite as hard as he thought and it squashed. Suzanne smiled. Sir Eustace doesnt like getting up early any more than I do. But, Anne, did you see Mr. Pagett? I ran against him in the passage. Hes got a black eye. What can he have been doing? Only trying to push me overboard, I replied nonchalantly. It was a distinct score for me. Suzanne left her face half anointed and pressed for details. I gave them to her. It all gets more and more mysterious, she cried. I thought I was going to have the soft job sticking to Sir Eustace, and that you would have all the fun with the Rev. Edward Chichester, but now Im not so sure. I hope Pagett wont push me off the train some dark night. I think youre still above suspicion, Suzanne. But, if the worst happens, Ill wire to Clarence. That reminds megive me a cable form. Let me see now, what shall I say. Implicated in the most thrilling mystery please send me a thousand pounds at once Suzanne. I took the form from her, and pointed out that she could eliminate a the, an a, and possibly, if she didnt care about being polite, a please. Suzanne, however, appears to be perfectly reckless in money matters. Instead of attending to my economical suggestions, she added three words more enjoying myself hugely. Suzanne was engaged to lunch with friends of hers, who came to the hotel about eleven oclock to fetch her. I was left to my own devices. I went down through the grounds of the hotel, crossed the tramlines and followed a cool shady avenue right down till I came to the main street. I strolled about, seeing the sights, enjoying the sunlight and the blackfaced sellers of flowers and fruits. I also discovered a place where they had the most delicious icecream sodas. Finally, I bought a sixpenny basket of peaches and retraced my steps to the hotel. To my surprise and pleasure I found a note awaiting me. It was from the curator of the museum. He had read of my arrival on the Kilmorden, in which I was described as the daughter of the late Professor Beddingfeld. He had known my father slightly and had had a great admiration for him. He went on to say that his wife would be delighted if I would come out and have tea with them that afternoon at their villa at Muizenberg. He gave me instructions for getting there. It was pleasant to think that poor Papa was still remembered and highly thought of. I foresaw that I would have to be personally escorted round the museum before I left Cape Town, but I risked that. To most people it would have been a treatbut one can have too much of a good thing if one is brought up on it, morning, noon and night. I put on my best hat (one of Suzannes castoffs) and my least crumpled white linen and started off after lunch. I caught a fast train to Muizenberg and got there in about half an hour. It was a nice trip. We wound slowly round the base of Table Mountain, and some of the flowers were lovely. My geography being weak, I had never fully realized that Cape Town is on a peninsula, consequently I was rather surprised on getting out of the train to find myself facing the sea once more. There was some perfectly entrancing bathing going on. The people had short curved boards and came floating in on the waves. It was far too early to go to tea. I made for the bathing pavilion, and when they said would I have a surf board, I said Yes, please. Surfing looks perfectly easy. It isnt. I say no more. I got very angry and fairly hurled my plank from me. Nevertheless, I determined to return on the first possible opportunity and have another go. I would not be beaten. Quite by mistake I then got a good run on my board, and came out delirious with happiness. Surfing is like that. You are either vigorously cursing or else you are idiotically pleased with yourself. I found the Villa Medgee after some little difficulty. It was right up on the side of the mountain, isolated from the other cottages and villas. I rang the bell, and a smiling Kafir boy answered it. Mrs. Raffini? I inquired. He ushered me in, preceded me down the passage and flung open a door. Just as I was about to pass in, I hesitated. I felt a sudden misgiving. I stepped over the threshold and the door swung sharply to behind me. A man rose from his seat behind a table and came forward with outstretched hand. So glad we have persuaded you to visit us, Miss Beddingfeld, he said. He was a tall man, obviously a Dutchman, with a flaming orange beard. He did not look in the least like the curator of a museum. In fact, I realized in a flash that I had made a fool of myself. I was in the hands of the enemy. XIX It reminded me forcibly of Episode III in The Perils of Pamela. How often had I not sat in the sixpenny seats, eating a twopenny bar of milk chocolate, and yearning for similar things to happen to me. Well, they had happened with a vengeance. And somehow it was not nearly so amusing as I had imagined. Its all very well on the screenyou have the comfortable knowledge that theres bound to be an episode IV. But in real life there was absolutely no guarantee that Anna the Adventuress might not terminate abruptly at the end of any episode. Yes, I was in a tight place. All the things that Rayburn had said that morning came back to me with unpleasant distinctness. Tell the truth, he had said. Well, I could always do that, but was it going to help me? To begin with, would my story be believed? Would they consider it likely or possible that I had started off on this mad escapade simply on the strength of a scrap of paper smelling of moth balls? It sounded to me a wildly incredible tale. In that moment of cold sanity I cursed myself for a melodramatic idiot, and yearned for the peaceful boredom of Little Hampsly. All this passed through my mind in less time than it takes to tell. My first instinctive movement was to step backwards and feel for the handle of the door. My captor merely grinned. Here you are and here you stay, he remarked facetiously. I did my best to put a bold face upon the matter. I was invited to come here by the curator of the Cape Town museum. If I have made a mistake A mistake? Oh, yes, a big mistake! He laughed coarsely. What right have you to detain me? I shall inform the police Yap, yap, yaplike a little toy dog. He laughed. I sat down on a chair. I can only conclude that you are a dangerous lunatic, I said coldly. Indeed? I should like to point out to you that my friends are perfectly well aware where I have gone, and that if I have not returned by this evening, they will come in search of me. You understand? So your friends know where you are, do they? Which of them? Thus challenged, I did a lightning calculation of chances. Should I mention Sir Eustace? He was a wellknown man, and his name might carry weight. But if they were in touch with Pagett, they might know I was lying. Better not risk Sir Eustace. Mrs. Blair, for one, I said lightly. A friend of mine with whom I am staying. I think not, said my captor, slyly shaking his orange head. You have not seen her since eleven this morning. And you received our note, bidding you come here, at lunchtime. His words showed me how closely my movements had been followed, but I was not going to give in without a fight. You are very clever, I said. Perhaps you have heard of that useful invention, the telephone? Mrs. Blair called me up on it when I was resting in my room after lunch. I told her then where I was going this afternoon. To my great satisfaction, I saw a shade of uneasiness pass over his face. Clearly he had overlooked the possibility that Suzanne might have telephoned to me. I wished she really had done so! Enough of this, he said harshly, rising. What are you going to do with me? I asked, still endeavouring to appear composed. Put you where you can do no harm in case your friends come after you. For a moment my blood ran cold, but his next words reassured me. Tomorrow youll have some questions to answer, and after youve answered them we shall know what to do with you. And I can tell you, young lady, weve more ways than one of making obstinate little fools talk. It was not cheering, but it was at least a respite. I had until tomorrow. This man was clearly an underling obeying the orders of a superior. Could that superior by any chance be Pagett? He called and two Kafirs appeared. I was taken upstairs. Despite my struggles, I was gagged and then bound hand and foot. The room into which they had taken me was a kind of attic right under the roof. It was dusty and showed little signs of having been occupied. The Dutchman made a mock bow and withdrew, closing the door behind him. I was quite helpless. Turn and twist as I would, I could not loosen my hands in the slightest degree, and the gag prevented me from crying out. If, by any possible chance, anyone did come to the house, I could do nothing to attract their attention. Down below I heard the sound of a door shutting. Evidently the Dutchman was going out. It was maddening not to be able to do anything. I strained again at my bonds, but the knots held. I desisted at last, and either fainted or fell asleep. When I awoke I was in pain all over. It was quite dark now, and I judged that the night must be well advanced, for the moon was high in the heavens and shining down through the dusty skylight. The gag was half choking me and the stiffness and pain were unendurable. It was then that my eyes fell on a bit of broken glass lying in the corner. A moonbeam slanted right down on it, and its glistening had caught my attention. As I looked at it, an idea came into my head. My arms and legs were helpless, but surely I could still roll. Slowly and awkwardly, I set myself in motion. It was not easy. Besides being extremely painful, since I could not guard my face with my arms, it was also exceedingly difficult to keep any particular direction. I tended to roll in every direction except the one I wanted to go. In the end, however, I came right up against my objective. It almost touched my bound hands. Even then it was not easy. It took an infinity of time before I could wriggle the glass into such a position, wedged against the wall, that it would rub up and down on my bonds. It was a long heartrending process, and I almost despaired, but in the end I succeeded in sawing through the cords that bound my wrists. The rest was a matter of time. Once I had restored the circulation to my hands by rubbing the wrists vigorously, I was able to undo the gag. One or two full breaths did a lot for me. Very soon I had undone the last knot, though even then it was some time before I could stand on my feet, but at last I stood erect, swinging my arms to and fro to restore the circulation, and wishing above all things that I could get hold of something to eat. I waited about a quarter of an hour, to be quite sure of my recovered strength. Then I tiptoed noiselessly to the door. As I had hoped, it was not locked, only latched. I unlatched it and peeped cautiously out. Everything was still. The moonlight came in through a window and showed me the dusty uncarpeted staircase. Cautiously I crept down it. Still no soundbut as I stood on the landing below, a faint murmur of voices reached me. I stopped dead and stood there for some time. A clock on the wall registered the fact that it was after midnight. I was fully aware of the risks I might run if I descended lower, but my curiosity was too much for me. With infinite precautions I prepared to explore. I crept softly down the last flight of stairs and stood in the square hall. I looked round meand then caught my breath with a gasp. A Kafir boy was sitting by the hall door. He had not seen me, indeed I soon realized by his breathing that he was fast asleep. Should I retreat, or should I go on? The voices came from the room I had been shown into on arrival. One of them was that of my Dutch friend, the other I could not for the moment recognize, though it seemed vaguely familiar. In the end I decided that it was clearly my duty to hear all I could.

I must risk the Kafir boy waking up. I crossed the hall noiselessly and knelt by the study door. For a moment or two I could hear no better. The voices were louder, but I could not distinguish what they said. I applied my eye to the keyhole instead of my ear. As I had guessed, one of the speakers was the big Dutchman. The other man was sitting outside my circumscribed range of vision. Suddenly he rose to get himself a drink. His back, black clad and decorous, came into view. Even before he turned round I knew who he was. Mr. Chichester! Now I began to make out the words. All the same, it is dangerous. Suppose her friends come after her? It was the big man speaking. Chichester answered him. He had dropped his clerical voice entirely. No wonder I had not recognized it. All bluff. They havent an idea where she is. She spoke very positively. I dare say. Ive looked into the matter, and weve nothing to fear. Anyway, its the colonels orders. You dont want to go against them, I suppose? The Dutchman ejaculated something in his own language. I judged it to be a hasty disclaimer. But why not knock her on the head? he growled. It would be simple. The boat is all ready. She could be taken out to sea? Yes, said Chichester meditatively. That is what I should do. She knows too much, that is certain. But the colonel is a man who likes to play a lone handthough no one else must do so. Something in his own words seemed to awaken a memory that annoyed him. He wants information of some kind from this girl. He had paused before the information, and the Dutchman was quick to catch him up. Information? Something of the kind. Diamonds, I said to myself. And now, continued Chichester, give me the lists. For a long time their conversation was quite incomprehensible to me. It seemed to deal with large quantities of vegetables. Dates were mentioned, prices, and various names of places which I did not know. It was quite half an hour before they had finished their checking and counting. Good, said Chichester, and there was a sound as though he pushed back his chair. I will take these with me for the Colonel to see. When do you leave? Ten oclock tomorrow morning will do. Do you want to see the girl before you go? No. There are strict orders that no one is to see her until the colonel comes. Is she all right? I looked in on her when I came in for dinner. She was asleep, I think. What about food? A little starvation will do no harm. The colonel will be here some time tomorrow. She will answer questions better if she is hungry. No one had better go near her till then. Is she securely tied up? The Dutchman laughed. What do you think? They both laughed. So did I, under my breath. Then, as the sounds seemed to betoken that they were about to come out of the room, I beat a hasty retreat. I was just in time. As I reached the head of the stairs, I heard the door of the room open, and at the same time the Kafir stirred and moved. My retreat by the way of the hall door was not to be thought of. I retired prudently to the attic, gathered my bonds round me and lay down again on the floor, in case they should take it into their heads to come and look at me. They did not do so, however. After about an hour, I crept down the stairs, but the Kafir by the door was awake and humming softly to himself. I was anxious to get out of the house, but I did not quite see how to manage it. In the end I was forced to retreat to the attic again. The Kafir was clearly on guard for the night. I remained there patiently all through the sounds of early morning preparation. The men breakfasted in the hall, I could hear their voices distinctly floating up the stairs. I was getting thoroughly unnerved. How on earth was I to get out of the house? I counselled myself to be patient. A rash move might spoil everything. After breakfast came the sounds of Chichester departing. To my intense relief, the Dutchman accompanied him. I waited breathlessly. Breakfast was being cleared away, the work of the house was being done. At last, the various activities seemed to die down. I slipped out from my lair once more. Very carefully I crept down the stairs. The hall was empty. Like a flash I was across it, had unlatched the door, and was outside in the sunshine. I ran down the drive like one possessed. Once outside, I resumed a normal walk. People stared at me curiously, and I do not wonder. My face and clothes must have been covered in dust from rolling about in the attic. At last I came to a garage. I went in. I have met with an accident, I explained. I want a car to take me to Cape Town at once. I must catch the boat to Durban. I had not long to wait. Ten minutes later I was speeding along in the direction of Cape Town. I must know if Chichester was on the boat. Whether to sail on her myself or not, I could not determine, but in the end I decided to do so. Chichester would not know that I had seen him in the villa at Muizenberg. He would doubtless lay further traps for me, but I was forewarned. And he was the man I was after, the man who was seeking the diamonds on behalf of the mysterious Colonel. Alas, for my plans! As I arrived at the docks, the Kilmorden Castle was steaming out to sea. And I had no means of knowing whether Chichester had sailed on her or not! XX I drove to the hotel. There was no one in the lounge that I knew. I ran upstairs and tapped on Suzannes door. Her voice bade me come in. When she saw who it was she literally fell on my neck. Anne, dear, where have you been? Ive been worried to death about you. What have you been doing? Having adventures, I replied. Episode III of The Perils of Pamela. I told her the whole story. She gave vent to a deep sigh when I finished. Why do these things always happen to you? she demanded plaintively. Why does no one gag me and bind me hand and foot? You wouldnt like it if they did, I assured her. To tell you the truth, Im not nearly so keen on having adventures myself as I was. A little of that sort of thing goes a long way. Suzanne seemed unconvinced. An hour or two of gagging and binding would have changed her views quickly enough. Suzanne likes thrills, but she hates being uncomfortable. And what are we all doing now? she asked. I dont quite know, I said thoughtfully. You still go to Rhodesia, of course, to keep an eye on Pagett And you? That was just my difficulty. Had Chichester gone on the Kilmorden, or had he not? Did he mean to carry out his original plan of going to Durban? The hour of his leaving Muizenberg seemed to point to an affirmative answer to both questions. In that case, I might go to Durban by train. I fancied that I should get there before the boat. On the other hand, if the news of my escape were wired to Chichester, and also the information that I had left Cape Town for Durban, nothing was simpler for him than to leave the boat at either Port Elizabeth or East London and so give me the slip completely. It was rather a knotty problem. Well inquire about trains to Durban anyway, I said. And its not too late for morning tea, said Suzanne. Well have it in the lounge. The Durban train left at 815 that evening, so they told me at the office. For the moment I postponed decision and joined Suzanne for somewhat belated eleven oclock tea. Do you feel that you would really recognize Chichester againin any other disguise, I mean? asked Suzanne. I shook my head ruefully. I certainly didnt recognize him as the stewardess, and never should have but for your drawing. The mans a professional actor, Im sure of it, said Suzanne thoughtfully. His makeup is perfectly marvellous. He might come off the boat as a navvy or something, and youd never spot him. Youre very cheering, I said. At that minute, Colonel Race stepped in through the window and came and joined us. What is Sir Eustace doing? asked Suzanne. I havent seen him about today. Rather an odd expression passed over the colonels face. Hes got a little trouble of his own to attend to which is keeping him busy. Tell us about it. I mustnt tell tales out of school. Tell us somethingeven if you have to invent it for our special benefit. Well, what would you say to the famous man in the brown suit having made the voyage with us? What? I felt the colour die out of my face and then surge back again. Fortunately Colonel Race was not looking at me. Its a fact, I believe. Every port watched for him and he bamboozled Pedler into bringing him out as his secretary! Not Mr. Pagett? Oh, not Pagettthe other fellow. Rayburn, he called himself. Have they arrested him? asked Suzanne. Under the table she gave my hand a reassuring squeeze. I waited breathlessly for an answer. He seems to have disappeared into thin air. How does Sir Eustace take it? Regards it as a personal insult offered him by fate. An opportunity of hearing Sir Eustaces views on the matter presented itself later in the day. We were awakened from a refreshing afternoon nap by a pageboy with a note. In touching terms it requested the pleasure of our company at tea in his sitting room. The poor man was indeed in a pitiable state. He poured out his troubles to us, encouraged by Suzannes sympathetic murmurs. (She does that sort of thing very well.) First a perfectly strange woman has the impertinence to get herself murdered in my houseon purpose to annoy me, I do believe. Why my house? Why, of all the houses in Great Britain, choose the Mill House? What harm had I ever done the woman that she must needs get herself murdered there? Suzanne made one of her sympathetic noises again and Sir Eustace proceeded in a still more aggrieved tone. And, if thats not enough, the fellow who murdered her has the impudence, the colossal impudence, to attach himself to me as my secretary. My secretary, if you please! Im tired of secretaries, I wont have any more secretaries. Either theyre concealed murderers or else theyre drunken brawlers. Have you seen Pagetts black eye? But of course you have. How can I go about with a secretary like that? And his face is such a nasty shade of yellow toojust the colour that doesnt go with a black eye. Ive done with secretariesunless I have a girl. A nice girl, with liquid eyes, wholl hold my hand when Im feeling cross. What about you, Miss Anne. Will you take on the job? How often shall I have to hold your hand? I asked, laughing. All day long, replied Sir Eustace gallantly. I shant get much typing done at that rate, I reminded him. That doesnt matter. All this work is Pagetts idea. He works me to death. Im looking forward to leaving him behind in Cape Town. He is staying behind? Yes, hell enjoy himself thoroughly sleuthing about after Rayburn. Thats the sort of thing suits Pagett down to the ground. He adores intrigue. But Im quite serious in my offer. Will you come? Mrs. Blair here is a competent chaperon, and you can have a halfholiday every now and again to dig for bones. Thank you very much, Sir Eustace, I said cautiously, but I think Im leaving for Durban tonight. Now dont be an obstinate girl. Remember, there are lots of lions in Rhodesia. Youll like lions. All girls do. Will they be practising low jumps? I asked, laughing. No, thank you very much, but I must go to Durban. Sir Eustace looked at me, sighed deeply, then opened the door of the adjoining room and called to Pagett. If youve quite finished your afternoon sleep, my dear fellow, perhaps youd do a little work for change. Guy Pagett appeared in the doorway. He bowed to us both, starting slightly at the sight of me, and replied in a melancholy voice I have been typing that memorandum all this afternoon, Sir Eustace. Well, stop typing it then. Go down to the Trade Commissioners Office, or the Board of Agriculture, or the Chamber of Mines, or one of these places, and ask them to lend me some kind of a woman to take to Rhodesia. She must have liquid eyes and not object to my holding her hand. Yes, Sir Eustace. I will ask for a competent shorthand typist. Pagetts a malicious fellow, said Sir Eustace, after the secretary had departed. Id be prepared to bet that hell pick out some slabfaced creature on purpose to annoy me. She must have nice feet tooI forgot to mention that. I clutched Suzanne excitedly by the hand and almost dragged her along to her room. Now, Suzanne, I said, weve got to make plansand make them quickly. Pagett is staying behind hereyou heard that? Yes. I suppose that means that I shant be allowed to go to Rhodesiawhich is very annoying, because I want to go to Rhodesia. How tiresome. Cheer up, I said. Youre going all right. I dont see how you could back out at the last moment without its appearing frightfully suspicious. And, besides, Pagett might suddenly be summoned by Sir Eustace, and it would be far harder for you to attach yourself to him for the journey up. It would hardly be respectable, said Suzanne, dimpling. I should have to pretend a fatal passion for him as an excuse. On the other hand, if you were there when he arrived, it would all be perfectly simple and natural. Besides, I dont think we ought to lose sight of the other two entirely. Oh, Anne, you surely cant suspect Colonel Race or Sir Eustace? I suspect everybody, I said darkly, and if youve read any detective stories, Suzanne, you must know that its always the most unlikely person whos the villain. Lots of criminals have been cheerful fat men like Sir Eustace. Colonel Race isnt particularly fator particularly cheerful either. Sometimes theyre lean and saturnine, I retorted. I dont say I seriously suspect either of them, but, after all, the woman was murdered in Sir Eustaces house Yes, yes, we neednt go over all that again. Ill watch him for you, Anne, and if he gets any fatter and any more cheerful, Ill send you a telegram at once. Sir E. swelling. Highly suspicious. Come at once. Really, Suzanne, I cried, you seem to think all this is a game! I know I do, said Suzanne, unabashed. It seems like that. Its your fault, Anne. Ive got imbued with your Lets have an adventure spirit. It doesnt seem a bit real. Dear me, if Clarence knew that I was running about Africa tracking dangerous criminals, hed have a fit. Why dont you cable him about it? I asked sarcastically. Suzannes sense of humour always fails her when it comes to sending cables. She considered my suggestion in perfectly good faith. I might. It would have to be a very long one. Her eyes brightened at the thought. But I think its better not. Husbands always want to interfere with perfectly harmless amusements. Well, I said, summing up the situation, you will keep an eye on Sir Eustace and Colonel Race I know why Ive got to watch Sir Eustace, interrupted Suzanne, because of his figure and his humorous conversation. But I think its carrying it rather far to suspect Colonel Race, I do indeed. Why, hes something to do with the secret service. Do you know, Anne, I believe the best thing we could do would be to confide in him and tell him the whole story. I objected vigorously to this unsporting proposal. I recognized in it the disastrous effects of matrimony. How often have I not heard a perfectly intelligent female say, in the tone of one clinching an argument, Edgar says And all the time you are perfectly aware that Edgar is a perfect fool. Suzanne, by reason of her married state, was yearning to lean upon some man or other. However, she promised faithfully that she would not breathe a word to Colonel Race, and we went on with our planmaking. Its quite clear that I must stay here and watch Pagett, and this is the best way to do it. I must pretend to leave for Durban this evening, take my luggage down and so on, but really I shall go to some small hotel in the town. I can alter my appearance a littlewear a fair toupee and one of those thick white lace veils, and I shall have a much better chance of seeing what hes really at if he thinks Im safely out of the way. Suzanne approved this plan heartily. We made due and ostentatious preparations, inquiring once more about the departure of the train at the office and packing my luggage. We dined together in the restaurant. Colonel Race did not appear, but Sir Eustace and Pagett were at their table in the window. Pagett left the table halfway through the meal, which annoyed me, as I had planned to say goodbye to him. However, doubtless Sir Eustace would do as well. I went over to him when I had finished. Goodbye, Sir Eustace, I said. Im off tonight to Durban. Sir Eustace sighed heavily. So I heard. You wouldnt like me to come with you, would you? I should love it. Nice girl. Sure you wont change your mind and come and look for lions in Rhodesia? Quite sure. He must be a very handsome fellow, said Sir Eustace plaintively. Some young whippersnapper in Durban, I suppose, who puts my mature charms completely in the shade. By the way, Pagetts going down in the car in a minute or two. He could take you to the station. Oh, no, thank you, I said hastily. Mrs. Blair and I have got our own taxi ordered. To go down with Guy Pagett was the last thing I wanted! Sir Eustace looked at me attentively. I dont believe you like Pagett. I dont blame you. Of all the officious, interfering assesgoing about with the air of a martyr, and doing everything he can to annoy and upset me! What has he done now? I inquired with some curiosity. Hes got hold of a secretary for me. You never saw such a woman! Forty, if shes a day, wears pincenez and sensible boots and an air of brisk efficiency that will be the death of me. A regular slabfaced woman. Wont she hold your hand? I devoutly hope not! exclaimed Sir Eustace. That would be the last straw. Well, goodbye, liquid eyes. If I shoot a lion I shant give you the skinafter the base way youve deserted me. He squeezed my hand warmly and we parted. Suzanne was waiting for me in the hall. She was to come down to see me off. Lets start at once, I said hastily, and motioned to the man to get a taxi. Then a voice behind me made me start Excuse me, Miss Beddingfeld, but Im just going down in a car. I can drop you and Mrs. Blair at the station. Oh, thank you, I said hastily. But theres no need to trouble you. I No trouble at all, I assure you. Put the luggage in, porter. I was helpless. I might have protested further, but a slight warning nudge from Suzanne urged me to be on my guard. Thank you, Mr. Pagett, I said coldly. We all got into the car. As we raced down the road into the town, I racked my brains for something to say. In the end Pagett himself broke the silence. I have secured a very capable secretary for Sir Eustace, he observed. Miss Pettigrew. He wasnt exactly raving about her just now, I remarked. Pagett looked at me coldly. She is a proficient shorthand typist, he said repressively. We pulled up in front of the station. Here surely he would leave us. I turned with outstretched handbut no. Ill come and see you off. Its just eight oclock, your train goes in a quarter of an hour. He gave efficient directions to porters. I stood helpless, not daring to look at Suzanne. The man suspected. He was determined to make sure that I did go by the train. And what could I do? Nothing. I saw myself, in a quarter of an hours time, steaming out of the station with Pagett planted on the platform waving me adieu. He had turned the tables on me adroitly. His manner towards me had changed, moreover. It was full of an uneasy geniality which sat ill upon him, and which nauseated me. The man was an oily hypocrite. First he tried to murder me, and now he paid me compliments! Did he imagine for one minute that I hadnt recognized him that night on the boat? No, it was a pose, a pose which he forced me to acquiesce in, his tongue in his cheek all the while. Helpless as a sheep, I moved along under his expert directions. My luggage was piled in my sleeping compartmentI had a twoberth one to myself. It was twelve minutes past eight. In three minutes the train would start. But Pagett had reckoned without Suzanne. It will be a terribly hot journey, Anne, she said suddenly. Especially going through the Karoo tomorrow. Youve got some eau de cologne or lavender water with you, havent you? My cue was plain. Oh, dear, I cried. I left my eau de cologne on the dressing table at the hotel. Suzannes habit of command served her well. She turned imperiously to Pagett. Mr. Pagett. Quick. Youve just time. Theres a chemist almost opposite the station. Anne must have some eau de cologne. He hesitated, but Suzannes imperative manner was too much for him. She is a born autocrat. He went. Suzanne followed him with her eyes till he disappeared. Quick, Anne, get out the other sidein case he hasnt really gone, but is watching us from the end of the platform. Never mind your luggage. You can telegraph about that tomorrow. Oh, if only the train starts on time! I opened the gate on the opposite side to the platform and climbed down. Nobody was observing me. I could just see Suzanne standing where I had left her, looking up at the train and apparently chatting to me at the window. A whistle blew, the train began to draw out. Then I heard feet racing furiously up the platform. I withdrew to the shadow of a friendly bookstall and watched. Suzanne turned from waving her handkerchief to the retreating train. Too late, Mr. Pagett, she said cheerfully. Shes gone. Is that the eau de cologne? What a pity we didnt think of it sooner! They passed not far from me on their way out of the station. Guy Pagett was extremely hot. He had evidently run all the way to the chemist and back. Shall I get you a taxi, Mrs. Blair? Suzanne did not fail in her role. Yes, please. Cant I give you a lift back? Have you much to do for Sir Eustace? Dear me, I wish Anne Beddingfeld was coming with us tomorrow. I dont like the idea of a young girl like that travelling off to Durban all by herself. But she was set upon it. Some little attraction there, I fancy They passed out of earshot. Clever Suzanne. She had saved me. I allowed a minute or two to elapse and then I too made my way out of the station, almost colliding as I did so with a manan unpleasantlooking man with a nose disproportionately big for his face. XXI I had no further difficulty in carrying out my plans. I found a small hotel in a back street, got a room there, paid a deposit as I had no luggage with me, and went placidly to bed. On the following morning I was up early and went out into the town to purchase a modest wardrobe. My idea was to do nothing until after the departure of the eleven oclock train to Rhodesia with most of the party on board. Pagett was not likely to indulge in any nefarious activities until he had got rid of them. Accordingly I took a tram out of the town and proceeded to enjoy a country walk. It was comparatively cool, and I was glad to stretch my legs after the long voyage and my close confinement at Muizenberg. A lot hinges on small things. My shoelace came untied, and I stopped to do it up. The road had just turned a corner, and as I was bending over the offending shoe a man came right round and almost walked into me. He lifted his hat, murmuring an apology, and went on. It struck me at the time that his face was vaguely familiar, but at the moment I thought no more of it. I looked at my wristwatch. The time was getting on. I turned my feet in the direction of Cape Town. There was a tram on the point of going and I had to run for it. I heard other footsteps running behind me. I swung myself on and so did the other runner. I recognized him at once. It was the man who had passed me on the road when my shoe came untied, and in a flash I knew why his face was familiar. It was the small man with the big nose whom I had run into on leaving the station the night before. The coincidence was rather startling. Could it be possible that the man was deliberately following me? I resolved to test that as promptly as possible. I rang the bell and got off at the next stop. The man did not get off. I withdrew into the shadow of a shop doorway and watched. He alighted at the next stop and walked back in my direction. The case was clear enough. I was being followed. I had crowed too soon. My victory over Guy Pagett took on another aspect. I hailed the next tram and, as I expected, my shadower also got on. I gave myself up to some very serious thinking. It was perfectly apparent that I had stumbled on a bigger thing than I knew. The murder in the house at Marlow was not an isolated incident committed by a solitary individual. I was up against a gang, and, thanks to Colonel Races revelations to Suzanne, and what I had overheard at the house at Muizenberg, I was beginning to understand some of its manifold activities. Systematized crime, organized by the man known to his followers as the Colonel! I remembered some of the talk I had heard on board ship, of the strike on the Rand and the causes underlying itand the belief that some secret organization was at work fomenting the agitation. That was the Colonels work, his emissaries were acting according to plan. He took no part in these things himself, I had always heard, as he limited himself to directing and organizing. The brain worknot the dangerous labourfor him. But still it well might be that he himself was on the spot, directing affairs from an apparently impeccable position. That, then, was the meaning of Colonel Races presence on the Kilmorden Castle. He was out after the archcriminal. Everything fitted in with that assumption. He was someone high up in the secret service whose business it was to lay the Colonel by the heels. I nodded to myselfthings were becoming very clear to me. What of my part in the affair? Where did I come in? Was it only diamonds they were after? I shook my head. Great as the value of the diamonds might be, they hardly accounted for the desperate attempts which had been made to get me out of the way. No, I stood for more than that. In some way, unknown to myself, I was a menace, a danger! Some knowledge that I had, or that they thought I had, made them anxious to remove me at all costsand that knowledge was bound up somehow with the diamonds. There was one person, I felt sure, who could enlighten meif he would! The man in the brown suitHarry Rayburn. He knew the other half of the story. But he had vanished into the darkness, he was a hunted creature flying from pursuit. In all probability he and I would never meet again. I brought myself back with a jerk to the actualities of the moment. It was no good thinking sentimentally of Harry Rayburn. He had displayed the greatest antipathy to me from the first. Or, at leastThere I was againdreaming! The real problem was what to donow! I, priding myself upon my role of watcher, had become the watched. And I was afraid! For the first time I began to lose my nerve. I was the little bit of grit that was impeding the smooth working of the great machineand I fancied that the machine would have a short way with little bits of grit. Once Harry Rayburn had saved me, once I had saved myselfbut I felt suddenly that the odds were heavily against me. My enemies were all around me in every direction, and they were closing in. If I continued to play a lone hand I was doomed. I rallied myself with an effort. After all, what could they do? I was in a civilized citywith policemen every few yards. I would be wary in future. They should not trap me again as they had done in Muizenberg. As I reached this point in my meditations, the train arrived at Adderly Street. I got out. Undecided what to do, I walked slowly up the lefthand side of the street. I did not trouble to look if my watcher was behind me. I knew he was. I walked into Cartwrights and ordered two coffee icecream sodasto steady my nerves. A man, I suppose, would have had a stiff peg; but girls derive a lot of comfort from icecream sodas. I applied myself to the end of the straw with gusto. The cool liquid went trickling down my throat in the most agreeable manner. I pushed the first glass aside empty. I was sitting on one of the little high stools in front of the counter. Out of the tail of my eye, I saw my tracker come in and sit down unostentatiously at a little table near the door. I finished the second coffee soda and demanded a maple one. I can drink practically an unlimited amount of icecream sodas. Suddenly the man by the door got up and went out. That surprised me. If he was going to wait outside, why not wait outside from the beginning. I slipped down from my stool and went cautiously to the door. I drew back quickly into the shadow. The man was talking to Guy Pagett. If I had ever had any doubts, that would have settled it. Pagett had his watch out and was looking at it. They exchanged a few brief words, and then the secretary swung on down the street towards the station. Evidently he had given his orders. But what were they? Suddenly my heart leapt into my mouth. The man who had followed me crossed to the middle of the road and spoke to a policeman. He spoke at some length, gesticulating towards Cartwrights and evidently explaining something. I saw the plan at once. I was to be arrested on some charge or otherpocket picking, perhaps. It would be easy enough for the gang to put through a simple little matter like that. Of what good to protest my innocence? They would have seen to every detail. Long ago they had brought a charge of robbing De Beers against Harry Rayburn, and he had not been able to disprove it, though I had little doubt but that he had been absolutely blameless. What chance had I against such a frameup as the Colonel could devise? I glanced up at the clock almost mechanically, and immediately another aspect of the case struck me. I saw the point of Guy Pagetts looking at his watch. It was just on eleven, and at eleven the mail train left for Rhodesia bearing with it the influential friends who might otherwise come to my rescue. That was the reason of my immunity up to now. From last night till eleven this morning I had been safe, but now the net was closing in upon me. I hurriedly opened my bag and paid for my drinks, and as I did so, my heart seemed to stand still, for inside it was a mans wallet stuffed with notes! It must have been deftly introduced into my handbag as I left the tram. Promptly I lost my head. I hurried out of Cartwrights. The little man with the big nose and the policeman were just crossing the road. They saw me, and the little man designated me excitedly to the policeman. I took to my heels and ran. I judged him to be a slow policeman. I should get a start. But I had no plan, even then. I just ran for my life down Adderly Street. People began to stare. I felt that in another minute someone would stop me. An idea flashed into my head. The station? I asked, in a breathless gasp. Just down on the right. I sped on. It is permissible to run for a train. I turned into the station, but as I did so I heard footsteps close behind me. The little man with the big nose was a champion sprinter. I foresaw that I should be stopped before I got to the platform I was in search of. I looked up to the clockone minute to eleven. I might just do it if my plan succeeded. I had entered the station by the main entrance in Adderly Street. I now darted out again through the side exit. Directly opposite me was the side entrance to the post office, the main entrance to which is in Adderly Street. As I expected, my pursuer, instead of following me in, ran down the street to cut me off when I emerged by the main entrance, or to warn the policeman to do so. In an instant I slipped across the street again and back into the station. I ran like a lunatic. It was just eleven. The long train was moving as I appeared on the platform. A porter tried to stop me, but I wriggled myself out of his grasp and sprang upon the footboard. I mounted the two steps and opened the gate. I was safe! The train was gathering way. We passed a man standing by himself at the end of the platform. I waved to him. Goodbye, Mr. Pagett, I shouted. Never have I seen a man more taken aback.

He looked as though he had seen a ghost. In a minute or two I was having trouble with the conductor. But I took a lofty tone. I am Sir Eustace Pedlers secretary, I said haughtily. Please take me to his private car. Suzanne and Colonel Race were standing on the rear observation platform. They both uttered an exclamation of utter surprise at seeing me. Hullo, Miss Anne, cried Colonel Race, where have you turned up from? I thought youd gone to Durban. What an unexpected person you are. Suzanne said nothing, but her eyes asked a hundred questions. I must report myself to my chief, I said demurely. Where is he? Hes in the officemiddle compartmentdictating at an incredible rate to the unfortunate Miss Pettigrew. This enthusiasm for work is something new, I commented. Hm! said Colonel Race. His idea is, I think, to give her sufficient work to chain her to her typewriter in her own compartment for the rest of the day. I laughed. Then, followed by the other two, I sought out Sir Eustace. He was striding up and down the circumscribed space, hurling a flood of words at the unfortunate secretary whom I now saw for the first time. A tall, square woman in drab clothing, with pincenez and an efficient air. I judged that she was finding it difficult to keep pace with Sir Eustace, for her pencil was flying along, and she was frowning horribly. I stepped into the compartment. Come aboard, sir, I said saucily. Sir Eustace paused dead in the middle of a complicated sentence on the labour situation and stared at me. Miss Pettigrew must be a nervous creature, in spite of her efficient air, for she jumped as though she had been shot. God bless my soul! ejaculated Sir Eustace. What about the young man in Durban? I prefer you, I said softly. Darling, said Sir Eustace. You can start holding my hand at once. Miss Pettigrew coughed, and Sir Eustace hastily withdrew his hand. Ah, yes, he said. Let me see, where were we? Yes. Tylman Roos, in his speech atWhats the matter? Why arent you taking it down? I think, said Colonel Race gently, that Miss Pettigrew has broken her pencil. He took it from her and sharpened it. Sir Eustace stared, and so did I. There was something in Colonel Races tone that I did not quite understand. XXII (Extract from the diary of Sir Eustace Pedler) I am inclined to abandon my reminiscences. Instead I shall write a short article entitled Secretaries I Have Had. As regards secretaries, I seem to have fallen under a blight. At one minute I have no secretaries, at another I have too many. At the present minute I am journeying to Rhodesia with a pack of women. Race goes off with the two bestlooking, of course, and leaves me with the dud. That is what always happens to meand, after all, this is my private car, not Races. Also Anne Beddingfeld is accompanying me to Rhodesia on the pretext of being my temporary secretary. But all this afternoon she has been out on the observation platform with Race exclaiming at the beauty of the Hex River Pass. It is true that I told her her principal duty would be to hold my hand. But she isnt even doing that. Perhaps she is afraid of Miss Pettigrew. I dont blame her if so. There is nothing attractive about Miss Pettigrewshe is a repellent female with large feet, more like a man than a woman. There is something very mysterious about Anne Beddingfeld. She jumped on board the train at the last minute, puffing like a steam engine for all the world as though shed been running a raceand yet Pagett told me that hed seen her off to Durban last night! Either Pagett has been drinking again or else the girl must have an astral body. And she never explains. Nobody ever explains. Yes, Secretaries I Have Had. No. 1, a murderer fleeing from justice. No. 2, a secret drinker who carries on disreputable intrigues in Italy. No. 3, a beautiful girl who possesses the useful faculty of being in two places at once. No. 4, Miss Pettigrew, who, I have no doubt, is really a particularly dangerous crook in disguise! Probably one of Pagetts Italian friends that he has palmed off on me. I shouldnt wonder if the world found some day that it had been grossly deceived by Pagett. On the whole, I think Rayburn was the best of the bunch. He never worried me or got in my way. Guy Pagett has had the impertinence to have the stationery trunk put in here. None of us can move without falling over it. I went out on the observation platform just now, expecting my appearance to be greeted with hails of delight. Both the women were listening spellbound to one of Races travellers tales. I shall label this carnot Sir Eustace Pedler and Party, but Colonel Race and Harem. Then Mrs. Blair must needs begin taking silly photographs. Every time we went round a particularly appalling curve, as we climbed higher and higher, she snapped at the engine. You see the point, she cried delightedly. It must be some curve if you can photograph the front part of the train from the back, and with the mountain background it will look awfully dangerous. I pointed out to her that no one could possibly tell it had been taken from the back of the train. She looked at me pityingly. I shall write underneath it Taken from the train. Engine going round a curve. You could write that under any snapshot of a train, I said. Women never think of these simple things. Im glad weve come up here in daylight, cried Anne Beddingfeld. I shouldnt have seen this if Id gone last night to Durban, should I? No, said Colonel Race, smiling. Youd have waked up tomorrow morning to find yourself in the Karoo, a hot, dusty desert of stones and rocks. Im glad I changed my mind, said Anne, sighing contentedly, and looking round. It was rather a wonderful sight. The great mountains all around, through which we turned and twisted and laboured ever steadily upwards. Is this the best train in the day to Rhodesia? asked Anne Beddingfeld. In the day? laughed Race. Why, my dear Miss Anne, there are only three trains a week. Mondays, Wednesdays and Saturdays. Do you realize that you dont arrive at the falls until Saturday next? How well we shall know each other by that time, said Mrs. Blair maliciously. How long are you going to stay at the falls, Sir Eustace? That depends, I said cautiously. On what? On how things go at Johannesburg. My original idea was to stay a couple of days or so at the fallswhich Ive never seen, though this is my third visit to Africaand then go on to Joburg and study the conditions of things on the Rand. At home, you know, I pose as being an authority on South African politics. But from all I hear, Joburg will be a particularly unpleasant place to visit in about a weeks time. I dont want to study conditions in the midst of a raging revolution. Race smiled in a rather superior manner. I think your fears are exaggerated, Sir Eustace. There will be no great danger in Joburg. The women immediately looked at him in the what a brave hero you are manner. It annoyed me intensely. I am every bit as brave as Racebut I lack the figure. These long, lean, brown men have it all their own way. I suppose youll be there, I said coldly. Very possibly. We might travel together. Im not sure that I shant stay on at the falls a bit, I answered noncommittally. Why is Race so anxious that I should go to Joburg? Hes got his eye on Anne, I believe. What are your plans, Miss Anne? That depends, she replied demurely, copying me. I thought you were my secretary, I objected. Oh, but Ive been cut out. Youve been holding Miss Pettigrews hand all the afternoon. Whatever Ive been doing, I can swear Ive not been doing that, I assured her. Thursday night. We have just left Kimberley. Race was made to tell the story of the diamond robbery all over again. Why are women so excited by anything to do with diamonds? At last Anne Beddingfeld has shed her veil of mystery. It seems that shes a newspaper correspondent. She sent an immense cable from De Aar this morning. To judge by the jabbering that went on nearly all night in Mrs. Blairs cabin, she must have been reading aloud all her special articles for years to come. It seems that all along shes been on the track of the man in the brown suit. Apparently she didnt spot him on the Kilmordenin fact, she hardly had the chance, but shes now very busy cabling home How I journeyed out with the murderer, and inventing highly fictitious stories of What he said to me, etc. I know how these things are done. I do them myself, in my reminiscences when Pagett will let me. And of course one of Nasbys efficient staff will brighten up the details still more, so that when it appears in the Daily Budget Rayburn wont recognize himself. The girls clever, though. All on her own, apparently, shes ferreted out the identity of the woman who was killed in my house. She was a Russian dancer called Nadina. I asked Anne Beddingfeld if she was sure of this. She replied that it was merely a deductionquite in the Sherlock Holmes manner. However, I gather that she had cabled it home to Nasby as a proved fact. Women have these intuitionsIve no doubt that Anne Beddingfeld is perfectly right in her guessbut to call it a deduction is absurd. How she ever got on the staff of the Daily Budget is more than I can imagine. But she is the kind of young woman who does these things. Impossible to withstand her. She is full of coaxing ways that mask an invincible determination. Look how she has got into my private car! I am beginning to have an inkling why. Race said something about the police suspecting that Rayburn would make for Rhodesia. He might just have got off by Mondays train. They telegraphed all along the line, I presume, and no one of his description was found, but that says little. Hes an astute young man and he knows Africa. Hes probably exquisitely disguised as an old Kafir womanand the simple police continue to look for a handsome young man with a scar, dressed in the height of European fashion. I never did quite swallow that scar. Anyway, Anne Beddingfeld is on his track. She wants the glory of discovering him for herself and the Daily Budget. Young women are very coldblooded nowadays. I hinted to her that it was an unwomanly action. She laughed at me. She assured me that did she run him to earth her fortune was made. Race doesnt like it, either, I can see. Perhaps Rayburn is on this train. If so, we may all be murdered in our beds. I said so to Mrs. Blairbut she seemed quite to welcome the idea, and remarked that if I were murdered it would be really a terrific scoop for Anne! A scoop for Anne indeed! Tomorrow we shall be going through Bechuanaland. The dust will be atrocious. Also at every station, little Kafir children come and sell you quaint wooden animals that they carve themselves. Also mealie bowls and baskets. I am rather afraid that Mrs. Blair may run amok. There is a primitive charm about these toys that I feel will appeal to her. Friday evening. As I feared. Mrs. Blair and Anne have bought fortynine wooden animals! XXIII (Annes narrative resumed) I thoroughly enjoyed the journey up to Rhodesia. There was something new and exciting to see every day. First the wonderful scenery of the Hex River valley, then the desolate grandeur of the Karoo, and finally that wonderful straight stretch of line in Bechuanaland, and the perfectly adorable toys the natives brought to sell. Suzanne and I were nearly left behind at each stationif you could call them stations. It seemed to me that the train just stopped whenever it felt like it, and no sooner had it done so than a horde of natives materialized out of the empty landscape, holding up mealie bowls and sugar canes and fur karosses and adorable carved wooden animals. Suzanne began at once to make a collection of the latter. I imitated her examplemost of them cost a tiki (threepence) and each was different. There were giraffes and tigers and snakes and a melancholy looking eland and absurd little black warriors. We enjoyed ourselves enormously. Sir Eustace tried to restrain usbut in vain. I still think it was a miracle we were not left behind at some oasis of the line. South African trains dont hoot or get excited when they are going to start off again. They just glide quietly away, and you look up from your bargaining and run for your life. Suzannes amazement at seeing me climb upon the train at Cape Town can be imagined. We held an exhaustive survey of the situation on the first evening out. We talked half the night. It had become clear to me that defensive tactics must be adopted as well as aggressive ones. Travelling with Sir Eustace Pedler and his party, I was fairly safe. Both he and Colonel Race were powerful protectors, and I judged that my enemies would not wish to stir up a hornets nest about my ears. Also, as long as I was near Sir Eustace, I was more or less in touch with Guy Pagettand Guy Pagett was the heart of the mystery. I asked Suzanne whether in her opinion it was possible that Pagett himself was the mysterious Colonel. His subordinate position was, of course, against the assumption, but it had struck me once or twice that, for all his autocratic ways, Sir Eustace was really very much influenced by his secretary. He was an easygoing man, and one whom an adroit secretary might be able to twist round his little finger. The comparative obscurity of his position might in reality be useful to him, since he would be anxious to be well out of the limelight. Suzanne, however, negatived these ideas very strongly. She refused to believe that Guy Pagett was the ruling spirit. The real headthe Colonelwas somewhere in the background and had probably been already in Africa at the time of our arrival. I agreed that there was much to be said for her view, but I was not entirely satisfied. For in each suspicious instance Pagett had been shown as the directing genius. It was true that his personality seemed to lack the assurance and decision that one would expect from a master criminalbut after all, according to Colonel Race, it was brain work only that this mysterious leader supplied, and creative genius is often allied to a weak and timorous physical constitution. There speaks the professors daughter, interrupted Suzanne, when I had got to this point in my argument. Its true, all the same. On the other hand, Pagett may be the Grand Vizier, so to speak, of the All Highest. I was silent for a minute or two, and then went on musingly I wish I knew how Sir Eustace made his money! Suspecting him again? Suzanne, Ive got into that state that I cant help suspecting somebody! I dont really suspect himbut, after all, he is Pagetts employer, and he did own the Mill House. Ive always heard that he made his money in some way he isnt anxious to talk about, said Suzanne thoughtfully. But that doesnt necessarily mean crimeit might be tin tacks or hair restorer! I agreed ruefully. I suppose, said Suzanne doubtfully, that were not barking up the wrong tree? Being led completely astray, I mean, by assuming Pagetts complicity? Supposing that, after all, he is a perfectly honest man? I considered that for a minute or two, then I shook my head. I cant believe that. After all, he has his explanations for everything. Yes, but theyre not very convincing. For instance, the night he tried to throw me overboard on the Kilmorden, he says he followed Rayburn up on deck and Rayburn turned and knocked him down. Now we know thats not true. No, said Suzanne unwillingly. But we only heard the story at secondhand from Sir Eustace. If wed heard it direct from Pagett himself, it might have been different. You know how people always get a story a little wrong when they repeat it. I turned the thing over in my mind. No, I said at last, I dont see any way out. Pagetts guilty. You cant get away from the fact that he tried to throw me overboard, and everything else fits in. Why are you so persistent in this new idea of yours? Because of his face? His face? But Yes, I know what youre going to say. Its a sinister face. Thats just it. No man with a face like that could be really sinister. It must be a colossal joke on the part of Nature. I did not believe much in Suzannes argument. I know a lot about Nature in past ages. If shes got a sense of humour, she doesnt show it much. Suzanne is just the sort of person who would clothe Nature with all her own attributes. We passed on to discuss our immediate plans. It was clear to me that I must have some kind of standing. I couldnt go on avoiding explanations forever. The solution of all my difficulties lay ready to my hand, though I didnt think of it for some time. The Daily Budget! My silence or my speech could no longer affect Harry Rayburn. He was marked down as the man in the brown suit through no fault of mine. I could help him best by seeming to be against him. The Colonel and his gang must have no suspicion that there existed any friendly feeling between me and the man they had elected to be the scapegoat of the murder at Marlow. As far as I knew, the woman killed was still unidentified. I would cable to Lord Nasby, suggesting that she was no other than the famous Russian dancer Nadina who had been delighting Paris for so long. It seemed incredible to me that she had not been identified alreadybut when I learnt more of the case long afterwards I saw how natural it really was. Nadina had never been to England during her successful career in Paris. She was unknown to London audiences. The pictures in the papers of the Marlow victim were so blurred and unrecognizable that it is small wonder no one identified them. And, on the other hand, Nadina had kept her intention of visiting England a profound secret from everyone. The day after the murder a letter had been received by her manager purporting to be from the dancer, in which she said that she was returning to Russia on urgent private affairs and that he must deal with her broken contract as best he could. All this, of course, I only learned afterwards. With Suzannes full approval, I sent a long cable from De Aar. It arrived at a psychological moment (this again, of course, I learnt afterwards). The Daily Budget was hard up for a sensation. My guess was verified and proved to be correct and the Daily Budget had the scoop of its lifetime. Victim of the Mill House murder identified by our special reporter. And so on. Our reporter makes voyage with the murderer. The man in the brown suit, what he is really like. The main facts were, of course, cabled to the South African papers, but I only read my own lengthy articles at a much later date! I received approval and full instructions by cable at Bulawayo. I was on the staff of the Daily Budget, and I had a private word of congratulation from Lord Nasby himself. I was definitely accredited to hunt down the murderer, and I, and only I, knew that the murderer was not Harry Rayburn! But let the world think that it was hebest so for the present. XXIV We arrived at Bulawayo early on Saturday morning. I was disappointed in the place. It was very hot, and I hated the hotel. Also Sir Eustace was what I can only describe as thoroughly sulky. I think it was all our wooden animals that annoyed himespecially the big giraffe. It was a colossal giraffe with an impossible neck, a mild eye and a dejected tail. It had character. It had charm. A controversy was already arising as to whom it belongedme or Suzanne. We had each contributed a tiki to its purchase. Suzanne advanced the claims of seniority and the married state, I stuck to the position that I had been the first to behold its beauty. In the meantime, I must admit, it occupied a good deal of this threedimensional space of ours. To carry fortynine wooden animals, all of awkward shape, and all of extremely brittle wood, is somewhat of a problem. Two porters were laden with a bunch of animals eachand one promptly dropped a ravishing group of ostriches and broke their heads off. Warned by this, Suzanne and I carried all we could, Colonel Race helped, and I pressed the big giraffe into Sir Eustaces arms. Even the correct Miss Pettigrew did not escape, a large hippopotamus and two black warriors fell to her share. I had a feeling Miss Pettigrew didnt like me. Perhaps she fancied I was a bold hussy. Anyway, she avoided me as much as she could. And the funny thing was, her face seemed vaguely familiar to me, though I couldnt quite place it. We reposed ourselves most of the morning, and in the afternoon we drove out to the Matoppos to see Rhodess grave. That is to say, we were to have done so, but at the last moment Sir Eustace backed out. He was very nearly in as bad a temper as the morning we arrived at Cape Townwhen he bounced the peaches on the floor and they squashed! Evidently arriving early in the morning at places is bad for his temperament. He cursed the porters, he cursed the waiters at breakfast, he cursed the whole hotel management, he would doubtless have liked to curse Miss Pettigrew who hovered around with her pencil and pad, but I dont think even Sir Eustace would have dared to curse Miss Pettigrew. Shes just like the efficient secretary in a book. I only rescued our dear giraffe just in time. I feel Sir Eustace would have liked to dash him to the ground. To return to our expedition, after Sir Eustace had backed out, Miss Pettigrew said she would remain at home in case he might want her. And at the very last minute Suzanne sent down a message to say she had a headache. So Colonel Race and I drove off alone. He is a strange man. One doesnt notice it so much in a crowd. But, when one is alone with him, the sense of his personality seems really almost overpowering. He becomes more taciturn, and yet his silence seems to say more than speech might do. It was so that day that we drove to the Matoppos through the soft yellow brown scrub. Everything seemed strangely silentexcept our car which I should think was the first Ford ever made by man! The upholstery of it was torn to ribbons and, though I know nothing about engines, even I could guess that all was not as it should be in its interior. By and by the character of the country changed. Great boulders appeared, piled up into fantastic shapes. I felt suddenly that I had got into a primitive era. Just for a moment Neanderthal men seemed quite as real to me as they had to Papa. I turned to Colonel Race. There must have been giants once, I said dreamily. And their children were just like children are todaythey played with handfuls of pebbles, piling them up and knocking them down, and the more cleverly they balanced them, the better pleased they were. If I were to give a name to this place I should call it The Country of Giant Children. Perhaps youre nearer the mark than you know, said Colonel Race gravely. Simple, primitive, bigthat is Africa. I nodded appreciatively. You love it, dont you? I asked. Yes. But to live in it longwell, it makes one what you would call cruel. One comes to hold life and death very lightly. Yes, I said, thinking of Harry Rayburn. He had been like that too. But not cruel to weak things? Opinions differ as to what are and are not weak things, Miss Anne. There was a note of seriousness in his voice which almost startled me. I felt that I knew very little really of this man at my side. I meant children and dogs, I think. I can truthfully say Ive never been cruel to children or dogs. So you dont class women as weak things? I considered. No, I dont think I dothough they are, I suppose. That is, they are nowadays. But Papa always said that in the beginning men and women roamed the world together, equal in strengthlike lions and tigers And giraffes? interpolated Colonel Race slyly. I laughed. Everyone makes fun of that giraffe. And giraffes. They were nomadic, you see. It wasnt till they settled down in communities, and women did one kind of thing and men another that women got weak. And of course, underneath, one is still the sameone feels the same, I mean, and that is why women worship physical strength in menits what they once had and have lost. Almost ancestor worship, in fact? Something of the kind. And you really think thats true? That women worship strength, I mean? I think its quite trueif ones honest. You think you admire moral qualities, but when you fall in love, you revert to the primitive where the physical is all that counts. But I dont think thats the endif you lived in primitive conditions it would be all right, but you dontand so, in the end, the other thing wins after all. Its the things that are apparently conquered that always do win, isnt it? They win in the only way that counts. Like what the Bible says about losing your soul and finding it. In the end, said Colonel Race thoughtfully, you fall in loveand you fall out of it, is that what you mean? Not exactly, but you can put it that way if you like. But I dont think youve ever fallen out of love, Miss Anne? No, I havent, I admitted frankly. Or fallen in love, either? I did not answer. The car drew up at our destination and brought the conversation to a close. We got out and began the slow ascent to the Worlds View. Not for the first time, I felt a slight discomfort in Colonel Races company. He veiled his thoughts so well behind those impenetrable black eyes. He frightened me a little. He had always frightened me. I never knew where I stood with him. We climbed in silence till we reached the spot where Rhodes lies guarded by giant boulders. A strange eerie place, far from the haunts of men, that sings a ceaseless paean of rugged beauty. We sat there for some time in silence. Then descended once more, but diverging slightly from the path. Sometimes it was a rough scramble and once we came to a sharp slope or rock that was almost sheer. Colonel Race went first, then turned to help me. Better lift you, he said suddenly, and swung me off my feet with a quick gesture. I felt the strength of him as he set me down and released his clasp. A man of iron, with muscles like taut steel. And again, I felt afraid, especially as he did not move aside, but stood directly in front of me, staring into my face. What are you really doing here, Anne Beddingfeld? he said abruptly. Im a gipsy seeing the world. Yes, thats true enough. The newspaper correspondent is only a pretext. Youve not the soul of the journalist. Youre out for your own handsnatching at life. But thats not all. What was he going to make me tell him? I was afraidafraid. I looked him full in the face. My eyes cant keep secrets like his, but they can carry the war into the enemys country. What are you really doing here, Colonel Race? I asked deliberately. For a moment I thought he wasnt going to answer. He was clearly taken aback, though. At last he spoke, and his words seemed to afford him a grim amusement. Pursuing ambition, he said. Just thatpursuing ambition. You will remember, Miss Beddingfeld, that by that sin fell the angels, etc. They say, I said slowly, that you are really connected with the governmentthat you are in the secret service. Is that true? Was it my fancy, or did he hesitate for a fraction of a second before he answered? I can assure you, Miss Beddingfeld, that I am out here strictly as a private individual travelling for my own pleasure. Thinking the answer over later, it struck me as slightly ambiguous. Perhaps he meant it to be so. We rejoined the car in silence. Halfway back to Bulawayo we stopped for tea at a somewhat primitive structure at the side of the road. The proprietor was digging in the garden and seemed annoyed at being disturbed. But he graciously promised to see what he could do. After an interminable wait he brought us some stale cakes and some lukewarm tea. Then he disappeared to his garden again. No sooner had he departed than we were surrounded by cats. Six of them all meowing piteously at once. The racket was deafening. I offered them some pieces of cake. They devoured them ravenously. I poured all the milk there was into a saucer and they fought each other to get it. Oh, I cried indignantly, theyre starved! Its wicked. Please, please, order some more milk and another plate of cake. Colonel Race departed silently to do my bidding. The cats had begun meowing again. He returned with a big jug of milk and the cats finished it all. I got up with determination on my face. Im going to take those cats home with usI shant leave them here. My dear child, dont be absurd. You cant carry six cats as well as fifty wooden animals round with you. Never mind the wooden animals. These cats are alive. I shall take them back with me. You will do nothing of the kind. I looked at him resentfully, but he went on You think me cruelbut one cant go through life sentimentalizing over these things. Its no good standing outI shant allow you to take them. Its a primitive country, you know, and Im stronger than you. I always know when I am beaten. I went down to the car with tears in my eyes. Theyre probably short of food just today, he explained consolingly. That mans wife has gone into Bulawayo for stores. So it will be all right. And anyway, you know, the worlds full of starving cats. Dontdont, I said fiercely. Im teaching you to realize life as it is. Im teaching you to be hard and ruthlesslike I am. Thats the secret of strengthand the secret of success. Id sooner be dead than hard, I said passionately. We got into the car and started off. I pulled myself together again slowly. Suddenly, to my intense astonishment, he took my hand in his. Anne, he said gently, I want you. Will you marry me? I was utterly taken aback. Oh, no, I stammered. I cant. Why not? I dont care for you in that way. Ive never thought of you like that. I see. Is that the only reason? I had to be honest. I owed it him. No, I said, it is not. You seeIcare for someone else. I see, he said again. And was that true at the beginningwhen I first saw youon the Kilmorden? No, I whispered. It wassince then. I see, he said for the third time, but this time there was a purposeful ring in his voice that made me turn and look at him. His face was grimmer than I had ever seen it. Whatwhat do you mean? I faltered. He looked at me, inscrutable, dominating. Onlythat I know now what I have to do. His words sent a shiver through me. There was a determination behind them that I did not understandand it frightened me. We neither of us said any more until we got back to the hotel. I went straight up to Suzanne. She was lying on her bed reading, and did not look in the least as though she had a headache. Here reposes the perfect gooseberry, she remarked. Alias the tactful chaperone. Why, Anne dear, whats the matter? For I had burst into a flood of tears. I told her about the catsI felt it wasnt fair to tell her about Colonel Race. But Suzanne is very sharp. I think she saw that there was something more behind. You havent caught a chill, have you, Anne? Sounds absurd even to suggest such things in this heat, but you keep on shivering. Its nothing, I said. Nervesor someone walking over my grave. I keep feeling something dreadfuls going to happen. Dont be silly, said Suzanne, with decision. Lets talk of something interesting. Anne, about those diamonds What about them? Im not sure theyre safe with me. It was all right before, no one could think theyd be amongst my things. But now that everyone knows were such friends, you and I, Ill be under suspicion too. Nobody knows theyre in a roll of films, though, I argued. Its a splendid hiding place and I really dont think we could better it. She agreed doubtfully, but said we would discuss it again when we got to the falls. Our train went at nine oclock. Sir Eustaces temper was still far from good, and Miss Pettigrew looked subdued. Colonel Race was completely himself. I felt that I had dreamed the whole conversation on the way back. I slept heavily that night on my hard bunk, struggling with illdefined, menacing dreams. I awoke with a headache and went out on the observation platform of the car.

It was fresh and lovely, and everywhere, as far as one could see, were the undulating wooded hills. I loved itloved it more than any place I had ever seen. I wished then that I could have a little hut somewhere in the heart of the scrub and live there alwaysalways. Just before halfpast two, Colonel Race called me out from the office and pointed to a bouquetshaped white mist that hovered over one portion of the bush. The spray from the falls, he said. We are nearly there. I was still wrapped in that strange dream feeling of exaltation that had succeeded my troubled night. Very strongly implanted in me was the feeling that I had come home. Home! And yet I had never been here beforeor had I in dreams? We walked from the train to the hotel, a big white building closely wired against mosquitoes. There were no roads, no houses. We went out on the stoep and I uttered a gasp. There, half a mile away, facing us, were the falls. Ive never seen anything so grand and beautifulI never shall. Anne, youre fey, said Suzanne, as we sat down to lunch. Ive never seen you like this before. She stared at me curiously. Am I? I laughed, but I felt that my laugh was unnatural. Its just that I love it all. Its more than that. A little frown creased her browone of apprehension. Yes, I was happy, but beyond that I had the curious feeling that I was waiting for somethingsomething that would happen soon. I was excitedrestless. After tea we strolled out, got on the trolley and were pushed by smiling blacks down the little tracks of rails to the bridge. It was a marvellous sight, the great chasm and the rushing waters below, and the veil of mist and spray in front of us that parted every now and then for one brief minute to show the cataract of water and then closed up again in its impenetrable mystery. That, to my mind, has always been the fascination of the fallstheir elusive quality. You always think youre going to seeand you never do. We crossed the bridge and walked slowly on by the path that was marked out with white stone on either side and led round the brink of the gorge. Finally we arrived in a big clearing where on the left a path led downwards towards the chasm. The palm gully, explained Colonel Race. Shall we go down? Or shall we leave it until tomorrow? It will take some time, and its a good climb up again. Well leave it until tomorrow, said Sir Eustace with decision. He isnt at all fond of strenuous physical exercise, I have noticed. He led the way back. As we went, we passed a fine native stalking along. Behind him came a woman who seemed to have the entire household belongings piled upon her head! The collection included a frying pan! I never have my camera when I want it, groaned Suzanne. Thats an opportunity that will occur often enough, Mrs. Blair, said Colonel Race. So dont lament. We arrived back on the bridge. Shall we go into the rainbow forest? he continued. Or are you afraid of getting wet? Suzanne and I accompanied him. Sir Eustace went back to the hotel. I was rather disappointed in the rainbow forest. There werent nearly enough rainbows, and we got soaked to the skin, but every now and then we got a glimpse of the falls opposite and realized how enormously wide they are. Oh, dear, dear Falls, how I love and worship you and always shall! We got back to the hotel just in time to change for dinner. Sir Eustace seems to have taken a positive antipathy to Colonel Race. Suzanne and I rallied him gently, but didnt get much satisfaction. After dinner, he retired to his sitting room, dragging Miss Pettigrew with him. Suzanne and I talked for a while with Colonel Race, and then she declared, with an immense yawn, that she was going to bed. I didnt want to be left alone with him, so I got up too and went to my room. But I was far too excited to go to sleep. I did not even undress. I lay back in a chair and gave myself up to dreaming. And all the time I was conscious of something coming nearer and nearer. There was a knock at the door and I started. I got up and went to it. A little black boy held out a note. It was addressed to me in a handwriting I did not know. I took it and came back into the room. I stood there holding it. At last I opened it. It was very short I must see you. I dare not come to the hotel. Will you come to the clearing by the palm gully? In memory of cabin 17 please come. The man you knew as Harry Rayburn. My heart beat to suffocation. He was here then! Oh, I had known itI had known it all along! I had felt him near me. All unwittingly I had come to his place of retreat. I wound a scarf round my head and stole to the door. I must be careful. He was hunted down. No one must see me meet him. I stole along to Suzannes room. She was fast asleep. I could hear her breathing evenly. Sir Eustace? I paused outside the door of his sitting room. Yes, he was dictating to Miss Pettigrew, I could hear her monotonous voice repeating. I therefore venture to suggest, that in tackling this problem of coloured labour She paused for him to continue, and I heard him grunt something angrily. I stole on again. Colonel Races room was empty. I did not see him in the lounge. And he was the man I feared most! Still, I could waste no more time. I slipped quickly out of the hotel and took the path to the bridge. I crossed it and stood there waiting in the shadow. If anyone had followed me, I should see them crossing the bridge. But the minutes passed, and no one came. I had not been followed. I turned and took the path to the clearing. I took six paces or so and then stopped. Something had rustled behind me. It could not be anyone who had followed me from the hotel. It was someone who was already here, waiting. And immediately, without rhyme or reason, but with the sureness of instinct, I knew that it was I myself who was threatened. It was the same feeling as I had had on the Kilmorden that nighta sure instinct warning me of danger. I looked sharply over my shoulder. Silence. I moved on a pace or two. Again I heard that rustle. Still walking, I looked over my shoulder again. A mans figure came out of the shadow. He saw that I saw him, and jumped forward, hard on my track. It was too dark to recognize anybody. All I could see was that he was tall, and a European, not a native. I took to my heels and ran. I heard him pounding behind. I ran quicker, keeping my eyes fixed on the white stones that showed me where to step, for there was no moon that night. And suddenly my foot felt nothingness. I heard the man behind me laugh, an evil, sinister laugh. It rang in my ears, as I fell headlongdowndowndown to destruction far beneath. XXV I came to myself slowly and painfully. I was conscious of an aching head and a shooting pain down my left arm when I tried to move, and everything seemed dreamlike and unreal. Nightmare visions floated before me. I felt myself fallingfalling again. Once Harry Rayburns face seemed to come to me out of the mist. Almost I imagined it real. Then it floated away again, mocking me. Once, I remember, someone put a cup to my lips and I drank. A black face grinned into minea devils face, I thought it, and screamed out. Then dreams againlong troubled dreams in which I vainly sought Harry Rayburn to warn himwarn himwhat of? I did not know myself. But there was some dangersome great dangerand I alone could save him. Then darkness again, merciful darkness, and real sleep. I woke at last myself again. The long nightmare was over. I remembered perfectly everything that had happened, my hurried flight from the hotel to meet Harry, the man in the shadows and that last terrible moment of falling. By some miracle or other I had not been killed. I was bruised and aching and very weak, but I was alive. But where was I? Moving my head with difficulty I looked round me. I was in a small room with rough wooden walls. On them were hung skins of animals and various tusks of ivory. I was lying on a kind of rough couch, also covered with skins, and my left arm was bandaged up and felt stiff and uncomfortable. At first I thought I was alone, and then I saw a mans figure sitting between me and the light, his head turned toward the window. He was so still that he might have been carved out of wood. Something in the closecropped black head was familiar to me, but I did not dare to let my imagination run astray. Suddenly he turned, and I caught my breath. It was Harry Rayburn. Harry Rayburn in the flesh. He rose and came over to me. Feeling better? he said a trifle awkwardly. I could not answer. The tears were running down my face. I was weak still, but I held his hand in both of mine. If only I could die like this, whilst he stood there looking down on me with that new look in his eyes. Dont cry, Anne. Please dont cry. Youre safe now. No one shall hurt you. He went and fetched a cup and brought it to me. Drink some of this milk. I drank obediently. He went on talking in a low coaxing tone such as he might have used to a child. Dont ask any more questions now. Go to sleep again. Youll be stronger by and by. Ill go away if you like. No, I said urgently. No, no. Then Ill stay. He brought a small stool over beside me and sat there. He laid his hand over mine, and, soothed and comforted, I dropped off to sleep once more. It must have been evening then, but when I woke again the sun was high in the heavens. I was alone in the hut, but as I stirred an old native woman came running in. She was hideous as sin, but she grinned at me encouragingly. She brought me water in a basin and helped me wash my face and hands. Then she brought me a large bowl of soup, and I finished it every drop! I asked her several questions, but she only grinned and nodded and chattered away in a guttural language, so I gathered she knew no English. Suddenly she stood up and drew back respectfully as Harry Rayburn entered. He gave her a nod of dismissal and she went out leaving us alone. He smiled at me. Really better today! Yes, indeed, but very bewildered still. Where am I? Youre on a small island on the Zambesi about four miles up from the falls. Dodo my friends know Im here? He shook his head. I must send word to them. That is as you like of course, but if I were you I should wait until you are a little stronger. Why? He did not answer immediately, so I went on. How long have I been here? His answer amazed me. Nearly a month. Oh! I cried. I must send word to Suzanne. Shell be terribly anxious. Who is Suzanne? Mrs. Blair. I was with her and Sir Eustace and Colonel Race at the hotelbut you knew that surely? He shook his head. I know nothing, except that I found you, caught in the fork of a tree, unconscious and with a badly wrenched arm. Where was the tree? Overhanging the ravine. But for your clothes catching on the branches, you would infallibly have been dashed to pieces. I shuddered. Then a thought struck me. You say you didnt know I was there. What about the note then? What note? The note you sent me, asking me to meet you in the clearing. He stared at me. I sent no note. I felt myself flushing up to the roots of my hair. Fortunately he did not seem to notice. How did you come to be on the spot in such a marvellous manner? I asked in as nonchalant a manner as I could assume. And what are you doing in this part of the world, anyway? I live here, he said simply. On this island? Yes, I came here after the war. Sometimes I take parties from the hotel out in my boat, but it costs me very little to live, and mostly I do as I please. You live here all alone? I am not pining for society, I assure you, he replied coldly. I am sorry to have inflicted mine upon you, I retorted, but I seem to have had very little to say in the matter. To my surprise his eyes twinkled a little. None whatever. I slung you across my shoulders like a sack of coal and carried you to my boat. Quite like a primitive man of the Stone Age. But for a different reason, I put in. He flushed this time, a deep burning blush. The tan of his face was suffused. But you havent told me how you came to be wandering about so conveniently for me? I said hastily, to cover his confusion. I couldnt sleep. I was restlessdisturbedhad the feeling something was going to happen. In the end I took the boat and came ashore and tramped down towards the falls. I was just at the head of the palm gully when I heard you scream. Why didnt you get help from the hotel instead of carting me all the way here? I asked. He flushed again. I suppose it seems an unpardonable liberty to youbut I dont think that even now you realize your danger! You think I should have informed your friends? Pretty friends, who allowed you to be decoyed out to death. No, I swore to myself that Id take better care of you than anyone else could. Not a soul comes to this island. I got old Batani, whom I cured of a fever once, to come and look after you. Shes loyal. Shell never say a word. I could keep you here for months and no one would ever know. I could keep you here for months and no one would ever know! How some words please one! You did quite right, I said quietly. And I shall not send word to anyone. A day or so more anxiety doesnt make much difference. Its not as though they were my own people. Theyre only acquaintances reallyeven Suzanne. And whoever wrote that note must have knowna great deal. It was not the work of an outsider. I managed to mention the note this time without blushing at all. If you would be guided by me he said, hesitating. I dont expect I shall be, I answered candidly. But theres no harm in hearing. Do you always do what you like, Miss Beddingfeld? Usually, I replied cautiously. To anyone else I would have said always. I pity your husband, he said unexpectedly. You neednt, I retorted. I shouldnt dream of marrying anyone unless I was madly in love with them. And of course there is really nothing a woman enjoys so much as doing all the things she doesnt like for the sake of someone she does like. And the more selfwilled she is, the more she likes it. Im afraid I disagree with you. The boot is on the other leg as a rule. He spoke with a slight sneer. Exactly, I cried eagerly. And thats why there are so many unhappy marriages. Its all the fault of the men. Either they give way to their womenand then the women despise them, or else they are utterly selfish, insist on their own way and never say thank you. Successful husbands make their wives do just what they want, and then make a frightful fuss of them for doing it. Women like to be mastered, but they hate not to have their sacrifices appreciated. On the other hand, men dont really appreciate women who are nice to them all the time. When I am married, I shall be a devil most of the time, but every now and then, when my husband least expects it, I shall show him what a perfect angel I can be! Harry laughed outright. What a cat and dog life you will lead. Lovers always fight, I assured him. Because they dont understand each other. And by the time they do understand each other they arent in love any more. Does the reverse hold true? Are people who fight each other always lovers? II dont know, I said, momentarily confused. He turned away to the fireplace. Like some more soup? he asked in a casual tone. Yes, please. Im so hungry that I could eat a hippopotamus. Thats good. He busied himself with the fire; I watched. When I can get off the couch, Ill cook for you, I promised. I dont suppose you know anything about cooking. I can warm up things out of tins as well as you can, I retorted, pointing to a row of tins on the mantelpiece. Touch, he said, and laughed. His whole face changed when he laughed. It became boyish, happya different personality. I enjoyed my soup. As I ate it I reminded him that he had not, after all, tendered me his advice. Ah, yes, what I was going to say was this. If I were you I would stay quietly perdu here until you are quite strong again. Your enemies will believe you dead. They will hardly be surprised at not finding the body. It would have been dashed to pieces on the rocks and carried down with the torrent. I shivered. Once you are completely restored to health, you can journey quietly on to Beira and get a boat to take you back to England. That would be very tame, I objected scornfully. There speaks a foolish schoolgirl. Im not a foolish schoolgirl, I cried indignantly. Im a woman. He looked at me with an expression I could not fathom as I sat up flushed and excited. God help me, so you are, he muttered, and went abruptly out. My recovery was rapid. The two injuries I had sustained were a knock on the head and a badly wrenched arm. The latter was the most serious and, to begin with, my rescuer had believed it to be actually broken. A careful examination, however, convinced him that it was not so, and although it was very painful I was recovering the use of it quite quickly. It was a strange time. We were cut off from the world, alone together as Adam and Eve might have beenbut with what a difference! Old Batani hovered about counting no more than a dog might have done. I insisted on doing the cooking, or as much of it as I could manage with one arm. Harry was out a good part of the time, but we spent long hours together lying out in the shade of the palms, talking and quarrellingdiscussing everything under high heaven, quarrelling and making it up again. We bickered a good deal, but there grew up between us a real and lasting comradeship such as I could never have believed possible. Thatand something else. The time was drawing near, I knew it, when I should be well enough to leave and I realized it with a heavy heart. Was he going to let me go? Without a word? Without a sign? He had fits of silence, long moody intervals, moments when he would spring up and tramp off by himself. One evening the crisis came. We had finished our simple meal and were sitting in the doorway of the hut. The sun was sinking. Hairpins were necessities of life with which Harry had not been able to provide me, and my hair, straight and black, hung to my knees. I sat, my chin on my hands, lost in meditation. I felt rather than saw Harry looking at me. You look like a witch, Anne, he said at last, and there was something in his voice that had never been there before. He reached out his hand and just touched my hair. I shivered. Suddenly he sprang up with an oath. You must leave here tomorrow, do you hear? he cried. II cant bear any more. Im only a man after all. You must go, Anne. You must. Youre not a fool. You know yourself that this cant go on. I suppose not, I said slowly. Butits been happy, hasnt it? Happy? Its been hell! As bad as that! What do you torment me for? Why are you mocking at me? Why do you say thatlaughing into your hair? I wasnt laughing. And Im not mocking. If you want me to go, Ill go. But if you want me to stayIll stay. Not that! he cried vehemently. Not that. Dont tempt me, Anne. Do you realize what I am? A criminal twice over. A man hunted down. They know me here as Harry Parkerthey think Ive been away on a trek up country, but any day they may put two and two togetherand then the blow will fall. Youre so young, Anne, and so beautifulwith the kind of beauty that sends men mad. All the worlds before youlove, life, everything. Mines behind mescorched, spoiled, with a taste of bitter ashes. If you dont want me You know I want you. You know that Id give my soul to pick you up in my arms and keep you here, hidden away from the world, forever and ever. And youre tempting me, Anne. You, with your long witchs hair, and your eyes that are golden and brown and green and never stop laughing even when your mouth is grave. But Ill save you from yourself and from me. You shall go tonight. You shall go to Beira Im not going to Beira, I interrupted. You are. You shall go to Beira if I have to take you there myself and throw you on to the boat. What do you think Im made of? Do you think Ill wake up night after night, fearing theyve got you? One cant go on counting on miracles happening. You must go back to England, Anneandand marry and be happy. With a steady man wholl give me a good home! Better that thanutter disaster. And what of you? His face grew grim and set. Ive got my work ready to hand. Dont ask what it is. You can guess, I dare say. But Ill tell you thisIll clear my name, or die in the attempt, and Ill choke the life out of the damned scoundrel who did his best to murder you the other night. We must be fair, I said. He didnt actually push me over. Hed no need to. His plan was cleverer than that. I went up to the path afterwards. Everything looked all right, but by the marks on the ground I saw that the stones which outline the path had been taken up and put down again in a slightly different place. There are tall bushes growing just over the edge. Hed balanced the outside stones on them, so that youd think you were still on the path when in reality you were stepping into nothingness. God help him if I lay my hands upon him! He paused a minute and then said in a totally different tone Weve never spoken of these things, Anne, have we? But the times come. I want you to hear the whole storyfrom the beginning. If it hurts you to go over the past, dont tell me, I said in a low voice. But I want you to know. I never thought I should speak of that part of my life to anyone. Funny, isnt it, the tricks fate plays? He was silent for a minute or two. The sun had set, and the velvety darkness of the African night was enveloping us like a mantle. Some of it I know, I said gently. What do you know? I know that your real name is Harry Lucas. Still he hesitatednot looking at me, but staring straight out in front of him. I had no clue as to what was passing in his mind, but at last he jerked his head forward as though acquiescing in some unspoken decision of his own and began his story. XXVI You are right. My real name is Harry Lucas. My father was a retired soldier who came out to farm in Rhodesia. He died when I was in my second year at Cambridge. Were you fond of him? I asked suddenly. I dont know. Then he flushed and went on with sudden vehemence Why do I say that? I did love my father. We said bitter things to each other the last time I saw him, and we had many rows over my wildness and my debts, but I cared for the old man. I know how much nowwhen its too late, he continued more quietly. It was at Cambridge that I met the other fellow Young Eardsley? Yesyoung Eardsley. His father, as you know, was one of South Africas most prominent men. We drifted together at once, my friend and I. We had our love of South Africa in common and we both had a taste for the untrodden places of the world. After he left Cambridge, Eardsley had a final quarrel with his father. The old man had paid his debts twice, he refused to do so again. There was a bitter scene between them. Sir Laurence declared himself at the end of his patiencehe would do no more for his son. He must stand on his own legs for a while. The result was, as you know, that those two young men went off to South America together, prospecting for diamonds. Im not going into that now, but we had a wonderful time out there. Hardships in plenty, you understand, but it was a good lifea handtomouth scramble for existence far from the beaten trackand, my God! thats the place to know a friend. There was a bond forged between us two out there that only death could have broken. Well, as Colonel Race told you, our efforts were crowned with success. We found a second Kimberley in the heart of the British Guiana jungles. I cant tell you our elation. It wasnt so much the actual value in money of the findyou see, Eardsley was used to money, and he knew that when his father died he would be a millionaire, and Lucas had always been poor and was used to it. No, it was the sheer delight of discovery. He paused, and then added, almost apologetically You dont mind my telling it this way, do you? As though I wasnt in it at all. It seems like that now when I look back and see those two boys. I almost forget that one of them wasHarry Rayburn. Tell it any way you like, I said, and he went on We came to Kimberleyvery cockahoop over our find. We brought a magnificent selection of diamonds with us to submit to the experts. And thenin the hotel at Kimberleywe met her I stiffened a little, and the hand that rested on the doorpost clenched itself involuntarily. Anita Grnbergthat was her name. She was an actress. Quite young and very beautiful. She was South African born, but her mother was a Hungarian, I believe. There was some sort of mystery about her, and that, of course, heightened her attraction for two boys home from the wilds. She must have had an easy task. We both fell for her right away, and we both took it hard. It was the first shadow that had ever come between usbut even then it didnt weaken our friendship. Each of us, I honestly believe, was willing to stand aside for the other to go in and win. But that wasnt her game. Sometimes, afterwards, I wondered why it hadnt been, for Sir Laurence Eardsleys only son was quite a parti. But the truth of it was that she was marriedto a sorter in De Beersthough nobody knew of it. She pretended enormous interests in our discovery, and we told her all about it and even showed her the diamonds. Delilahthats what she should have been calledand she played her part well! The De Beers robbery was discovered, and like a thunderclap the police came down upon us. They seized our diamonds. We only laughed at firstthe whole thing was so absurd. And then the diamonds were produced in courtand without question they were the stones stolen from De Beers. Anita Grnberg had disappeared. She had effected the substitution neatly enough, and our story that these were not the stones originally in our possession was laughed to scorn. Sir Laurence Eardsley had enormous influence. He succeeded in getting the case dismissedbut it left two young men ruined and disgraced to face the world with the stigma of thief attached to their names, and it pretty well broke the old fellows heart. He had one bitter interview with his son in which he heaped upon him every reproach imaginable. He had done what he could to save the family name, but from that day on his son was his son no longer. He cast him off utterly. And the boy, like the proud young fool that he was, remained silent, disdaining to protest his innocence in the face of his fathers disbelief. He came out furious from the interviewhis friend was waiting for him. A week later war was declared. The two friends enlisted together. You know what happened. The best pal a man ever had was killed, partly through his own mad recklessness in rushing into unnecessary danger. He died with his name tarnished. I swear to you, Anne, that it was mainly on his account that I was so bitter against that woman. It had gone deeper with him than with me. I had been madly in love with her for the momentI even think that I frightened her sometimesbut with him it was a quieter and deeper feeling. She had been the very centre of his universeand her betrayal of him tore up the very roots of life. The blow stunned him and left him paralyzed. Harry paused. After a minute or two he went on As you know, I was reported missing, presumed killed. I never troubled to correct the mistake. I took the name of Parker and came to this island, which I knew of old. At the beginning of the war, I had had ambitious hopes of proving my innocence, but now all that spirit seemed dead. All I felt was, Whats the good? My pal was dead, neither he nor I had any living relations who would care. I was supposed to be dead too, let it remain at that. I led a peaceful existence here, neither happy nor unhappynumbed of all feeling. I see now, though I did not realize it at the time, that that was partly the effect of the war. And then one day something occurred to wake me right up again. I was taking a party of people in my boat on a trip up the river, and I was standing at the landing stage, helping them in, when one of the men uttered a startled exclamation. It focused my attention on him. He was a small, thin man with a beard, and he was staring at me for all he was worth as though I was a ghost. So powerful was his emotion that it awakened my curiosity. I made inquiries about him at the hotel and learned that his name was Carton, that he came from Kimberley, and that he was a diamond sorter employed by De Beers. In a minute all the old sense of wrong surged over me again. I left the island and went to Kimberley. I could find out little more about him, however. In the end, I decided that I must force an interview. I took my revolver with me. In the brief glimpse I had had of him, I had realized that he was a physical coward. No sooner were we face to face than I recognized that he was afraid of me. I soon forced him to tell me all he knew. He had engineered part of the robbery and Anita Grnberg was his wife. He had once caught sight of both of us when we were dining with her at the hotel, and, having read that I was killed, my appearance in the flesh at the falls had startled him badly. He and Anita had married quite young, but she had soon drifted away from him. She had got in with a bad lot, he told meand it was then for the first time that I heard of the Colonel. Carton himself had never been mixed up in anything except this one affairso he solemnly assured me, and I was inclined to believe him. He was emphatically not of the stuff of which successful criminals are made. I still had the feeling that he was keeping back something. As a test, I threatened to shoot him there and then, declaring that I cared very little what became of me now. In a frenzy of terror he poured out a further story. It seems that Anita Grnberg did not quite trust the Colonel. Whilst pretending to hand over to him the stones she had taken from the hotel, she kept back some in her own possession. Carton advised her, with his technical knowledge, which to keep. If, at any time, these stones were produced, they were of such colour and quality as to be readily identifiable, and the experts at De Beers would admit at once that these stones had never passed through their hands. In this way my story of a substitution would be supported, my name would be cleared, and suspicion would be diverted to the proper quarter. I gathered that, contrary to his usual practice, the Colonel himself had been concerned in this affair, therefore Anita felt satisfied that she had a real hold over him, should she need it. Carton now proposed that I should make a bargain with Anita Grnberg, or Nadina, as she now called herself. For a sufficient sum of money he thought that she would be willing to give up the diamonds and betray her former employer. He would cable to her immediately. I was still suspicious of Carton. He was a man whom it was easy enough to frighten, but who, in his fright, would tell so many lies that to sift the truth out from them would be no easy job. I went back to the hotel and waited. By the following evening I judged that he would have received the reply to his cable. I called round at his house and was told that Mr. Carton was away, but would be returning on the morrow. Instantly I became suspicious. In the nick of time I found out that he was in reality sailing for England on the Kilmorden Castle, which left Cape Town in two days time. I had just time to journey down and catch the same boat. I had no intention of alarming Carton by revealing my presence on board. I had done a good deal of acting in my time at Cambridge, and it was comparatively easy for me to transform myself into a grave bearded gentleman of middle age. I avoided Carton carefully on board the boat, keeping to my own cabin as far as possible under the pretence of illness. I had no difficulty in trailing him when we got to London. He went straight to an hotel and did not go out until the following day. He left the hotel shortly before one oclock. I was behind him.

He went straight to a house agent in Knightsbridge. There he asked for particulars of houses to let on the river. I was at the next table also inquiring about houses. Then suddenly in walked Anita Grnberg, Nadinawhatever you like to call her. Superb, insolent, and almost as beautiful as ever. God! how I hated her. There she was, the woman who had ruined my lifeand who had also ruined a better life than mine. At that minute I could have put my hands round her neck and squeezed the life out of her inch by inch! Just for a minute or two I saw red. I hardly took in what the agent was saying. It was her voice that I heard next, high and clear, with an exaggerated foreign accent The Mill House, Marlow. The property of Sir Eustace Pedler. That sounds as though it might suit me. At any rate, I will go and see it. The man wrote her an order, and she walked out again in her regal insolent manner. Not by word or a sign had she recognized Carton, yet I was sure that their meeting there was a preconceived plan. Then I started to jump to conclusions. Not knowing that Sir Eustace was at Cannes, I thought that this house hunting business was a mere pretext for meeting him in the Mill House. I knew that he had been in South Africa at the time of the robbery, and never having seen him I immediately leaped to the conclusion that he himself was the mysterious Colonel of whom I had heard so much. I followed my two suspects along Knightsbridge. Nadina went into the Hyde Park Hotel. I quickened my pace and went in also. She walked straight into the restaurant, and I decided that I would not risk her recognizing me at the moment, but would continue to follow Carton. I was in great hopes that he was going to get the diamonds, and that by suddenly appearing and making myself known to him when he least expected it I might startle the truth out of him. I followed him down into the tube station at Hyde Park Corner. He was standing by himself at the end of the platform. There was some girl standing near, but no one else. I decided that I would accost him then and there. You know what happened. In the sudden shock of seeing a man whom he imagined far away in South Africa, he lost his head and stepped back upon the line. He was always a coward. Under the pretext of being a doctor, I managed to search his pockets. There was a wallet with some notes in it and one or two unimportant letters, there was a roll of filmswhich I must have dropped somewhere laterand there was a piece of paper with an appointment made on it for the 22nd on the Kilmorden Castle. In my haste to get away before anyone detained me, I dropped that also, but fortunately I remembered the figures. I hurried to the nearest cloakroom and hastily removed my makeup. I did not want to be laid by the heels for picking a dead mans pocket. Then I retraced my steps to the Hyde Park Hotel. Nadina was still having lunch. I neednt describe in detail how I followed her down to Marlow. She went into the house, and I spoke to the woman at the lodge, pretending that I was with her. Then I, too, went in. He stopped. There was a tense silence. You will believe me, Anne, wont you? I swear before God that what I am going to say is true. I went into the house after her with something very like murder in my heartand she was dead! I found her in that firstfloor roomGod! It was horrible. Deadand I was not more than three minutes behind her. And there was no sign of anyone else in the house! Of course I realized at once the terrible position I was in. By one masterstroke the blackmailed had rid himself of the blackmailer, and at the same time had provided a victim to whom the crime would be ascribed. The hand of the Colonel was very plain. For the second time I was to be his victim. Fool that I had been to walk into the trap so easily. I hardly know what I did next. I managed to go out of the place looking fairly normal, but I knew that it could not be long before the crime was discovered and a description of my appearance telegraphed all over the country. I lay low for some days, not daring to make a move. In the end chance came to my aid. I overheard a conversation between two middleaged gentlemen in the street, one of whom proved to be Sir Eustace Pedler. I at once conceived the idea of attaching myself to him as his secretary. The fragment of conversation I had overheard gave me my clue. I was now no longer so sure that Sir Eustace Pedler was the Colonel. His house might have been appointed as a rendezvous by accident, or for some obscure motive that I had not fathomed. Do you know, I interrupted, that Guy Pagett was in Marlow at the date of the murder? That settles it then. I thought he was at Cannes with Sir Eustace. He was supposed to be in Florencebut he certainly never went there. Im pretty certain he was really in Marlow, but of course I cant prove it. And to think I never suspected Pagett for a minute until the night he tried to throw you overboard. The mans a marvellous actor. Yes, isnt he? That explains why the Mill House was chosen. Pagett could probably get in and out of it unobserved. Of course he made no objection to my accompanying Sir Eustace across in the boat. He didnt want me laid by the heels immediately. You see, evidently Nadina didnt bring the jewels with her to the rendezvous as they had counted on her doing. I fancy that Carton really had them and concealed them somewhere on the Kilmorden Castlethats where he came in. They hoped that I might have some clue as to where they were hidden. As long as the Colonel did not recover the diamonds, he was still in dangerhence his anxiety to get them at all costs. Where the devil Carton hid themif he did hide them, I dont know. Thats another story, I quoted. My story. And Im going to tell it you now. XXVII Harry listened attentively whilst I recounted all the events that I have narrated in these pages. The thing that bewildered and astonished him most was to find that all along the diamonds had been in my possessionor rather in Suzannes. That was a fact he had never suspected. Of course, after hearing his story, I realized the point of Cartons little arrangementor rather Nadinas, since I had no doubt that it was her brain which had conceived the plan. No surprise tactics executed against her or her husband could result in the seizure of the diamonds. The secret was locked in her own brain, and the Colonel was not likely to guess that they had been entrusted to the keeping of an ocean steward! Harrys vindication from the old charge of theft seemed assured. It was the other, graver charge that paralyzed all our activities. For, as things stood, he could not come out in the open to prove his case. The one thing we came back to, again and again, was the identity of the Colonel. Was he, or was he not, Guy Pagett? I should say he was but for one thing, said Harry. It seems pretty much of a certainty that it was Pagett who murdered Anita Grnberg at Marlowand that certainly lends colour to the supposition that he is actually the Colonel, since Anitas business was not of the nature to be discussed with a subordinate. Nothe only thing that militates against that theory is the attempt to put you out of the way on the night of your arrival here. You saw Pagett left behind at Cape Townby no possible means could he have arrived here before the following Wednesday. He is unlikely to have any emissaries in this part of the world, and all his plans were laid to deal with you in Cape Town. He might, of course, have cabled instructions to some lieutenant of his in Johannesburg, who could have joined the Rhodesian train at Mafeking, but his instructions would have had to be particularly definite to allow of that note being written. We sat silent for a moment, then Harry went on slowly You say that Mrs. Blair was asleep when you left the hotel and that you heard Sir Eustace dictating to Miss Pettigrew? Where was Colonel Race? I could not find him anywhere. Had he any reason to believe thatyou and I might be friendly with each other? He might have had, I answered thoughtfully, remembering our conversation on the way back from the Matoppos. Hes a very powerful personality, I continued, but not at all my idea of the Colonel. And, anyway, such an idea would be absurd. Hes in the secret service. How do we know that he is? Its the easiest thing in the world to throw out a hint of that kind. No one contradicts it, and the rumour spreads until everyone believes it as gospel truth. It provides an excuse for all sorts of doubtful doings. Anne, do you like Race? I doand I dont. He repels me and at the same time fascinates me; but I know one thing, Im always a little afraid of him. He was in South Africa, you know, at the time of the Kimberley robbery, said Harry slowly. But it was he who told Suzanne all about the Colonel and how he had been in Paris trying to get on his track. Camouflageof a particularly clever kind. But where does Pagett come in? Is he in Races pay? Perhaps, said Harry slowly, he doesnt come in at all. What? Think back, Anne. Did you ever hear Pagetts own account of that night on the Kilmorden? Yesthrough Sir Eustace. I repeated it. Harry listened closely. He saw a man coming from the direction of Sir Eustaces cabin and followed him up on deck. Is that what he says? Now, who had the cabin opposite to Sir Eustace? Colonel Race. Supposing Colonel Race crept up on deck, and, foiled in his attack on you, fled round the deck and met Pagett just coming through the saloon door. He knocks him down and springs inside, closing the door. We dash round and find Pagett lying there. Hows that? You forget that he declares positively it was you who knocked him down. Well, suppose that just as he regains consciousness he sees me disappearing in the distance? Wouldnt he take it for granted that I was his assailant? Especially as he thought all along it was I he was following? Its possible, yes, I said slowly. But it alters all our ideas. And there are other things. Most of them are open to explanation. The man who followed you in Cape Town spoke to Pagett, and Pagett looked at his watch. The man might have merely asked him the time. It was just a coincidence, you mean? Not exactly. Theres a method in all this, connecting Pagett with the affair. Why was the Mill House chosen for the murder? Was it because Pagett had been in Kimberley when the diamonds were stolen? Would he have been made the scapegoat if I had not appeared so providentially upon the scene? Then you think he may be entirely innocent? It looks like it, but, if so, weve got to find out what he was doing in Marlow. If hes got a reasonable explanation of that, were on the right tack. He got up. Its past midnight. Turn in, Anne, and get some sleep. Just before dawn Ill take you over in the boat. You must catch the train at Livingstone. Ive got a friend there who will keep you hidden away until the train starts. You go to Bulawayo and catch the Beira train there. I can find out from my friend in Livingstone whats going on at the hotel and where your friends are now. Beira, I said meditatively. Yes, Anne, its Beira for you. This is mans work. Leave it to me. We had had a momentary respite from emotion whilst we talked the situation out, but it was on us again now. We did not even look at each other. Very well, I said, and passed into the hut. I lay down on the skincovered couch, but I didnt sleep, and outside I could hear Harry Rayburn pacing up and down, up and down through the long dark hours. At last he called me Come, Anne, its time to go. I got up and came out obediently. It was still quite dark, but I knew that dawn was not far off. Well take the canoe, not the motorboat Harry began, when suddenly he stopped dead and held up his hand. Hush! Whats that? I listened, but could hear nothing. His ears were sharper than mine, however, the ears of a man who has lived long in the wilderness. Presently I heard it toothe faint splash of paddles in the water coming from the direction of the right bank of the river and rapidly approaching our little landing stage. We strained our eyes in the darkness, and could make out a dark blur on the surface of the water. It was a boat. Then there was a momentary spurt of flame. Someone had struck a match. By its light I recognized one figure, the redbearded Dutchman of the villa at Muizenberg. The others were natives. Quickback to the hut. Harry swept me back with him. He took down a couple of rifles and a revolver from the wall. Can you load a rifle? I never have. Show me how. I grasped his instructions well enough. We closed the door and Harry stood by the window which overlooked the landing stage. The boat was just about to run alongside it. Whos that? called out Harry in a ringing voice. Any doubt we might have had as to our visitors intentions was swiftly resolved. A hail of bullets splattered round us. Fortunately neither of us was hit. Harry raised the rifle. It spat murderously, and again and again. I heard two groans and a splash. Thats given em something to think about, he muttered grimly, as he reached for the second rifle. Stand well back, Anne, for Gods sake. And load quickly. More bullets. One just grazed Harrys cheek. His answering fire was more deadly than theirs. I had the rifle reloaded when he turned for it. He caught me close with his left arm and kissed me once savagely before he turned to the window again. Suddenly he uttered a shout. Theyre goinghad enough of it. Theyre a good mark out there on the water, and they cant see how many of us there are. Theyre routed for the momentbut theyll come back. Well have to get ready for them. He flung down the rifle and turned to me. Anne! You beauty! You wonder! You little queen! As brave as a lion. Blackhaired witch! He caught me in his arms. He kissed my hair, my eyes, my mouth. And now to business, he said, suddenly releasing me. Get out those tins of paraffin. I did as I was told. He was busy inside the hut. Presently I saw him on the roof of the hut, crawling along with something in his arms. He rejoined me in a minute or two. Go down to the boat. Well have to carry it across the island to the other side. He picked up the paraffin as I disappeared. Theyre coming back, I called softly. I had seen the blur moving out from the opposite shore. He ran down to me. Just in time. Whywhere the hells the boat? Both had been cut adrift. Harry whistled softly. Were in a tight place, honey. Mind? Not with you. Ah, but dying togethers not much fun. Well do better than that. Seetheyve got two boatloads this time. Going to land at two different points. Now for my little scenic effect. Almost as he spoke a long flame shot up from the hut. Its light illuminated two crouching figures huddled together on the roof. My old clothesstuffed with ragsbut they wont tumble to it for some time. Come, Anne, weve got to try desperate means. Hand in hand, we raced across the island. Only a narrow channel of water divided it from the shore on that side. Weve got to swim for it. Can you swim at all, Anne? Not that it matters. I can get you across. Its the wrong side for a boattoo many rocks, but the right side for swimming, and the right side for Livingstone. I can swim a littlefarther than that. Whats the danger, Harry? For I had seen the grim look on his face. Sharks? No, you little goose. Sharks live in the sea. But youre sharp, Anne. Crocs, thats the trouble. Crocodiles? Yes, dont think of themor say your prayers, whichever you feel inclined. We plunged in. My prayers must have been efficacious, for we reached the shore without adventure, and drew ourselves up wet and dripping on the bank. Now for Livingstone. Its rough going, Im afraid, and wet clothes wont make it any better. But its got to be done. That walk was a nightmare. My wet skirts flapped round my legs, and my stockings were soon torn off by the thorns. Finally I stopped, utterly exhausted. Harry came back to me. Hold up, honey. Ill carry you for a bit. That was the way I came into Livingstone, slung across his shoulder like a sack of coals. How he did it for all that way, I dont know. The first faint light of dawn was just breaking. Harrys friend was a young man of twenty odd who kept a store of native curios. His name was Nedperhaps he had another, but I never heard it. He didnt seem in the least surprised to see Harry walk in, dripping wet, holding an equally dripping female by the hand. Men are very wonderful. He gave us food to eat, and hot coffee, and got our clothes dried for us whilst we rolled ourselves in Manchester blankets of gaudy hue. In the tiny back room of the hut we were safe from observation whilst he departed to make judicious inquiries as to what had become of Sir Eustaces party, and whether any of them were still at the hotel. It was then that I informed Harry that nothing would induce me to go to Beira. I never meant to, anyway, but now all reason for such proceedings had vanished. The point of the plan had been that my enemies believed me dead. Now that they knew I wasnt dead, my going to Beira would do no good whatever. They could easily follow me there and murder me quietly. I should have no one to protect me. It was finally arranged that I should join Suzanne, wherever she was, and devote all my energies to taking care of myself. On no account was I to seek adventures or endeavour to checkmate the Colonel. I was to remain quietly with her and await instructions from Harry. The diamonds were to be deposited in the Bank at Kimberley under the name of Parker. Theres one thing, I said thoughtfully, we ought to have a code of some kind. We dont want to be hoodwinked again by messages purporting to come from one to the other. Thats easy enough. Any message that comes genuinely from me will have the word and crossed out in it. Without trademark, none genuine, I murmured. What about wires? Any wires from me will be signed Andy. Train will be in before long, Harry, said Ned, putting his head in and withdrawing it immediately. I stood up. And shall I marry a nice steady man if I find one? I asked demurely. Harry came close to me. My God! Anne, if you ever marry anyone else but me, Ill wring his neck. And as for you Yes, I said, pleasurably excited. I shall carry you away and beat you black and blue! What a delightful husband I have chosen, I said satirically. And doesnt he change his mind overnight! XXVIII (Extract from the diary of Sir Eustace Pedler) As I remarked once before, I am essentially a man of peace. I yearn for a quiet lifeand thats just the one thing I dont seem able to have. I am always in the middle of storms and alarms. The relief of getting away from Pagett with his incessant nosing out of intrigues was enormous, and Miss Pettigrew is certainly a useful creature. Although there is nothing of the houri about her, one or two of her accomplishments are invaluable. It is true that I had a touch of liver at Bulawayo and behaved like a bear in consequence, but I had had a disturbed night in the train. At 3 a.m. an exquisitely dressed young man looking like a musicalcomedy hero of the Wild West entered my compartment and asked where I was going. Disregarding my first murmur of Teaand for Gods sake dont put sugar in it, he repeated his question, laying stress on the fact that he was not a waiter but an immigration officer. I finally succeeded in satisfying him that I was suffering from no infectious disease, that I was visiting Rhodesia from the purest of motives, and further gratified him with my full Christian names and my place of birth. I then endeavoured to snatch a little sleep, but some officious ass aroused me at 530 with a cup of liquid sugar which he called tea. I dont think I threw it at him, but I know that that was what I wanted to do. He brought me unsugared tea, stone cold, at 6, and I then fell asleep utterly exhausted, to awaken just outside Bulawayo and be landed with a beastly wooden giraffe, all legs and neck! But for these small contretemps, all had been going smoothly. And then fresh calamity befell. It was the night of our arrival at the falls. I was dictating to Miss Pettigrew in my sitting room, when suddenly Mrs. Blair burst in without a word of excuse and wearing most compromising attire. Wheres Anne? she cried. A nice question to ask. As though I were responsible for the girl. What did she expect Miss Pettigrew to think? That I was in the habit of producing Anne Beddingfeld from my pocket at midnight or thereabouts? Very compromising for a man in my position. I presume, I said coldly, that she is in her bed. I cleared my throat and glanced at Miss Pettigrew, to show that I was ready to resume dictating. I hoped Mrs. Blair would take the hint. She did nothing of the kind. Instead she sank into a chair and waved a slippered foot in an agitated manner. Shes not in her room. Ive been there. I had a dreama terrible dreamthat she was in some awful danger, and I got up and went to her room, just to reassure myself, you know. She wasnt there and her bed hadnt been slept in. She looked at me appealingly. What shall I do, Sir Eustace? Repressing the desire to reply, Go to bed, and dont worry over nothing. An ablebodied young woman like Anne Beddingfeld is perfectly well able to take care of herself, I frowned judicially. What does Race say about it? Why should Race have it all his own way? Let him have some of the disadvantages as well as the advantages of female society. I cant find him anywhere. She was evidently making a night of it. I sighed and sat down in a chair. I dont quite see the reason for your agitation, I said patiently. My dream That curry we had for dinner! Oh, Sir Eustace! The woman was quite indignant. And yet everybody knows that nightmares are a direct result of injudicious eating. After all, I continued persuasively, why shouldnt Anne Beddingfeld and Race go out for a little stroll without having the whole hotel aroused about it? You think theyve just gone out for a stroll together? But its after midnight! One does these foolish things when one is young, I murmured, though Race is certainly old enough to know better. Do you really think so? I dare say theyve run away to make a match of it, I continued soothingly, though fully aware that I was making an idiotic suggestion. For, after all, at a place like this, where is there to run away to? I dont know how much longer I should have gone on making feeble remarks, but at that moment Race himself walked in upon us. At any rate, I had been partly righthe had been out for a stroll, but he hadnt taken Anne with him. However, I had been quite wrong in my way of dealing with the situation. I was soon shown that. Race had the whole hotel turned upside down in three minutes. Ive never seen a man more upset. The thing is very extraordinary. Where did the girl go? She walked out of the hotel, fully dressed, about ten minutes past eleven, and she was never seen again. The idea of suicide seems impossible. She was one of those energetic young women who are in love with life, and have not the faintest intention of quitting it. There was no train either way until midday on the morrow, so she cant have left the place. Then where the devil is she? Race is almost beside himself, poor fellow. He has left no stone unturned. All the D.C.s, or whatever they call themselves, for hundreds of miles round have been pressed into the service. The native trackers have run about on all fours. Everything that can be done is being donebut no sign of Anne Beddingfeld. The accepted theory is that she walked in her sleep. There are signs on the path near the bridge which seem to show that the girl walked deliberately off the edge. If so, of course, she must have been dashed to pieces on the rocks below. Unfortunately, most of the footprints were obliterated by a party of tourists who chose to walk that way early on the Monday morning. I dont know that its a very satisfactory theory. In my young days, I always was told that sleepwalkers couldnt hurt themselvesthat their own sixth sense took care of them. I dont think the theory satisfies Mrs. Blair either. I cant make that woman out. Her whole attitude towards Race has changed. She watches him now like a cat a mouse, and she makes obvious efforts to bring herself to be civil to him. And they used to be such friends. Altogether she is unlike herself, nervous, hysterical, starting and jumping at the least sound. I am beginning to think that it is high time I went to Joburg. A rumour came along yesterday of a mysterious island somewhere up the river, with a man and a girl on it. Race got very excited. It turned out to be all a mares nest, however. The man had been there for years, and is well known to the manager of the hotel. He totes parties up and down the river in the season and points out crocodiles and a stray hippopotamus or so to them. I believe that he keeps a tame one which is trained to bite pieces out of the boat on occasions. Then he fends it off with a boat hook, and the party feel they have really got to the back of beyond at last. How long the girl has been there is not definitely known, but it seems pretty clear that she cant be Anne, and there is a certain delicacy in interfering in other peoples affairs. If I were this young fellow, I should certainly kick Race off the island if he came asking questions about my love affairs. Later. It is definitely settled that I go to Joburg tomorrow. Race urges me to do so. Things are getting unpleasant there, by all I hear, but I might as well go before they get worse. I dare say I shall be shot by a striker, anyway. Mrs. Blair was to have accompanied me, but at the last minute she changed her mind and decided to stay on at the falls. It seems as though she couldnt bear to take her eyes off Race. She came to me tonight and said, with some hesitation, that she had a favour to ask. Would I take charge of her souvenirs for her? Not the animals? I asked, in lively alarm. I always felt that I should get stuck with those beastly animals sooner or later. In the end we effected a compromise. I took charge of two small wooden boxes for her which contained fragile articles. The animals are to be packed by the local store in vast crates and sent to Cape Town by rail, where Pagett will see to their being stored. The people who are packing them say that they are of a particularly awkward shape (!), and that special cases will have to be made. I pointed out to Mrs. Blair that by the time she has got them home those animals will have cost her easily a pound apiece! Pagett is straining at the leash to rejoin me in Joburg. I shall make an excuse of Mrs. Blairs cases to keep him in Cape Town. I have written him that he must receive the cases and see to their safe disposal, as they contain rare curios of immense value. So all is settled, and I and Miss Pettigrew go off into the blue together. And anyone who has seen Miss Pettigrew will admit that it is perfectly respectable. XXIX Johannesburg, March 6th. There is something about the state of things here that is not at all healthy. To use the wellknown phrase that I have so often read, we are all living on the edge of a volcano. Bands of strikers, or socalled strikers, patrol the streets and scowl at one in a murderous fashion. They are picking out the bloated capitalists ready for when the massacres begin, I suppose. You cant ride in a taxiif you do, strikers pull you out again. And the hotels hint pleasantly that when the food gives out they will fling you out on the mat! I met Reeves, my labour friend of the Kilmorden, last night. He has cold feet worse than any man I ever saw. Hes like all the rest of these people, they make inflammatory speeches of enormous length, solely for political purposes, and then wish they hadnt. Hes busy now going about and saying he didnt really do it. When I met him, he was just off to Cape Town, where he meditates making a three days speech in Dutch, vindicating himself, and pointing out that the things he said really meant something entirely different. I am thankful that I do not have to sit in the Legislative Assembly of South Africa. The House of Commons is bad enough, but at least we have only one language, and some slight restriction as to length of speeches. When I went to the assembly before leaving Cape Town, I listened to a grayhaired gentleman with a drooping moustache who looked exactly like the Mock Turtle in Alice in Wonderland. He dropped out his words one by one in a particularly melancholy fashion. Every now and then he galvanized himself to further efforts by ejaculating something that sounded like Platt Skeet, uttered fortissimo and in marked contrast to the rest of his delivery. When he did this, half his audience yelled Whoof, whoof! which is possibly Dutch for Hear, hear, and the other half woke up with a start from the pleasant nap they had been having. I was given to understand that the gentleman had been speaking for at least three days. They must have a lot of patience in South Africa. I have invented endless jobs to keep Pagett in Cape Town, but at last the fertility of my imagination has given out, and he joins me tomorrow in the spirit of the faithful dog who comes to die by his masters side. And I was getting on so well with my reminiscences too! I had invented some extraordinarily witty things that the strike leaders said to me and I said to the strike leaders. This morning I was interviewed by a government official. He was urbane, persuasive and mysterious in turn. To begin with, he alluded to my exalted position and importance and suggested that I should remove myself, or be removed by him, to Pretoria. You expect trouble, then? I asked. His reply was so worded as to have no meaning whatsoever, so I gathered that they were expecting serious trouble. I suggested to him that his government were letting things go rather far. There is such a thing as giving a man enough rope, and letting him hang himself, Sir Eustace. Oh, quite so, quite so. It is not the strikers themselves who are causing the trouble. There is some organization at work behind them. Arms and explosives have been pouring in, and we have made a haul of certain documents which throw a good deal of light on the methods adopted to import them. There is a regular code. Potatoes mean detonators, cauliflower, rifles, other vegetables stand for various explosives. Thats very interesting, I commended. More than that, Sir Eustace, we have every reason to believe that the man who runs the whole show, the directing genius of the affair, is at this minute in Johannesburg. He stared at me so hard that I began to fear that he suspected me of being the man. I broke out into a cold perspiration at the thought, and began to regret that I had ever conceived the idea of inspecting a miniature revolution at first hand. No trains are running from Joburg to Pretoria, he continued. But I can arrange to send you over by private car. In case you should be stopped on the way I can provide you with two separate passes, one issued by the Union government, and the other stating that you are an English visitor who has nothing whatsoever to do with the Union. One for your people, and one for the strikers, eh? Exactly. The project did not appeal to meI know what happens in a case of that kind. You get flustered and mix the things up. I should hand the wrong pass to the wrong person, and it would end in my being summarily shot by a bloodthirsty rebel, or one of the supporters of law and order whom I notice guarding the streets wearing bowler hats and smoking pipes, with rifles tucked carelessly under their arms. Besides, what should I do with myself in Pretoria? Admire the architecture of the Union buildings and listen to the echoes of the shooting round Johannesburg? I should be penned up there God knows how long. Theyve blown up the railway line already, I hear. It isnt even as if one could get a drink there.

They put the place under martial law two days ago. My dear fellow, I said, you dont seem to realize that Im studying conditions on the Rand. How the devil am I going to study them from Pretoria? I appreciate your care for my safety, but dont you worry about me. I shall be all right. I warn you, Sir Eustace, that the food question is already serious. A little fasting will improve my figure, I said, with a sigh. We were interrupted by a telegram being handed to me. I read it with amazement Anne is safe. Here with me at Kimberley. Suzanne Blair. I dont think I ever really believed in the annihilation of Anne. There is something peculiarly indestructible about that young womanshe is like the patent balls that one gives to terriers. She has an extraordinary knack of turning up smiling. I still dont see why it was necessary for her to walk out of the hotel in the middle of the night in order to get to Kimberley. There was no train, anyway. She must have put on a pair of angels wings and flown there. And I dont suppose she will ever explain. Nobody doesto me. I always have to guess. It becomes monotonous after a while. The exigencies of journalism are at the bottom of it, I suppose. How I shot the rapids, by our special correspondent. I refolded the telegram and got rid of my governmental friend. I dont like the prospect of being hungry, but Im not alarmed for my personal safety. Smuts is perfectly capable of dealing with the revolution. But I would give a considerable sum of money for a drink! I wonder if Pagett will have the sense to bring a bottle of whisky with him when he arrives tomorrow? I put on my hat and went out, intending to buy a few souvenirs. The curio shops in Joburg are rather pleasant. I was just studying a window full of imposing karosses, when a man coming out of the shop cannoned into me. To my surprise it turned out to be Race. I cant flatter myself that he looked pleased to see me. As a matter of fact, he looked distinctly annoyed, but I insisted on his accompanying me back to the hotel. I get tired of having no one but Miss Pettigrew to talk to. I had no idea you were in Joburg, I said chattily. When did you arrive? Last night. Where are you staying? With friends. He was disposed to be extraordinarily taciturn, and seemed to be embarrassed by my questions. I hope they keep poultry, I remarked. A diet of newlaid eggs and the occasional slaughtering of an old cock will be decidedly agreeable soon from all I hear. By the way, I said, when we were back in the hotel, have you heard that Miss Beddingfeld is alive and kicking? He nodded. She gave us quite a fright, I said airily. Where the devil did she go to that night, thats what Id like to know. She was on the island all the time. Which island? Not the one with the young man on it? Yes. How very improper, I said. Pagett will be quite shocked. He always did disapprove of Anne Beddingfeld. I suppose that was the young man she originally intended to meet in Durban? I dont think so. Dont tell me anything you dont want to, I said, by way of encouraging him. I fancy that this is a young man we should all be very glad to lay our hands on. Not? I cried, in rising excitement. He nodded. Harry Rayburn, alias Harry Lucasthats his real name, you know. Hes given us all the slip once more, but were bound to rope him in soon. Dear me, dear me, I murmured. We dont suspect the girl of complicity in any case. On her side itsjust a love affair. I always did think Race was in love with Anne. The way he said those last words made me feel sure of it. Shes gone to Beira, he continued rather hastily. Indeed, I said, staring. How do you know? She wrote to me from Bulawayo, telling me she was going home that way. The best thing she can do, poor child. Somehow, I dont fancy she is in Beira, I said meditatively. She was just starting when she wrote. I was puzzled. Somebody was clearly lying. Without stopping to reflect that Anne might have excellent reasons for her misleading statements, I gave myself up to the pleasure of scoring off Race. He is always so cocksure. I took the telegram from my pocket and handed it to him. Then how do you explain this? I asked nonchalantly. He seemed dumbfounded. She said she was just starting for Beira, he said, in a dazed voice. I know that Race is supposed to be clever. He is, in my opinion, rather a stupid man. It never seemed to occur to him that girls do not always tell the truth. Kimberley too. What are they doing there? he muttered. Yes, that surprised me. I should have thought Miss Anne would have been in the thick of it here, gathering copy for the Daily Budget. Kimberley, he said again. The place seemed to upset him. Theres nothing to see therethe pits arent being worked. You know what women are, I said vaguely. He shook his head and went off. I have evidently given him something to think about. No sooner had he departed than my government official reappeared. I hope you will forgive me for troubling you again, Sir Eustace, he apologized. But there are one or two questions I should like to ask you. Certainly, my dear fellow, I said cheerfully. Ask away. It concerns your secretary I know nothing about him, I said hastily. He foisted himself upon me in London, robbed me of valuable papersfor which I shall be hauled over the coalsand disappeared like a conjuring trick at Cape Town. Its true that I was at the falls at the same time as he was, but I was at the hotel, and he was on an island. I can assure you that I never set eyes upon him the whole time that I was there. I paused for breath. You misunderstand me. It was of your other secretary that I spoke. What? Pagett? I cried, in lively astonishment. Hes been with me eight yearsa most trustworthy fellow. My interlocutor smiled. We are still at crosspurposes. I refer to the lady. Miss Pettigrew? I exclaimed. Yes. She has been seen coming out of Agrasatos Native Curioshop. God bless my soul! I interrupted. I was going into that place myself this afternoon. You might have caught me coming out! There doesnt seem to be any innocent thing that one can do in Joburg without being suspected for it. Ah! but she has been there more than onceand in rather doubtful circumstances. I may as well tell youin confidence, Sir Eustacethat the place is suspected of being a wellknown rendezvous used by the secret organization behind this revolution. That is why I should be glad to hear all that you can tell me about this lady. Where and how did you come to engage her? She was lent to me, I replied coldly, by your own government. He collapsed utterly. XXX (Annes narrative resumed) As soon as I got to Kimberley I wired to Suzanne. She joined me there with the utmost dispatch, heralding her arrival with telegrams sent off en route. I was awfully surprised to find that she really was fond of meI thought I had been just a new sensation, but she positively fell on my neck and wept when we met. When we had recovered from our emotion a little, I sat down on the bed and told her the whole story from A to Z. You always did suspect Colonel Race, she said thoughtfully, when I had finished. I didnt until the night you disappeared. I liked him so much all along and thought he would make such a nice husband for you. Oh, Anne, dear, dont be cross, but how do you know that this young man of yours is telling the truth? You believe every word he says. Of course I do, I cried indignantly. But what is there in him that attracts you so? I dont see that theres anything in him at all except his rather reckless good looks and his modern SheikcumStoneAge lovemaking. I poured out the vials of my wrath upon Suzanne for some minutes. Just because youre comfortably married and getting fat, youve forgotten that theres any such thing as romance, I ended. Oh, Im not getting fat, Anne. All the worry Ive had about you lately must have worn me to a shred. You look particularly well nourished, I said coldly. I should say you must have put on about half a stone. And I dont know that Im so comfortably married either, continued Suzanne in a melancholy voice. Ive been having the most dreadful cables from Clarence ordering me to come home at once. At last I didnt answer them, and now I havent heard for over a fortnight. Im afraid I didnt take Suzannes matrimonial troubles very seriously. She will be able to get round Clarence all right when the times comes. I turned the conversation to the subject of the diamonds. Suzanne looked at me with a dropped jaw. I must explain, Anne. You see, as soon as I began to suspect Colonel Race, I was terribly upset about the diamonds. I wanted to stay on at the falls in case he might have kidnapped you somewhere close by, but didnt know what to do about the diamonds. I was afraid to keep them in my possession Suzanne looked round her uneasily, as though she feared the walls might have ears, and then whispered vehemently in my ear. A distinctly good idea, I approved. At the time, that is. Its a bit awkward now. What did Sir Eustace do with the cases? The big ones were sent down to Cape Town. I heard from Pagett before I left the falls, and he enclosed the receipt for their storage. Hes leaving Cape Town today, by the by, to join Sir Eustace in Johannesburg. I see, I said thoughtfully. And the small ones, where are they? I suppose Sir Eustace has got them with him. I turned the matter over in my mind. Well, I said at last, its awkwardbut its safe enough. Wed better do nothing for the present. Suzanne looked at me with a little smile. You dont like doing nothing, do you, Anne? Not very much, I replied honestly. The one thing I could do was to get hold of a timetable and see what time Guy Pagetts train would pass through Kimberley. I found that it would arrive at 540 on the following afternoon and depart again at 600. I wanted to see Pagett as soon as possible, and that seemed to me a good opportunity. The situation on the Rand was getting very serious, and it might be a long time before I got another chance. The only thing that livened up the day was a wire dispatched from Johannesburg. A most innocentsounding telegram Arrived safely. All going well. Eric here, also Eustace, but not Guy. Remain where you are for the present. Andy. Eric was our pseudonym for Race. I chose it because it is a name I dislike exceedingly. There was clearly nothing to be done until I could see Pagett. Suzanne employed herself in sending off a long soothing cable to the faroff Clarence. She became quite sentimental over him. In her waywhich of course is quite different from me and Harryshe is really fond of Clarence. I do wish he was here, Anne, she gulped. Its such a long time since Ive seen him. Have some face cream, I said soothingly. Suzanne rubbed a little on the tip of her charming nose. I shall want some more face cream soon too, she remarked, and you can only get this kind in Paris. She sighed. Paris! Suzanne, I said, very soon youll have had enough of South Africa and adventure. I should like a really nice hat, admitted Suzanne wistfully. Shall I come with you to meet Guy Pagett tomorrow? I prefer to go alone. Hed be shyer speaking before two of us. So it came about that I was standing in the doorway of the hotel on the following afternoon, struggling with a recalcitrant parasol that refused to go up, whilst Suzanne lay peacefully on her bed with a book and a basket of fruit. According to the hotel porter, the train was on its good behaviour today and would be almost on time, though he was extremely doubtful whether it would ever get through to Johannesburg. The line had been blown up, so he solemnly assured me. It sounded cheerful! The train drew in just ten minutes late. Everybody tumbled out on the platform and began walking up and down feverishly. I had no difficulty in espying Pagett. I accosted him eagerly. He gave his usual nervous start at seeing mesomewhat accentuated this time. Dear me, Miss Beddingfeld, I understood that you had disappeared. I have reappeared again, I told him solemnly. And how are you, Mr. Pagett? Very well, thank youlooking forward to taking up my work again with Sir Eustace. Mr. Pagett, I said, there is something I want to ask you. I hope that you wont be offended, but a lot hangs on it, more than you can possibly guess. I want to know what you were doing at Marlow on the 8th of January last? He started violently. Really, Miss BeddingfeldIindeed You were there, werent you? Ifor reasons of my own I was in the neighbourhood, yes. Wont you tell me what those reasons were? Sir Eustace has not already told you? Sir Eustace? Does he know? I am almost sure that he does. I hoped he had not recognized me, but from the hints he has let drop, and his remarks, I fear it is only too certain. In any case, I meant to make a clean breast of the matter and offer him my resignation. He is a peculiar man, Miss Beddingfeld, with an abnormal sense of humour. It seems to amuse him to keep me on tenterhooks. All the time, I dare say, he was perfectly well aware of the true facts. Possibly he has known them for years. I hoped that sooner or later I should be able to understand what Pagett was talking about. He went on fluently It is difficult for a man of Sir Eustaces standing to put himself in my position. I know that I was in the wrong, but it seemed a harmless deception. I would have thought it better taste on his part to have tackled me outrightinstead of indulging in covert jokes at my expense. A whistle blew, and the people began to surge back into the train. Yes, Mr. Pagett, I broke in, Im sure I quite agree with all youre saying about Sir Eustace. But why did you go to Marlow? It was wrong of me, but natural under the circumstancesyes, I still feel natural under the circumstances. What circumstances? I cried desperately. For the first time Pagett seemed to recognize that I was asking him a question. His mind detached itself from the peculiarities of Sir Eustace and his own justification and came to rest on me. I beg your pardon, Miss Beddingfeld, he said stiffly, but I fail to see your concern in the matter. He was back in the train now, leaning down to speak to me. I felt desperate. What could one do with a man like that? Of course, if its so dreadful that youd be ashamed to speak of it to me I began spitefully. At last I had found the right stop. Pagett stiffened and flushed. Dreadful? Ashamed? I dont understand you. Then tell me. In three short sentences he told me. At last I knew Pagetts secret! It was not in the least what I expected. I walked slowly back to the hotel. There a wire was handed to me. I tore it open. It contained full and definite instructions for me to proceed forthwith to Johannesburg, or rather to a station this side of Johannesburg, where I should be met by a car. It was signed, not Andy, but Harry. I sat down in a chair to do some very serious thinking. XXXI (From the diary of Sir Eustace Pedler) Johannesburg, March 7th. Pagett has arrived. He is in a blue funk of course. Suggested at once that we should go off to Pretoria. Then, when I had told him kindly but firmly that we were going to remain here, he went to the other extreme, wished he had his rifle here, and began bucking about some bridge he guarded during the Great War. A railway bridge at Little Puddecombe junction, or something of that sort. I soon cut that short by telling him to unpack the big typewriter. I thought that that would keep him employed for some time, because the typewriter was sure to have gone wrongit always doesand he would have to take it somewhere to be mended. But I had forgotten Pagetts powers of being in the right. Ive already unpacked all the cases, Sir Eustace. The typewriter is in perfect condition. What do you meanall the cases? The two small cases as well. I wish you wouldnt be so officious, Pagett. Those small cases were no business of yours. They belong to Mrs. Blair. Pagett looked crestfallen. He hates to make a mistake. So you can just pack them up again neatly, I continued. After that you can go out and look around you. Joburg will probably be a heap of smoking ruins by tomorrow, so it may be your last chance. I thought that that would get rid of him successfully for the morning, at any rate. There is something I want to say to you when you have the leisure, Sir Eustace. I havent got it now, I said hastily. At this minute I have absolutely no leisure whatsoever. Pagett retired. By the way, I called after him, what was there in those cases of Mrs. Blairs? Some fur rugs, and a couple of furhats, I think. Thats right, I assented. She bought them on the train. They are hatsof a kindthough I hardly wonder at your not recognizing them. I dare say shes going to wear one of them at Ascot. What else was there? Some rolls of films and some basketsa lot of baskets There would be, I assured him. Mrs. Blair is the kind of woman who never buys less than a dozen or so of anything. I think thats all, Sir Eustace, except some miscellaneous odds and ends, a motorveil and some odd glovesthat sort of thing. If you hadnt been a born idiot, Pagett, you would have seen from the start that those couldnt possibly be my belongings. I thought some of them might belong to Miss Pettigrew. Ah, that reminds mewhat do you mean by picking me out such a doubtful character as a secretary? And I told him about the searching crossexamination I had been put through. Immediately I was sorry, I saw a glint in his eye that I knew only too well. I changed the conversation hurriedly. But it was too late. Pagett was on the warpath. He next proceeded to bore me with a long pointless story about the Kilmorden. It was about a roll of films and a wager. The roll of films being thrown through a porthole in the middle of the night by some steward who ought to have known better. I hate horseplay. I told Pagett so, and he began to tell me the story all over again. He tells a story extremely badly, anyway. It was a long time before I could make head or tail of this one. I did not see him again until lunchtime. Then he came in brimming over with excitement, like a bloodhound on the scent. I never have cared for bloodhounds. The upshot of it all was that he had seen Rayburn. What? I cried, startled. Yes, he had caught sight of someone whom he was sure was Rayburn crossing the street. Pagett had followed him. And who do you think I saw him stop and speak to? Miss Pettigrew! What? Yes, Sir Eustace. And thats not all. Ive been making inquiries about her Wait a bit. What happened to Rayburn? He and Miss Pettigrew went into that corner curio shop I uttered an involuntary exclamation. Pagett stopped inquiringly. Nothing, I said. Go on. I waited outside for agesbut they didnt come out. At last I went in. Sir Eustace, there was no one in the shop! There must be another way out. I stared at him. As I was saying, I came back to the hotel and made some inquiries about Miss Pettigrew. Pagett lowered his voice and breathed hard as he always does when he wants to be confidential. Sir Eustace, a man was seen coming out of her room last night. I raised my eyebrows. And I always regarded her as a lady of such eminent respectability, I murmured. Pagett went on without heeding. I went straight up and searched her room. What do you think I found? I shook my head. This! Pagett held up a safety razor and a stick of shaving soap. What should a woman want with these? I dont suppose Pagett ever reads the advertisements in the highclass ladies papers. I do. Whilst not proposing to argue with him on the subject, I refused to accept the presence of the razor as proof positive of Miss Pettigrews sex. Pagett is so hopelessly behind the times. I should not have been at all surprised if he had produced a cigarette case to support his theory. However, even Pagett has his limits. Youre not convinced, Sir Eustace. What do you say to this? I inspected the article which he dangled aloft triumphantly. It looks like hair, I remarked distastefully. It is hair. I think its what they call a toupee. Indeed, I commented. Now are you convinced that that Pettigrew woman is a man in disguise? Really, my dear Pagett, I think I am. I might have known it by her feet. Then thats that. And now, Sir Eustace, I want to speak to you about my private affairs. I cannot doubt, from your hints and your continual allusions to the time I was in Florence, that you have found me out. At last the mystery of what Pagett did in Florence is going to be revealed! Make a clean breast of it, my dear fellow, I said kindly. Much the best way. Thank you, Sir Eustace. Is it her husband? Annoying fellows, husbands. Always turning up when theyre least expected. I fail to follow you, Sir Eustace. Whose husband? The ladys husband. What lady? God bless my soul, Pagett, the lady you met in Florence. There must have been a lady. Dont tell me that you merely robbed a church or stabbed an Italian in the back because you didnt like his face. I am quite at a loss to understand you, Sir Eustace. I suppose you are joking. I am an amusing fellow sometimes, when I take the trouble, but I can assure you that I am not trying to be funny this minute. I hoped that as I was a good way off you had not recognized me, Sir Eustace. Recognized you where? At Marlow, Sir Eustace? At Marlow? What the devil were you doing at Marlow? I thought you understood that Im beginning to understand less and less. Go back to the beginning of the story and start again. You went to Florence Then you dont know after alland you didnt recognize me! As far as I can judge, you seem to have given yourself away needlesslymade a coward of by your conscience. But I shall be able to tell better when Ive heard the whole story. Now, then, take a deep breath and start again. You went to Florence But I didnt go to Florence. That is just it. Well, where did you go, then? I went hometo Marlow. What the devil did you want to go to Marlow for? I wanted to see my wife. She was in delicate health and expecting Your wife? But I didnt know you were married? No, Sir Eustace, that is just what I am telling you. I deceived you in this matter. How long have you been married? Just over eight years. I had been married just six months when I became your secretary. I did not want to lose the post. A resident secretary is not supposed to have a wife, so I suppressed the fact. You take my breath away, I remarked. Where has she been all these years? We have had a small bungalow on the river at Marlow, quite close to the Mill House, for over five years. God bless my soul, I muttered. Any children? Four children, Sir Eustace. I gazed at him in a kind of stupor. I might have known, all along, that a man like Pagett couldnt have a guilty secret. The respectability of Pagett has always been my bane. Thats just the kind of secret he would havea wife and four children. Have you told this to anyone else? I demanded at last, when I had gazed at him in fascinated interest for quite a long while. Only Miss Beddingfeld. She came to the station at Kimberley. I continued to stare at him. He fidgeted under my glance. I hope, Sir Eustace, that you are not seriously annoyed? My dear fellow, I said, I dont mind telling you here and now that youve blinking well torn it! I went out seriously ruffled. As I passed the corner curio shop, I was assailed by a sudden irresistible temptation and went in. The proprietor came forward obsequiously, rubbing his hands. Can I show you something? Furs, curios? I want something quite out of the ordinary, I said. Its for a special occasion. Will you show me what youve got? Perhaps you will come into my back room? We have many specialties there? That is where I made a mistake. And I thought I was going to be so clever. I followed him through the swinging portieres. XXXII (Annes narrative resumed) I had great trouble with Suzanne. She argued, she pleaded, she even wept before she would let me carry out my plan. But in the end I got my own way. She promised to carry out my instructions to the letter and came down to the station to bid me a tearful farewell. I arrived at my destination the following morning early. I was met by a short blackbearded Dutchman whom I had never seen before. He had a car waiting and we drove off. There was a queer booming in the distance, and I asked him what it was. Guns, he answered laconically. So there was fighting going on in Joburg! I gathered that our objective was a spot somewhere in the suburbs of the city. We turned and twisted and made several detours to get there, and every minute the guns were nearer. It was an exciting time. At last we stopped before a somewhat ramshackle building. The door was opened by a Kafir boy. My guide signed to me to enter. I stood irresolute in the dingy square hall. The man passed me and threw open a door. The young lady to see Mr. Harry Rayburn, he said, and laughed. Thus announced, I passed in. The room was sparsely furnished and smelt of cheap tobacco smoke. Behind a desk a man sat writing. He looked up and raised his eyebrows. Dear me, he said, if it isnt Miss Beddingfeld! I must be seeing double, I apologized. Is it Mr. Chichester, or is it Miss Pettigrew? There is an extraordinary resemblance to both of them. Both characters are in abeyance for the moment. I have doffed my petticoatsand my cloth likewise. Wont you sit down? I accepted a seat composedly. It would seem, I remarked, that I have come to the wrong address. From your point of view, I am afraid you have. Really, Miss Beddingfeld, to fall into the trap a second time! It was not very bright of me, I admitted meekly. Something about my manner seemed to puzzle him. You hardly seem upset by the occurrence, he remarked dryly. Would my going into heroics have any effect upon you? I asked. It certainly would not. My greataunt Jane always used to say that a true lady was neither shocked nor surprised at anything that might happen, I murmured dreamily. I endeavour to live up to her precepts. I read Mr. ChichesterPettigrews opinion so plainly written on his face that I hastened into speech once more. You really are positively marvellous at makeup, I said generously. All the time you were Miss Pettigrew I never recognized youeven when you broke your pencil in the shock of seeing me climb upon the train at Cape Town. He tapped upon the desk with the pencil he was holding in his hand at the minute. All this is very well in its way, but we must get to business. Perhaps, Miss Beddingfeld, you can guess why we required your presence here? You will excuse me, I said, but I never do business with anyone but principals. I had read the phrase or something like it in a moneylenders circular, and I was rather pleased with it. It certainly had a devastating effect upon Mr. ChichesterPettigrew. He opened his mouth and then shut it again. I beamed upon him. My greatuncle Georges maxim, I added, as an afterthought. Greataunt Janes husband, you know. He made knobs for brass beds. I doubt if ChichesterPettigrew had ever been ragged before. He didnt like it at all. I think you would be wise to alter your tone, young lady. I did not reply, but yawneda delicate little yawn that hinted at intense boredom. What the devil he began forcibly. I interrupted him. I can assure you its no good shouting at me. We are only wasting time here. I have no intention of talking with underlings. You will save a lot of time and annoyance by taking me straight to Sir Eustace Pedler. To He looked dumbfounded. Yes, I said. Sir Eustace Pedler. IIexcuse me He bolted from the room like a rabbit. I took advantage of the respite to open my bag and powder my nose thoroughly. Also I settled my hat at a more becoming angle. Then I settled myself to wait with patience for my enemys return. He reappeared in a subtly chastened mood. Will you come this way, Miss Beddingfeld? I followed him up the stairs. He knocked at the door of a room, a brisk Come in sounded from inside, and he opened the door and motioned to me to pass inside. Sir Eustace Pedler sprang up to greet me, genial and smiling. Well, well, Miss Anne. He shook me warmly by the hand. Im delighted to see you. Come and sit down. Not tired after your journey? Thats good. He sat down facing me, still beaming. It left me rather at a loss. His manner was so completely natural. Quite right to insist on being brought straight to me, he went on. Minks is a fool. A clever actorbut a fool. That was Minks you saw downstairs. Oh, really, I said feebly. And now, said Sir Eustace cheerfully, lets get down to facts. How long have you known that I was the Colonel? Ever since Mr. Pagett told me that he had seen you in Marlow when you were supposed to be in Cannes. Sir Eustace nodded ruefully. Yes, I told the fool hed blinking well torn it. He didnt understand of course. His whole mind was set on whether Id recognized him. It never occurred to him to wonder what I was doing down there. A piece of sheer bad luck that was. I arranged it all so carefully too, sending him off to Florence, telling the hotel I was going over to Nice for one night or possibly two. Then, by the time the murder was discovered, I was back again in Cannes, with nobody dreaming that Id ever left the Riviera. He still spoke quite naturally and unaffectedly. I had to pinch myself to understand that this was all realthat the man in front of me was really that deepdyed criminal, the Colonel. I followed things out in my mind. Then it was you who tried to throw me overboard on the Kilmorden, I said slowly. It was you that Pagett followed up on deck that night? He shrugged his shoulders. I apologize, my dear child, I really do. I always liked youbut you were so confoundedly interfering. I couldnt have all my plans brought to naught by a chit of a girl. I think your plan at the falls was really the cleverest, I said, endeavouring to look at the thing in a detached fashion. I would have been ready to swear anywhere that you were in the hotel when I went out. Seeing is believing in future. Yes, Minks had one of his greatest successes as Miss Pettigrew, and he can imitate my voice quite creditably. There is one thing I should like to know. Yes? How did you induce Pagett to engage her? Oh, that was quite simple. She met Pagett in the doorway of the Trade Commissioners office or the Chamber of Mines, or wherever it was he wenttold him I had phoned down in a hurry, and that she had been selected by the government department in question. Pagett swallowed it like a lamb. Youre very frank, I said, studying him. Theres no earthly reason why I shouldnt be. I didnt quite like the sound of that. I hastened to put my own interpretation on it. You believe in the success of this revolution? Youve burnt your boats. For an otherwise intelligent young woman, thats a singularly unintelligent remark. No, my dear child, I do not believe in this revolution. I give it a couple of days longer and it will fizzle out ignominiously. Not one of your successes, in fact? I said nastily. Like all women, youve no idea of business. The job I took on was to supply certain explosives and armsheavily paid forto foment feeling generally, and to incriminate certain people up to the hilt. Ive carried out my contract with complete success, and I was careful to be paid in advance. I took special care over the whole thing, as I intended it to be my last contract before retiring from business. As for burning my boats, as you call it, I simply dont know what you mean. Im not the rebel chief, or anything of that kindIm a distinguished English visitor, who had the misfortune to go nosing into a certain curio shopand saw a little more than he was meant to, and so the poor fellow was kidnapped. Tomorrow, or the day after, when circumstances permit, I shall be found tied up somewhere in a pitiable state of terror and starvation. Ah! I said slowly. But what about me? Thats just it, said Sir Eustace softly. What about you? Ive got you hereI dont want to rub it in in any waybut Ive got you here very neatly.

The question is, what am I going to do with you? The simplest way of disposing of youand, I may add, the pleasantest to myselfis the way of marriage. Wives cant accuse their husbands, you know, and Id rather like a pretty young wife to hold my hand and glance at me out of liquid eyesdont flash them at me so! You quite frighten me. I see that the plan does not commend itself to you? It does not. Sir Eustace sighed. A pity! But I am no Adelphi villain. The usual trouble, I suppose. You love another, as the books say. I love another. I thought as muchfirst I thought it was that longlegged, pompous ass, Race, but I suppose its the young hero who fished you out of the falls that night. Women have no taste. Neither of those two have half the brains that I have. Im such an easy person to underestimate. I think he was right about that. Although I knew well enough the kind of man he was and must be, I could not bring myself to realize it. He had tried to kill me on more than one occasion, he had actually killed another woman, and he was responsible for endless other deeds of which I knew nothing, and yet I was quite unable to bring myself into the frame of mind for appreciating his deeds as they deserved. I could not think of him as other than our amusing, genial travelling companion. I could not even feel frightened of himand yet I knew he was capable of having me murdered in cold blood if it struck him as necessary. The only parallel I can think of is the case of Stevensons Long John Silver. He must have been much the same kind of man. Well, well, said this extraordinary person, leaning back in his chair. Its a pity that the idea of being Lady Pedler doesnt appeal to you. The other alternatives are rather crude. I felt a nasty feeling going up and down my spine. Of course I had known all along that I was taking a big risk, but the prize had seemed worth it. Would things turn out as I had calculated, or would they not? The fact of the matter is, Sir Eustace was continuing, Ive a weakness for you. I really dont want to proceed to extremes. Suppose you tell me the whole story, from the very beginning, and lets see what we can make of it. But no romancing, mindI want the truth. I was not going to make any mistake over that. I had a great deal of respect for Sir Eustaces shrewdness. It was a moment for the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. I told him the whole story, omitting nothing, up to the moment of my rescue by Harry. When I had finished, he nodded his head in approval. Wise girl. Youve made a clean breast of the thing. And let me tell you I should soon have caught you out if you hadnt. A lot of people wouldnt believe your story, anyway, especially the beginning part, but I do. Youre the kind of girl who would start off like thatat a moments notice, on the slenderest of motives. Youve had amazing luck, of course, but sooner or later the amateur runs up against the professional and then the result is a foregone conclusion. I am the professional. I started on this business when I was quite a youngster. All things considered, it seemed to me a good way of getting rich quickly. I always could think things out, and devise ingenious schemesand I never made the mistake of trying to carry out my schemes myself. Always employ the expertthat has been my motto. The one time I departed from it I came to griefbut I couldnt trust anyone to do that job for me. Nadina knew too much. Im an easygoing man, kindhearted and good tempered so long as Im not thwarted. Nadina both thwarted me and threatened mejust as I was at the apex of a successful career. Once she was dead and the diamonds were in my possession, I was safe. Ive come to the conclusion now that I bungled the job. That idiot Pagett, with his wife and family! My faultit tickled my sense of humour to employ the fellow, with his Cinquecento poisoners face and his midVictorian soul. A maxim for you, my dear Anne. Dont let your sense of humour carry you away. For years Ive had an instinct that it would be wise to get rid of Pagett, but the fellow was so hardworking and conscientious that I honestly couldnt find an excuse for sacking him. So I left things drift. But were wandering from the point. The question is what to do with you. Your narrative was admirably clear, but there is one thing that still escapes me. Where are the diamonds now? Harry Rayburn has them, I said, watching him. His face did not change, it retained its expression of sardonic good humour. Hm. I want those diamonds. I dont see much chance of your getting them, I replied. Dont you? Now I do. I dont want to be unpleasant, but I should like you to reflect that a dead girl or so found in this quarter of the city will occasion no surprise. Theres a man downstairs who does those sort of jobs very neatly. Now, youre a sensible young woman. What I propose is this you will sit down and write to Harry Rayburn, telling him to join you here and bring the diamonds with him I wont do anything of the kind. Dont interrupt your elders. I propose to make a bargain with you. The diamonds in exchange for your life. And dont make any mistake about it, your life is absolutely in my power. And Harry? Im far too tenderhearted to part two young lovers. He shall go free tooon the understanding, of course, that neither of you will interfere with me in future. And what guarantee have I that you will keep your side of the bargain? None whatever, my dear girl. Youll have to trust me and hope for the best. Of course, if youre in an heroic mood and prefer annihilation, thats another matter. This was what I had been playing for. I was careful not to jump at the bait. Gradually I allowed myself to be bullied and cajoled into yielding. I wrote at Sir Eustaces dictation Dear Harry, I think I see a chance of establishing your innocence beyond any possible doubt. Please follow my instructions minutely. Go to Agrasatos curio shop. Ask to see something out of the ordinary, for a special occasion. The man will then ask you to come into the back room. Go with him. You will find a messenger who will bring you to me. Do exactly as he tells you. Be sure and bring the diamonds with you. Not a word to anyone. Sir Eustace stopped. I leave the fancy touches to your own imagination, he remarked. But be careful to make no mistakes. Yours forever and ever, Anne, will be sufficient, I remarked. I wrote in the words. Sir Eustace stretched out his hand for the letter and read it through. That seems all right. Now the address. I gave it him. It was that of a small shop which received letters and telegrams for a consideration. He struck the bell upon the table with his hand. ChichesterPettigrew, alias Minks, answered the summons. This letter is to go immediatelythe usual route. Very well, Colonel. He looked at the name on the envelope. Sir Eustace was watching him keenly. A friend of yours, I think? Of mine? The man seemed startled. You had a prolonged conversation with him in Johannesburg yesterday. A man came up and questioned me about your movements and those of Colonel Race. I gave him misleading information. Excellent, my dear fellow, excellent, said Sir Eustace genially. My mistake. I chanced to look at ChichesterPettigrew as he left the room. He was white to the lips, as though in deadly terror. No sooner was he outside than Sir Eustace picked up a speaking tube that rested by his elbow and spoke down it. That you, Schwart? Watch Minks. Hes not to leave the house without orders. He put the speaking tube down again and frowned, slightly tapping the table with his hand. May I ask you a few questions, Sir Eustace, I said, after a minute or two of silence. Certainly. What excellent nerves you have, Anne. You are capable of taking an intelligent interest in things when most girls would be sniffling and wringing their hands. Why did you take Harry as your secretary instead of giving him up to the police? I wanted those cursed diamonds. Nadina, the little devil, was playing off your Harry against me. Unless I gave her the price she wanted, she threatened to sell them back to him. That was another mistake I madeI thought shed have them with her that day. But she was too clever for that. Carton, her husband, was dead tooId no clue whatsoever as to where the diamonds were hidden. Then I managed to get a copy of a wireless message sent to Nadina by someone on board the Kilmordeneither Carton or Rayburn, I didnt know which. It was a duplicate of that piece of paper you picked up. Seventeen one twenty two, it ran. I took it to be an appointment with Rayburn, and when he was so desperate to get aboard the Kilmorden I was convinced that I was right. So I pretended to swallow his statements, and let him come. I kept a pretty sharp watch upon him and hoped that I should learn more. Then I found Minks trying to play a lone hand and interfering with me. I soon stopped that. He came to heel all right. It was annoying not getting cabin 17, and it worried me not being able to place you. Were you the innocent young girl you seemed, or were you not? When Rayburn set out to keep the appointment that night, Minks was told off to intercept him. Minks muffed it of course. But why did the wireless message say seventeen instead of seventyone? Ive thought that out. Carton must have given that wireless operator his own memorandum to copy off on to a form, and he never read the copy through. The operator made the same mistake we all did, and read it as 17.1.22 instead of 1.71.22. The thing I dont know is how Minks got on to cabin 17. It must have been sheer instinct. And the dispatch to General Smuts? Who tampered with that? My dear Anne, you dont suppose I was going to have a lot of my plans given away, without making an effort to save them? With an escaped murderer as a secretary, I had no hesitation whatever in substituting blanks. Nobody would think of suspecting poor old Pedler. What about Colonel Race? Yes, that was a nasty jar. When Pagett told me he was a secret service fellow, I had an unpleasant feeling down the spine. I remembered that hed been nosing around Nadina in Paris during the Warand I had a horrible suspicion that he was out after me! I dont like the way hes stuck to me ever since. Hes one of those strong, silent men who have always got something up their sleeve. A whistle sounded. Sir Eustace picked up the tube, listened for a minute or two, then answered Very well, Ill see him now. Business, he remarked. Miss Anne, let me show you your room. He ushered me into a small shabby apartment, a Kafir boy brought up my small suitcase, and Sir Eustace, urging me to ask for anything I wanted, withdrew, the picture of a courteous host. A can of hot water was on the washstand, and I proceeded to unpack a few necessaries. Something hard and unfamiliar in my sponge bag puzzled me greatly. I untied the string and looked inside. To my utter amazement I drew out a small pearlhandled revolver. It hadnt been there when I started from Kimberley. I examined the thing gingerly. It appeared to be loaded. I handled it with a comfortable feeling. It was a useful thing to have in a house such as this. But modern clothes are quite unsuited to the carrying of firearms. In the end I pushed it gingerly into the top of my stocking. It made a terrible bulge, and I expected every minute that it would go off and shoot me in the leg, but it really seemed the only place. XXXIII I was not summoned to Sir Eustaces presence until late in the afternoon. Eleven oclock tea and a substantial lunch had been served to me in my own apartment, and I felt fortified for further conflict. Sir Eustace was alone. He was walking up and down the room, and there was a gleam in his eye and a restlessness in his manner which did not escape me. He was exultant about something. There was a subtle change in his manner towards me. I have news for you. Your young man is on his way. He will be here in a few minutes. Moderate your transportsI have something more to say. You attempted to deceive me this morning. I warned you that you would be wise to stick to the truth, and up to a certain point you obeyed me. Then you ran off the rails. You attempted to make me believe that the diamonds were in Harry Rayburns possession. At the time, I accepted your statement because it facilitated my taskthe task of inducing you to decoy Harry Rayburn here. But, my dear Anne, the diamonds have been in my possession ever since I left the fallsthough I only discovered the fact yesterday. You know! I gasped. It may interest you to hear that it was Pagett who gave the show away. He insisted on boring me with a long pointless story about a wager and a tin of films. It didnt take me long to put two and two togetherMrs. Blairs distrust of Colonel Race, her agitation, her entreaty that I would take care of her souvenirs for her. The excellent Pagett had already unfastened the cases through an excess of zeal. Before leaving the hotel, I simply transferred all the rolls of films to my own pocket. They are in the corner there. I admit that I havent had time to examine them yet, but I notice that one is of a totally different weight to the others, rattles in a peculiar fashion, and has evidently been stuck down with seccotine, which will necessitate the use of a tin opener. The case seems clear, does it not? And now, you see, I have you both nicely in the trap. Its a pity that you didnt take kindly to the idea of becoming Lady Pedler. I did not answer. I stood looking at him. There was the sound of feet on the stairs, the door was flung open, and Harry Rayburn was hustled into the room between two men. Sir Eustace flung me a look of triumph. According to plan, he said softly. You amateurs will pit yourselves against professionals. Whats the meaning of this? cried Harry hoarsely. It means that you have walked into my parloursaid the spider to the fly, remarked Sir Eustace facetiously. My dear Rayburn, you are extraordinarily unlucky. You said I could come safely, Anne? Do not reproach her, my dear fellow. That note was written at my dictation, and the lady could not help herself. She would have been wiser not to write it, but I did not tell her so at the time. You followed her instructions, went to the curio shop, were taken through the secret passage from the back roomand found yourself in the hands of your enemies! Harry looked at me. I understood his glance and edged nearer to Sir Eustace. Yes, murmured the latter, decidedly you are not lucky! This islet me see, the third encounter. You are right, said Harry. This is the third encounter. Twice you have worsted mehave you never heard that the third time the luck changes? This is my roundcover him, Anne. I was all ready. In a flash I had whipped the pistol out of my stocking and was holding it to his head. The two men guarding Harry sprang forward, but his voice stopped them. Another stepand he dies! If they come any nearer, Anne, pull the triggerdont hesitate. I shant, I replied cheerfully. Im rather afraid of pulling it, anyway. I think Sir Eustace shared my fears. He was certainly shaking like a jelly. Stay where you are, he commanded, and the men stopped obediently. Tell them to leave the room, said Harry. Sir Eustace gave the order. The men filed out, and Harry shot the bolt across the door behind them. Now we can talk, he observed grimly, and coming across the room, he took the revolver out of my hand. Sir Eustace uttered a sigh of relief and wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. Im shockingly out of condition, he observed. I think I must have a weak heart. I am glad that revolver is in competent hands. I didnt trust Miss Anne with it. Well, my young friend, as you say, now we can talk. Im willing to admit that you stole a march upon me. Where the devil that revolver came from I dont know. I had the girls luggage searched when she arrived. And where did you produce it from now? You hadnt got it on you a minute ago? Yes, I had, I replied. It was in my stocking. I dont know enough about women. I ought to have studied them more, said Sir Eustace sadly. I wonder if Pagett would have known that? Harry rapped sharply on the table. Dont play the fool. If it werent for your grey hairs, Id throw you out of the window. You damned scoundrel! Grey hairs, or no grey hairs, I He advanced a step or two, and Sir Eustace skipped nimbly behind the table. The young are always so violent, he said reproachfully. Unable to use their brains, they rely solely on their muscles. Let us talk sense. For the moment you have the upper hand. But that state of affairs cannot continue. The house is full of my men. You are hopelessly outnumbered. Your momentary ascendency has been gained by an accident Has it? Something in Harrys voice, a grim raillery, seemed to attract Sir Eustaces attention. He stared at him. Has it? said Harry again. Sit down, Sir Eustace, and listen to what I have to say. Still covering him with the revolver, he went on The cards are against you this time. To begin with, listen to that! That was a dull banging at the door below. There were shouts, oaths, and then a sound of firing. Sir Eustace paled. Whats that? Raceand his people. You didnt know, did you, Sir Eustace, that Anne had an arrangement with me by which we should know whether communications from one to the other were genuine? Telegrams were to be signed Andy, letters were to have the word and crossed out somewhere in them. Anne knew that your telegram was a fake. She came here of her own free will, walked deliberately into the snare, in the hope that she might catch you in your own trap. Before leaving Kimberley she wired both to me and to Race. Mrs. Blair has been in communication with us ever since. I received the letter written at your dictation, which was just what I expected. I had already discussed the probabilities of a secret passage leading out of the curio shop with Race, and he had discovered the place where the exit was situated. There was a screaming, tearing sound, and a heavy explosion which shook the room. Theyre shelling this part of the town. I must get you out of here, Anne. A bright light flared up. The house opposite was on fire. Sir Eustace had risen and was passing up and down. Harry kept him covered with the revolver. So you see, Sir Eustace, the game is up. It was you yourself who very kindly provided us with the clue of your whereabouts. Races men were watching the exit of the secret passage. In spite of the precautions you took, they were successful in following me here. Sir Eustace turned suddenly. Very clever. Very creditable. But Ive still a word to say. If Ive lost the trick, so have you. Youll never be able to bring the murder of Nadina home to me. I was in Marlow on that day, thats all youve got against me. No one can prove that I even knew the woman. But you knew her, you had a motive for killing herand your records against you. Youre a thief, remember, a thief. Theres one thing you dont know, perhaps. Ive got the diamonds. And here goes With an incredibly swift movement, he stooped, swung up his arm and threw. There was a tinkle of breaking glass, as the object went through the window and disappeared into the blazing mass opposite. There goes your only hope of establishing your innocence over the Kimberley affair. And now well talk. Ill drive a bargain with you. Youve got me cornered. Race will find all he needs in this house. Theres a chance for me if I can get away. Im done for if I stay, but so are you, young man! Theres a skylight in the next room. A couple of minutes start and I shall be all right. Ive got one or two little arrangements all ready made. You let me out that way, and give me a startand I leave you a signed confession that I killed Nadina. Yes, Harry, I cried. Yes, yes, yes! He turned a stern face on me. No, Anne, a thousand times, no. You dont know what youre saying. I do. It solves everything. Id never be able to look Race in the face again. Ill take my chance, but Im damned if Ill let this slippery old fox get away. Its no good, Anne. I wont do it. Sir Eustace chuckled. He accepted defeat without the least emotion. Well, well, he remarked. You seem to have met your master, Anne. But I can assure you both that moral rectitude does not always pay. There was a crash of rending wood, and footsteps surged up the stairs. Harry drew back the bolt. Colonel Race was the first to enter the room. His face lit at the sight of us. Youre safe, Anne. I was afraid He turned to Sir Eustace. Ive been after you for a long time, Pedlerand at last Ive got you. Everybody seems to have gone completely mad, declared Sir Eustace airily. These young people have been threatening me with revolvers and accusing me of the most shocking things. I dont know what its all about. Dont you? It means that Ive found the Colonel. It means that on January 8th last you were not at Cannes, but at Marlow. It means that when your tool, Madame Nadina, turned against you, you planned to do away with herand at last we shall be able to bring the crime home to you. Indeed? And from whom did you get all this interesting information? From the man who is even now being looked for by the police? His evidence will be very valuable. We have other evidence. There is someone else who knew that Nadina was going to meet you at the Mill House. Sir Eustace looked surprised. Colonel Race made a gesture with his hand. Arthur Minks alias the Rev. Edward Chichester alias Miss Pettigrew stepped forward. He was pale and nervous, but he spoke clearly enough I saw Nadina in Paris the night before she went over to England. I was posing at the time as a Russian count. She told me of her purpose. I warned her, knowing what kind of man she had to deal with, but she did not take my advice. There was a wireless message on the table. I read it. Afterwards I thought I would have a try for the diamonds myself. In Johannesburg, Mr. Rayburn accosted me. He persuaded me to come over to his side. Sir Eustace looked at him. He said nothing, but Minks seemed visibly to wilt. Rats always leaving a sinking ship, observed Sir Eustace. I dont care for rats. Sooner or later, I destroy vermin. Theres just one thing Id like to tell you, Sir Eustace, I remarked. That tin you threw out of the window didnt contain the diamonds. It had common pebbles in it. The diamonds are in a perfectly safe place. As a matter of fact, theyre in the big giraffes stomach. Suzanne hollowed it out, put the diamonds in with cotton wool, so that they wouldnt rattle, and plugged it up again. Sir Eustace looked at me for some time. His reply was characteristic I always did hate that blinking giraffe, he said. It must have been instinct. XXXIV We were not able to return to Johannesburg that night. The shells were coming over pretty fast, and I gathered that we were now more or less cut off, owing to the rebels having obtained possession of a new part of the suburbs. Our place of refuge was a farm some twenty miles or so from Johannesburgright out on the veld. I was dropping with fatigue. All the excitement and anxiety of the last two days had left me little better than a limp rag. I kept repeating to myself, without being able to believe it, that our troubles were really over. Harry and I were together and we should never be separated again. Yet all through I was conscious of some barrier between usa constraint on his part, the reason of which I could not fathom. Sir Eustace had been driven off in an opposite direction accompanied by a strong guard. He waved his hand airily to us on departing. I came out on to the stoep early on the following morning and looked across the veld in the direction of Johannesburg. I could see the great dumps glistening in the pale morning sunshine, and I could hear the low rumbling mutter of the guns. The revolution was not over yet. The farmers wife came out and called me in to breakfast. She was a kind, motherly soul, and I was already very fond of her. Harry had gone out at dawn and had not yet returned, so she informed me. Again I felt a stir of uneasiness pass over me. What was this shadow of which I was so conscious between us? After breakfast I sat out on the stoep, a book in my hand which I did not read. I was so lost in my own thoughts that I never saw Colonel Race ride up and dismount from his horse. It was not until he said Good morning, Anne, that I became aware of his presence. Oh, I said, with a flush, its you. Yes. May I sit down? He drew a chair up beside me. It was the first time we had been alone together since that day at the Matoppos. As always, I felt that curious mixture of fascination and fear that he never failed to inspire in me. What is the news? I asked. Smuts will be in Johannesburg tomorrow. I give this outbreak three days more before it collapses utterly. In the meantime the fighting goes on. I wish, I said, that one could be sure that the right people were the ones to get killed. I mean the ones who wanted to fightnot just all the poor people who happen to live in the parts where the fighting is going on. He nodded. I know what you mean, Anne. Thats the unfairness of war. But Ive other news for you. Yes? A confession of incompetency on my part. Pedler has managed to escape. What? Yes. No one knows how he managed it. He was securely locked up for the nightin an upperstory room of one of the farms roundabouts which the military have taken over, but this morning the room was empty and the bird had flown. Secretly I was rather pleased. Never, to this day, have I been able to rid myself of a sneaking fondness for Sir Eustace. I dare say its reprehensible, but there it is. I admired him. He was a thoroughgoing villain, I dare saybut he was a pleasant one. Ive never met anyone half so amusing since. I concealed my feelings, of course. Naturally Colonel Race would feel quite differently about it. He wanted Sir Eustace brought to justice. There was nothing very surprising in his escape when one came to think of it. All round Joburg he must have innumerable spies and agents. And, whatever Colonel Race might think, I was exceedingly doubtful that they would ever catch him. He probably had a wellplanned line of retreat. Indeed, he had said as much to us. I expressed myself suitably, though in a rather lukewarm manner, and the conversation languished. Then Colonel Race asked suddenly for Harry. I told him that he had gone off at dawn and that I hadnt seen him this morning. You understand, dont you, Anne, that apart from formalities, he is completely cleared? There are technicalities, of course, but Sir Eustaces guilt is well assured. There is nothing now to keep you apart. He said this without looking at me, in a slow, jerky voice. I understand, I said gratefully. And there is no reason why he should not at once resume his real name. No, of course not. You know his real name? The question surprised me. Of course I do. Harry Lucas. He did not answer, and something in the quality of his silence struck me as peculiar. Anne, do you remember that, as we drove home from the Matoppos that day, I told you that I knew what I had to do? Of course I remember. I think that I may fairly say I have done it. The man you love is cleared of suspicion. Was that what you meant? Of course. I hung my head, ashamed of the baseless suspicion I had entertained. He spoke again in a thoughtful voice When I was a mere youngster, I was in love with a girl who jilted me. After that I thought only of my work. My career meant everything to me. Then I met you, Anneand all that seemed worth nothing. But youths call to youth. Ive still got my work. I was silent. I suppose one cant really love two men at oncebut you can feel like it. The magnetism of this man was very great. I looked up at him suddenly. I think that youll go very far, I said dreamily. I think that youve got a great career ahead of you. Youll be one of the worlds big men. I felt as though I was uttering a prophecy. I shall be alone, though. All the people who do really big things are. You think so? Im sure of it. He took my hand and said in a low voice Id rather have hadthe other. Then Harry came striding round the corner of the house. Colonel Race rose. Good morningLucas, he said. For some reason Harry flushed up to the roots of his hair. Yes, I said gaily, you must be known by your real name now. But Harry was still staring at Colonel Race. So you know, sir, he said at last. I never forget a face. I saw you once as a boy. Whats all this about? I asked, puzzled, looking from one to the other. It seemed a conflict of wills between them. Race won. Harry turned slightly away. I suppose youre right, sir. Tell her my real name. Anne, this isnt Harry Lucas. Harry Lucas was killed in the war. This is John Harold Eardsley. XXXV With his last words Colonel Race had swung away and left us. I stood staring after him. Harrys voice recalled me to myself. Anne, forgive me, say you forgive me. He took my hand in his and almost mechanically I drew it away. Why did you deceive me? I dont know that I can make you understand. I was afraid of all that sort of thingthe power and fascination of wealth. I wanted you to care for me just for myselffor the man I waswithout ornaments and trappings. You mean you didnt trust me? You can put it that way if you like, but it isnt quite true. Id become embittered, suspiciousalways prone to look for ulterior motivesand it was so wonderful to be cared for in the way you cared for me. I see, I said slowly. I was going over in my own mind the story he had told me. For the first time I noted discrepancies in it which I had disregardedan assurance of money, the power to buy back the diamonds of Nadina, the way in which he had preferred to speak of both men from the point of view of an outsider. And when he had said my friend he had meant, not Eardsley, but Lucas. It was Lucas, the quiet fellow, who had loved Nadina so deeply. How did it come about? I asked. We were both recklessanxious to get killed. One night we exchanged identification discsfor luck! Lucas was killed the next dayblown to pieces. I shuddered. But why didnt you tell me now? This morning? You couldnt have doubted my caring for you by this time? Anne, I didnt want to spoil it all. I wanted to take you back to the island. Whats the good of money? It cant buy happiness. Wed have been happy on the island. I tell you Im afraid of that other lifeit nearly rotted me through once. Did Sir Eustace know who you really were? Oh, yes. And Carton? No. He saw us both with Nadina at Kimberley one night, but he didnt know which was which. He accepted my statement that I was Lucas, and Nadina was deceived by his cable. She was never afraid of Lucas. He was a quiet chapvery deep. But I always had the devils own temper. Shed have been scared out of her life if shed known that Id come to life again. Harry, if Colonel Race hadnt told me, what did you mean to do? Say nothing. Go on as Lucas. And your fathers millions? Race was welcome to them. Anyway, he would make a better use of them than I ever shall. Anne, what are you thinking about? Youre frowning so. Im thinking, I said slowly, that I almost wish Colonel Race hadnt made you tell me. No. He was right. I owed you the truth. He paused, then said suddenly You know, Anne, Im jealous of Race. He loves you tooand hes a bigger man than I am or ever shall be. I turned to him, laughing. Harry, you idiot. Its you I wantand thats all that matters. As soon as possible we started for Cape Town. There Suzanne was waiting to greet me, and we disembowelled the big giraffe together. When the revolution was finally quelled, Colonel Race came down to Cape Town and at his suggestion the big villa at Muizenberg that had belonged to Sir Lawrence Eardsley was reopened and we all took up our abode in it. There we made our plans. I was to return to England with Suzanne and to be married from her house in London.

And the trousseau was to be bought in Paris! Suzanne enjoyed planning all these details enormously. So did I. And yet the future seemed curiously unreal. And sometimes, without knowing why, I felt absolutely stifledas though I couldnt breathe. It was the night before we were to sail. I couldnt sleep. I was miserable, and I didnt know why. I hated leaving Africa. When I came back to it, would it be the same thing? Would it ever be the same thing again? And then I was startled by an authoritative rap on the shutter. I sprang up. Harry was on the stoep outside. Put some clothes on, Anne, and come out. I want to speak to you. I huddled on a few garments, and stepped out into the cool night airstill and scented, with its velvety feel. Harry beckoned me out of earshot of the house. His face looked pale and determined and his eyes were blazing. Anne, do you remember saying to me once that women enjoyed doing the things they disliked for the sake of someone they liked? Yes, I said, wondering what was coming. He caught me in his arms. Anne, come away with menowtonight. Back to Rhodesiaback to the island. I cant stand all this tomfoolery. I cant wait for you any longer. I disengaged myself a minute. And what about my French frocks? I lamented mockingly. To this day Harry never knows when Im in earnest and when Im only teasing him. Damn your French frocks. Do you think I want to put frocks on you? Im a damned sight more likely to want to tear them off you. Im not going to let you go, do you hear? Youre my woman. If I let you go away, I may lose you. Im never sure of you. Youre coming with me nowtonightand damn everybody. He held me to him, kissing me until I could hardly breathe. I cant do without you any longer, Anne. I cant indeed. I hate all this money. Let Race have it. Come on. Lets go. My toothbrush? I demurred. You can buy one. I know Im a lunatic, but for Gods sake, come! He stalked off at a furious pace. I followed him as meekly as the Barotsi woman I had observed at the falls. Only I wasnt carrying a frying pan on my head. He walked so fast that it was very difficult to keep up with him. Harry, I said at last, in a meek voice, are we going to walk all the way to Rhodesia? He turned suddenly and with a great shout of laughter gathered me up in his arms. Im mad, sweetheart, I know it. But I do love you so. Were a couple of lunatics. And, oh, Harry, you never asked me, but Im not making a sacrifice at all! I wanted to come! XXXVI That was two years ago. We still live on the island. Before me, on the rough wooden table, is the letter that Suzanne wrote me. Dear Babes in the WoodDear Lunatics in Love, Im not surprisednot at all. All the time weve been talking Paris and frocks I felt that it wasnt a bit realthat youd vanish into the blue some day to be married over the tongs in the good old gipsy fashion. But you are a couple of lunatics! This idea of renouncing a vast fortune is absurd. Colonel Race wanted to argue the matter, but I have persuaded him to leave the argument to time. He can administer the estate for Harryand none better. Because, after all, honeymoons dont last foreveryoure not here, Anne, so I can safely say that without having you fly out at me like a little wildcatLove in the wilderness will last a good while, but one day you will suddenly begin to dream of houses in Park Lane, sumptuous furs, Paris frocks, the largest thing in motors and the latest thing in perambulators, French maids and Norland nurses! Oh, yes, you will! But have your honeymoon, dear lunatics, and let it be a long one. And think of me sometimes, comfortably putting on weight amidst the fleshpots! Your loving friend, Suzanne Blair. P.S.I am sending you an assortment of frying pans as a wedding present, and an enormous terrine of pt de foie gras to remind you of me. There is another letter that I sometimes read. It came a good while after the other and was accompanied by a bulky packet. It appeared to be written from somewhere in Bolivia. My dear Anne Beddingfeld, I cant resist writing to you, not so much for the pleasure it gives me to write, as for the enormous pleasure I know it will give you to hear from me. Our friend Race wasnt quite as clever as he thought himself, was he? I think I shall appoint you my literary executor. Im sending you my diary. Theres nothing in it that would interest Race and his crowd, but I fancy that there are passages in it which may amuse you. Make use of it in any way you like. I suggest an article for the Daily Budget, Criminals I have met. I only stipulate that I shall be the central figure. By this time I have no doubt that you are no longer Anne Beddingfeld, but Lady Eardsley, queening it in Park Lane. I should just like to say that I bear you no malice whatever. It is hard, of course, to have to begin all over again at my time of life, but, entre nous, I had a little reserve fund carefully put aside for such a contingency. It has come in very usefully and I am getting together a nice little connection. By the way, if you ever come across that funny friend of yours, Arthur Minks, just tell him that I havent forgotten him, will you? That will give him a nasty jar. On the whole I think I have displayed a most Christian and forgiving spirit. Even to Pagett. I happened to hear that heor rather Mrs. Pagetthad brought a sixth child into the world the other day. England will be entirely populated by Pagetts soon. I sent the child a silver mug, and, on a post card, declared my willingness to act as godfather. I can see Pagett taking both mug and post card straight to Scotland Yard without a smile on his face! Bless you, liquid eyes. Some day you will see what a mistake you have made in not marrying me. Yours ever, Eustace Pedler. Harry was furious. It is the one point on which he and I do not see eye to eye. To him, Sir Eustace was the man who tried to murder me and whom he regards as responsible for the death of his friend. Sir Eustaces attempts on my life have always puzzled me. They are not in the picture, so to speak. For I am sure that he always had a genuinely kindly feeling towards me. Then why did he twice attempt to take my life? Harry says because hes a damned scoundrel, and seems to think that settles the matter. Suzanne was more discriminating. I talked it over with her, and she put it down to a fear complex. Suzanne goes in rather for psychoanalysis. She pointed out to me that Sir Eustaces whole life was actuated by a desire to be safe and comfortable. He had an acute sense of selfpreservation. And the murder of Nadina removed certain inhibitions. His actions did not represent the state of his feeling towards me, but were the result of his acute fears for his own safety. I think Suzanne is right. As for Nadina, she was the kind of woman who deserved to die. Men do all sorts of questionable things in order to get rich, but women shouldnt pretend to be in love when they arent for ulterior motives. I can forgive Sir Eustace easily enough, but I shall never forgive Nadina. Never, never, never! The other day I was unpacking some tins that were wrapped in bits of an old Daily Budget, and I suddenly came upon the words, the man in the brown suit. How long ago it seemed! I had, of course, severed my connection with the Daily Budget long agoI had done with it sooner than it had done with me. My Romantic Wedding was given a halo of publicity. My son is lying in the sun, kicking his legs. Theres a man in a brown suit if you like. Hes wearing as little as possible, which is the best costume for Africa, and is as brown as a berry. Hes always burrowing in the earth. I think he takes after Papa. Hell have that same mania for Pleiocene clay. Suzanne sent me a cable when he was born Congratulations and love to the latest arrival on Lunatics Island. Is his head dolichocephalic or brachycephalic? I wasnt going to stand that from Suzanne. I sent her a reply of one word, economical and to the point Platycephalic! Colophon The Man in the Brown Suit was published in 1924 by Agatha Christie. This ebook was produced for Standard Ebooks by Peter Atwood, and is based on a transcription produced in 2020 by An Anonymous Volunteer and The Online Distributed Proofreading Team for Project Gutenberg and on digital scans from the Internet Archive. The cover page is adapted from Victor Hugo descendant de son cabinet de travail Hauteville House, a painting completed in 1880 by GeorgesVictor Hugo. The cover and title pages feature the League Spartan and Sorts Mill Goudy typefaces created in 2014 and 2009 by The League of Moveable Type. This edition was released on November 7, 2024, 855 p.m. and is based on revision cdb7b67. The first edition of this ebook was released on July 21, 2020, 613 p.m. You can check for updates to this ebook, view its revision history, or download it for different ereading systems at standardebooks.orgebooksagathachristiethemaninthebrownsuit. The volunteerdriven Standard Ebooks project relies on readers like you to submit typos, corrections, and other improvements. Anyone can contribute at standardebooks.org. To E. A. B. In memory of a journey, some lion stories and a request that I should some day write the Mystery of the Mill House The Man in the Brown Suit Imprint This ebook is the product of many hours of hard work by volunteers for Standard Ebooks, and builds on the hard work of other literature lovers made possible by the public domain. This particular ebook is based on a transcription from Project Gutenberg and on digital scans from the Internet Archive. The source text and artwork in this ebook are believed to be in the United States public domain; that is, they are believed to be free of copyright restrictions in the United States. They may still be copyrighted in other countries, so users located outside of the United States must check their local laws before using this ebook. The creators of, and contributors to, this ebook dedicate their contributions to the worldwide public domain via the terms in the CC0 1.0 Universal Public Domain Dedication. For full license information, see the Uncopyright at the end of this ebook. Standard Ebooks is a volunteerdriven project that produces ebook editions of public domain literature using modern typography, technology, and editorial standards, and distributes them free of cost. You can download this and other ebooks carefully produced for true book lovers at standardebooks.org. List of Illustrations Indistinct cursive script which appears to say something like 1 7 . 1 2 2 Kilmorden Castle. Prologue Nadina, the Russian dancer who had taken Paris by storm, swayed to the sound of the applause, bowed and bowed again. Her narrow black eyes narrowed themselves still more, the long line of her scarlet mouth curved faintly upwards. Enthusiastic Frenchmen continued to beat the ground appreciatively as the curtain fell with a swish, hiding the reds and blues and magentas of the bizarre decor. In a swirl of blue and orange draperies the dancer left the stage. A bearded gentleman received her enthusiastically in his arms. It was the manager. Magnificent, petite, magnificent, he cried. Tonight you have surpassed yourself. He kissed her gallantly on both cheeks in a somewhat matteroffact manner. Madame Nadina accepted the tribute with the ease of long habit and passed on to her dressing room, where bouquets were heaped carelessly everywhere, marvellous garments of futuristic design hung on pegs, and the air was hot and sweet with the scent of the massed blossoms and with more sophisticated perfumes and essences. Jeanne, the dresser, ministered to her mistress, talking incessantly and pouring out a stream of fulsome compliment. A knock at the door interrupted the flow. Jeanne went to answer it, and returned with a card in her hand. Madame will receive? Let me see. The dancer stretched out a languid hand, but at the sight of the name on the card, Count Sergius Paulovitch, a sudden flicker of interest came into her eyes. I will see him. The maize peignoir, Jeanne, and quickly. And when the count comes you may go. Bien, Madame. Jeanne brought the peignoir, an exquisite wisp of corncoloured chiffon and ermine. Nadina slipped into it, and sat smiling to herself, whilst one long white hand beat a slow tattoo on the glass of the dressing table. The count was prompt to avail himself of the privilege accorded to hima man of medium height, very slim, very elegant, very pale, extraordinarily weary. In feature, little to take hold of, a man difficult to recognize again if one left his mannerisms out of account. He bowed over the dancers hand with exaggerated courtliness. Madame, this is a pleasure indeed. So much Jeanne heard before she went out closing the door behind her. Alone with her visitor, a subtle change came over Nadinas smile. Compatriots though we are, we will not speak Russian, I think, she observed. Since we neither of us know a word of the language, it might be as well, agreed her guest. By common consent, they dropped into English, and nobody, now that the counts mannerisms had dropped from him, could doubt that it was his native language. He had, indeed, started life as a quickchange musichall artiste in London. You had a great success tonight, he remarked. I congratulate you. All the same, said the woman, I am disturbed. My position is not what it was. The suspicions aroused during the war have never died down. I am continually watched and spied upon. But no charge of espionage was ever brought against you? Our chief lays his plans too carefully for that. Long life to the Colonel, said the count, smiling. Amazing news, is it not, that he means to retire? To retire! Just like a doctor, or a butcher, or a plumber Or any other business man, finished Nadina. It should not surprise us. That is what the Colonel has always beenan excellent man of business. He has organized crime as another man might organize a boot factory. Without committing himself, he has planned and directed a series of stupendous coups, embracing every branch of what we might call his profession. Jewel robberies, forgery, espionage (the latter very profitable in wartime), sabotage, discreet assassination, there is hardly anything he has not touched. Wisest of all, he knows when to stop. The game begins to be dangerous?he retires gracefullywith an enormous fortune! Hm! said the count doubtfully. It is ratherupsetting for all of us. We are at a loose end, as it were. But we are being paid offon a most generous scale! Something, some undercurrent of mockery in her tone, made the man look at her sharply. She was smiling to herself, and the quality of her smile aroused his curiosity. But he proceeded diplomatically Yes, the Colonel has always been a generous paymaster. I attribute much of his success to thatand to his invariable plan of providing a suitable scapegoat. A great brain, undoubtedly a great brain! And an apostle of the maxim, If you want a thing done safely, do not do it yourself! Here are we, every one of us incriminated up to the hilt and absolutely in his power, and not one of us has anything on him. He paused, almost as though he were expecting her to disagree with him, but she remained silent, smiling to herself as before. Not one of us, he mused. Still, you know, he is superstitious, the old man. Years ago, I believe, he went to one of these fortunetelling people. She prophesied a lifetime of success, but declared that his downfall would be brought about through a woman. He had interested her now. She looked up eagerly. That is strange, very strange! Through a woman, you say? He smiled and shrugged his shoulders. Doubtless, now that he hasretired, he will marry. Some young society beauty, who will disperse his millions faster than he acquired them. Nadina shook her head. No, no, that is not the way of it. Listen, my friend, tomorrow I go to London. But your contract here? I shall be away only one night. And I go incognito, like royalty. No one will ever know that I have left France. And why do you think that I go? Hardly for pleasure at this time of year. January, a detestable foggy month! It must be for profit, eh? Exactly. She rose and stood in front of him, every graceful line of her arrogant with pride. You said just now that none of us had anything on the chief. You were wrong. I have. I, a woman, have had the wit and, yes, the couragefor it needs courageto doublecross him. You remember the De Beer diamonds? Yes, I remember. At Kimberley, just before the war broke out? I had nothing to do with it, and I never heard the details, the case was hushed up for some reason, was it not? A fine haul too. A hundred thousand pounds worth of stones. Two of us worked itunder the Colonels orders, of course. And it was then that I saw my chance. You see, the plan was to substitute some of the De Beer diamonds for some sample diamonds brought from South America by two young prospectors who happened to be in Kimberley at the time. Suspicion was then bound to fall on them. Very clever, interpolated the count approvingly. The Colonel is always clever. Well, I did my partbut I also did one thing which the Colonel had not foreseen. I kept back some of the South American stonesone or two are unique and could easily be proved never to have passed through De Beers hands. With these diamonds in my possession, I have the whip hand of my esteemed chief. Once the two young men are cleared, his part in the matter is bound to be suspected. I have said nothing all these years, I have been content to know that I had this weapon in reserve, but now matters are different. I want my priceand it will be a big, I might almost say, a staggering price. Extraordinary, said the count. And doubtless you carry these diamonds about with you everywhere? His eyes roamed gently round the disordered room. Nadina laughed softly. You need suppose nothing of the sort. I am not a fool. The diamonds are in a safe place where no one will dream of looking for them. I never thought you a fool, my dear lady, but may I venture to suggest that you are somewhat foolhardy? The Colonel is not the type of man to take kindly to being blackmailed, you know. I am not afraid of him, she laughed. There is only one man I have ever fearedand he is dead. The man looked at her curiously. Let us hope that he will not come to life again, then, he remarked lightly. What do you mean? cried the dancer sharply. The count looked slightly surprised. I only meant that a resurrection would be awkward for you, he explained. A foolish joke. She gave a sigh of relief. Oh, no, he is dead all right. Killed in the war. He was a man who onceloved me. In South Africa? asked the count negligently. Yes, since you ask it, in South Africa. That is your native country, is it not? She nodded. Her visitor rose and reached for his hat. Well, he remarked, you know your own business best, but, if I were you, I should fear the Colonel far more than any disillusioned lover. He is a man whom it is particularly easy tounderestimate. She laughed scornfully. As if I did not know him after all these years! I wonder if you do? he said softly. I very much wonder if you do. Oh, I am not a fool! And I am not alone in this. The South African mail boat docks at Southampton tomorrow, and on board her is a man who has come specially from Africa at my request and who has carried out certain orders of mine. The Colonel will have not one of us to deal with, but two. Is that wise? It is necessary. You are sure of this man? A rather peculiar smile played over the dancers face. I am quite sure of him. He is inefficient, but perfectly trustworthy. She paused, and then added in an indifferent tone of voice As a matter of fact, he happens to be my husband. The Man in the Brown Suit By Agatha Christie. Uncopyright May you do good and not evil. May you find forgiveness for yourself and forgive others. May you share freely, never taking more than you give. Copyright pages exist to tell you that you cant do something. Unlike them, this Uncopyright page exists to tell you that the writing and artwork in this ebook are believed to be in the United States public domain; that is, they are believed to be free of copyright restrictions in the United States. The United States public domain represents our collective cultural heritage, and items in it are free for anyone in the United States to do almost anything at all with, without having to get permission. Copyright laws are different all over the world, and the source text or artwork in this ebook may still be copyrighted in other countries. If youre not located in the United States, you must check your local laws before using this ebook. Standard Ebooks makes no representations regarding the copyright status of the source text or artwork in this ebook in any country other than the United States. Nonauthorship activities performed on items that are in the public domainsocalled sweat of the brow workdont create a new copyright. That means that nobody can claim a new copyright on an item that is in the public domain for, among other things, work like digitization, markup, or typography. Regardless, the contributors to this ebook release their contributions under the terms in the CC0 1.0 Universal Public Domain Dedication, thus dedicating to the worldwide public domain all of the work theyve done on this ebook, including but not limited to metadata, the titlepage, imprint, colophon, this Uncopyright, and any changes or enhancements to, or markup on, the original text and artwork. This dedication doesnt change the copyright status of the source text or artwork. We make this dedication in the interest of enriching our global cultural heritage, to promote free and libre culture around the world, and to give back to the unrestricted culture that has given all of us so much. Table of Contents Titlepage Imprint Dedication The Man in the Brown Suit Prologue I II III IV V VI VII VIII IX X XI XII XIII XIV XV XVI XVII XVIII XIX XX XXI XXII XXIII XXIV XXV XXVI XXVII XXVIII XXIX XXX XXXI XXXII XXXIII XXXIV XXXV XXXVI List of Illustrations Colophon Uncopyright Landmarks The Man in the Brown Suit List of Illustrations

I The Man with the White Hair It was close on midnight when a man crossed the Place de la Concorde. In spite of the handsome fur coat which garbed his meagre form, there was something essentially weak and paltry about him. A little man with a face like a rat. A man, one would say, who could never play a conspicuous part, or rise to prominence in any sphere. And yet, in leaping to such a conclusion, an onlooker would have been wrong. For this man, negligible and inconspicuous as he seemed, played a prominent part in the destiny of the world. In an Empire where rats ruled, he was the king of the rats. Even now, an Embassy awaited his return. But he had business to do firstbusiness of which the Embassy was not officially cognizant. His face gleamed white and sharp in the moonlight. There was the least hint of a curve in the thin nose. His father had been a Polish Jew, a journeyman tailor. It was business such as his father would have loved that took him abroad tonight. He came to the Seine, crossed it, and entered one of the less reputable quarters of Paris. Here he stopped before a tall, dilapidated house and made his way up to an apartment on the fourth floor. He had barely time to knock before the door was opened by a woman who had evidently been awaiting his arrival. She gave him no greeting, but helped him off with his overcoat and then led the way into the tawdrily furnished sittingroom. The electric light was shaded with dirty pink festoons, and it softened, but could not disguise, the girls face with its mask of crude paint. Could not disguise, either, the broad Mongolian cast of her countenance. There was no doubt of Olga Demiroffs profession, nor of her nationality. All is well, little one? All is well, Boris Ivanovitch. He nodded, murmuring I do not think I have been followed. But there was anxiety in his tone. He went to the window, drawing the curtains aside slightly, and peering carefully out. He started away violently. There are two menon the opposite pavement. It looks to me He broke off and began gnawing at his nailsa habit he had when anxious. The Russian girl was shaking her head with a slow, reassuring action. They were here before you came. All the same, it looks to me as though they were watching this house. Possibly, she admitted indifferently. But then What of it? Even if they knowit will not be you they will follow from here. A thin, cruel smile came to his lips. No, he admitted, that is true. He mused for a minute or two, and then observed This damned Americanhe can look after himself as well as anybody. I suppose so. He went again to the window. Tough customers, he muttered, with a chuckle. Known to the police, I fear. Well, well, I wish Brother Apache good hunting. Olga Demiroff shook her head. If the American is the kind of man they say he is, it will take more than a couple of cowardly apaches to get the better of him. She paused. I wonder Well? Nothing. Only twice this evening a man has passed along this streeta man with white hair. What of it? This. As he passed those two men, he dropped his glove. One of them picked it up and returned it to him. A threadbare device. You meanthat the whitehaired man istheir employer? Something of the kind. The Russian looked alarmed and uneasy. You are surethe parcel is safe? It has not been tampered with? There has been too much talk much too much talk. He gnawed his nails again. Judge for yourself. She bent to the fireplace, deftly removing the coals. Underneath, from amongst the crumpled balls of newspaper, she selected from the very middle an oblong package wrapped round with grimy newspaper, and handed it to the man. Ingenious, he said, with a nod of approval. The apartment has been searched twice. The mattress on my bed was ripped open. It is as I said, he muttered. There has been too much talk. This haggling over the priceit was a mistake. He had unwrapped the newspaper. Inside was a small brown paper parcel. This in turn he unwrapped, verified the contents, and quickly wrapped it up once more. As he did so, an electric bell rang sharply. The American is punctual, said Olga, with a glance at the clock. She left the room. In a minute she returned ushering in a stranger, a big, broadshouldered man whose transatlantic origin was evident. His keen glance went from one to the other. M. Krassnine? he inquired politely. I am he, said Boris. I must apologise forfor the unconventionality of this meetingplace. But secrecy is urgent. II cannot afford to be connected with this business in any way. Is that so? said the American politely. I have your word, have I not, that no details of this transaction will be made public? That is one of the conditions ofsale. The American nodded. That has already been agreed upon, he said indifferently. Now, perhaps, you will produce the goods. You have the moneyin notes? Yes, replied the other. He did not, however, make any attempt to produce it. After a moments hesitation, Krassnine gestured towards the small parcel on the table. The American took it up and unrolled the wrapping paper. The contents he took over to a small electric lamp and submitted them to a very thorough examination. Satisfied, he drew from his pocket a thick leather wallet and extracted from it a wad of notes. These he handed to the Russian, who counted them carefully. All right? I thank you, Monsieur. Everything is correct. Ah! said the other. He slipped the brown paper parcel negligently into his pocket. He bowed to Olga. Good evening, Mademoiselle. Good evening, M. Krassnine. He went out, shutting the door behind him. The eyes of the two in the room met. The man passed his tongue over his dry lips. I wonderwill he ever get back to his hotel? he muttered. By common accord, they both turned to the window. They were just in time to see the American emerge into the street below. He turned to the left and marched along at a good pace without once turning his head. Two shadows stole from a doorway and followed noiselessly. Pursuers and pursued vanished into the night. Olga Demiroff spoke. He will get back safely, she said. You need not fearor hopewhichever it is. Why do you think he will be safe? asked Krassnine curiously. A man who has made as much money as he has could not possibly be a fool, said Olga. And talking of money She looked significantly at Krassnine. Eh? My share, Boris Ivanovitch. With some reluctance, Krassnine handed over two of the notes. She nodded her thanks, with a complete lack of emotion, and tucked them away in her stocking. That is good, she remarked, with satisfaction. He looked at her curiously. You have no regrets, Olga Vassilovna? Regrets? For what? For what has been in your keeping. There are womenmost women, I believe, who go mad over such things. She nodded reflectively. Yes, you speak truth there. Most women have that madness. Ihave not. I wonder now She broke off. Well? asked the other curiously. The American will be safe with themyes, I am sure of that. But afterwards Eh? What are you thinking of? He will give them, of course, to some woman, said Olga thoughtfully. I wonder what will happen then. She shook herself impatiently and went over to the window. Suddenly she uttered an exclamation and called to her companion. See, he is going down the street nowthe man I mean. They both gazed down together. A slim, elegant figure was progressing along at a leisurely pace. He wore an opera hat and a cloak. As he passed a street lamp, the light illumined a thatch of thick white hair. II M. le Marquis The man with the white hair continued on his course, unhurried, and seemingly indifferent to his surroundings. He took a side turning to the right and another one to the left. Now and then he hummed a little air to himself. Suddenly he stopped dead and listened intently. He had heard a certain sound. It might have been the bursting of a tyre or it might have beena shot. A curious smile played round his lips for a minute. Then he resumed his leisurely walk. On turning a corner he came upon a scene of some activity. A representative of the law was making notes in a pocketbook, and one or two late passersby had collected on the spot. To one of these the man with the white hair made a polite request for information. Something has been happening, yes? Mais oui, Monsieur. Two apaches set upon an elderly American gentleman. They did him no injury? No, indeed. The man laughed. The American, he had a revolver in his pocket, and before they could attack him, he fired shots so closely round them that they took alarm and fled. The police, as usual, arrived too late. Ah! said the inquirer. He displayed no emotion of any kind. Placidly and unconcernedly he resumed his nocturnal strolling. Presently he crossed the Seine and came into the richer areas of the city. It was some twenty minutes later that he came to a stop before a certain house in a quiet but aristocratic thoroughfare. The shop, for shop it was, was a restrained and unpretentious one. D. Papopolous, dealer in antiques, was so known to fame that he needed no advertisement, and indeed most of his business was not done over a counter. M. Papopolous had a very handsome apartment of his own overlooking the Champs lyses, and it might reasonably be supposed that he would have been found there and not at his place of business at such an hour, but the man with the white hair seemed confident of success as he pressed the obscurely placed bell, having first given a quick glance up and down the deserted street. His confidence was not misplaced. The door opened and a man stood in the aperture. He wore gold rings in his ears and was of a swarthy cast of countenance. Good evening, said the stranger. Your master is within? The master is here, but he does not see chance visitors at this time of night, growled the other. I think he will see me. Tell him that his friend M. le Marquis is here. The man opened the door a little wider and allowed the visitor to enter. The man who gave his name as M. le Marquis had shielded his face with his hand as he spoke. When the manservant returned with the information that M. Papopolous would be pleased to receive the visitor a further change had taken place in the strangers appearance. The manservant must have been very unobservant or very well trained, for he betrayed no surprise at the small black satin mask which hid the others features. Leading the way to a door at the end of the hall, he opened it and announced in a respectful murmur M. le Marquis. The figure which rose to receive this strange guest was an imposing one. There was something venerable and patriarchal about M. Papopolous. He had a high domed forehead and a beautiful white beard. His manner had in it something ecclesiastical and benign. My dear friend, said M. Papopolous. He spoke in French and his tones were rich and unctuous. I must apologise, said the visitor, for the lateness of the hour. Not at all. Not at all, said M. Papopolousan interesting time of night. You have had, perhaps, an interesting evening? Not personally, said M. le Marquis. Not personally, repeated M. Papopolous, no, no, of course not. And there is news, eh? He cast a sharp glance sideways at the other, a glance that was not ecclesiastical or benign in the least. There is no news. The attempt failed. I hardly expected anything else. Quite so, said M. Papopolous; anything crude He waved his hand to express his intense distaste for crudity in any form. There was indeed nothing crude about M. Papopolous nor about the goods he handled. He was well known in most European courts, and kings called him Demetrius in a friendly manner. He had the reputation for the most exquisite discretion. That, together with the nobility of his aspect, had carried him through several very questionable transactions. The direct attack said M. Papopolous. He shook his head. It answers sometimesbut very seldom. The other shrugged his shoulders. It saves time, he remarked, and to fail costs nothingor next to nothing. The other planwill not fail. Ah, said M. Papopolous, looking at him keenly. The other nodded slowly. I have great confidence in yourerreputation, said the antique dealer. M. le Marquis smiled gently. I think I may say, he murmured, that your confidence will not be misplaced. You have unique opportunities, said the other, with a note of envy in his voice. I make them, said M. le Marquis. He rose and took up the cloak which he had thrown carelessly on the back of a chair. I will keep you informed, M. Papopolous, through the usual channels, but there must be no hitch in your arrangements. M. Papopolous was pained. There is never a hitch in my arrangements, he complained. The other smiled, and without any further word of adieu he left the room, closing the door behind him. M. Papopolous remained in thought for a moment stroking his venerable white beard, and then moved across to a second door which opened inwards. As he turned the handle, a young woman, who only too clearly had been leaning against it with her ear to the keyhole, stumbled headlong into the room. M. Papopolous displayed neither surprise nor concern. It was evidently all quite natural to him. Well, Zia? he asked. I did not hear him go, explained Zia. She was a handsome young woman, built on Junoesque lines, with dark flashing eyes and such a general air of resemblance to M. Papopolous that it was easy to see they were father and daughter. It is annoying, she continued vexedly, that one cannot see through a keyhole and hear through it at the same time. It has often annoyed me, said M. Papopolous, with great simplicity. So that is M. le Marquis, said Zia slowly. Does he always wear a mask, Father? Always. There was a pause. It is the rubies, I suppose? asked Zia. Her father nodded. What do you think, my little one? he inquired, with a hint of amusement in his beady black eyes. Of M. le Marquis? Yes. I think, said Zia slowly, that it is a very rare thing to find a wellbred Englishman who speaks French as well as that. Ah! said M. Papopolous, so that is what you think. As usual, he did not commit himself, but he regarded Zia with benign approval. I thought, too, said Zia, that his head was an odd shape. Massive, said her fathera trifle massive. But then that effect is always created by a wig. They both looked at each other and smiled. III Heart of Fire Rufus Van Aldin passed through the revolving doors of the Savoy, and walked to the reception desk. The desk clerk smiled a respectful greeting. Pleased to see you back again, Mr. Van Aldin, he said. The American millionaire nodded his head in a casual greeting. Everything all right? he asked. Yes, sir. Major Knighton is upstairs in the suite now. Van Aldin nodded again. Any mail? he vouchsafed. They have all been sent up, Mr. Van Aldin. Oh! wait a minute. He dived into a pigeon hole, and produced a letter. Just come this minute, he explained. Rufus Van Aldin took the letter from him, and as he saw the handwriting, a womans flowing hand, his face was suddenly transformed. The harsh contours of it softened, and the hard line of his mouth relaxed. He looked a different man. He walked across to the lift with the letter in his hand and the smile still on his lips. In the drawingroom of his suite, a young man was sitting at a desk nimbly sorting correspondence with the ease born of long practice. He sprang up as Van Aldin entered. Hallo, Knighton! Glad to see you back, sir. Had a good time? So so! said the millionaire unemotionally. Paris is rather a onehorse city nowadays. StillI got what I went over for. He smiled to himself rather grimly. You usually do, I believe, said the secretary, laughing. Thats so, agreed the other. He spoke in a matteroffact manner, as one stating a wellknown fact. Throwing off his heavy overcoat, he advanced to the desk. Anything urgent? I dont think so, sir. Mostly the usual stuff. I have not quite finished sorting it out. Van Aldin nodded briefly. He was a man who seldom expressed either blame or praise. His methods with those he employed were simple; he gave them a fair trial and dismissed promptly those who were inefficient. His selections of people were unconventional. Knighton, for instance, he had met casually at a Swiss resort two months previously. He had approved of the fellow, looked up his war record, and found in it the explanation of the limp with which he walked. Knighton had made no secret of the fact that he was looking for a job, and indeed diffidently asked the millionaire if he knew of any available post. Van Aldin remembered, with a grim smile of amusement, the young mans complete astonishment when he had been offered the post of secretary to the great man himself. Butbut I have no experience of business, he had stammered. That doesnt matter a cuss, Van Aldin had replied. I have got three secretaries already to attend to that kind of thing. But I am likely to be in England for the next six months, and I want an Englishman whowell, knows the ropesand can attend to the social side of things for me. So far, Van Aldin had found his judgment confirmed. Knighton had proved quick, intelligent, and resourceful, and he had a distinct charm of manner. The secretary indicated three or four letters placed by themselves on the top of the desk. It might perhaps be as well, sir, if you glanced at these, he suggested. The top one is about the Colton agreement But Rufus Van Aldin held up a protesting hand. I am not going to look at a durned thing tonight, he declared. They can all wait till the morning. Except this one, he added, looking down at the letter he held in his hand. And again that strange transforming smile stole over his face. Richard Knighton smiled sympathetically. Mrs. Kettering? he murmured. She rang up yesterday and today. She seems very anxious to see you at once, sir. Does she, now! The smile faded from the millionaires face. He ripped open the envelope which he held in his hand and took out the enclosed sheet. As he read it his face darkened, his mouth set grimly in the line which Wall Street knew so well, and his brows knit themselves ominously. Knighton turned tactfully away, and went on opening letters and sorting them. A muttered oath escaped the millionaire, and his clenched fist hit the table sharply. Ill not stand for this, he muttered to himself. Poor little girl, its a good thing she has her old father behind her. He walked up and down the room for some minutes, his brows drawn together in a scowl. Knighton still bent assiduously over the desk. Suddenly Van Aldin came to an abrupt halt. He took up his overcoat from the chair where he had thrown it. Are you going out again, sir? Yes, Im going round to see my daughter. If Coltons people ring up Tell them to go to the devil, said Van Aldin. Very well, said the secretary unemotionally. Van Aldin had his overcoat on by now. Cramming his hat upon his head, he went towards the door. He paused with his hand upon the handle. You are a good fellow, Knighton, he said. You dont worry me when I am rattled. Knighton smiled a little, but made no reply. Ruth is my only child, said Van Aldin, and there is no one on this earth who knows quite what she means to me. A faint smile irradiated his face. He slipped his hand into his pocket. Care to see something, Knighton? He came back towards the secretary. From his pocket he drew out a parcel carelessly wrapped in brown paper. He tossed off the wrapping and disclosed a big, shabby, red velvet case. In the centre of it were some twisted initials surmounted by a crown. He snapped the case open, and the secretary drew in his breath sharply. Against the slightly dingy white of the interior, the stones glowed like blood. My God! sir, said Knighton. Are theyare they real? Van Aldin laughed a quiet little cackle of amusement. I dont wonder at your asking that. Amongst these rubies are the three largest in the world. Catherine of Russia wore them, Knighton. That centre one there is known as Heart of Fire. Its perfectnot a flaw in it. But, the secretary murmured, they must be worth a fortune. Four or five hundred thousand dollars, said Van Aldin nonchalantly, and that is apart from the historical interest. And you carry them aboutlike that, loose in your pocket? Van Aldin laughed amusedly. I guess so. You see, they are my little present for Ruthie. The secretary smiled discreetly. I can understand now Mrs. Ketterings anxiety over the telephone, he murmured. But Van Aldin shook his head. The hard look returned to his face. You are wrong there, he said. She doesnt know about these; they are my little surprise for her. He shut the case, and began slowly to wrap it up again. Its a hard thing, Knighton, he said, how little one can do for those one loves. I can buy a good portion of the earth for Ruth, if it would be any use to her, but it isnt. I can hang these things round her neck and give her a moment or twos pleasure, maybe, but He shook his head. When a woman is not happy in her home He left the sentence unfinished. The secretary nodded discreetly. He knew, none better, the reputation of the Hon. Derek Kettering. Van Aldin sighed. Slipping the parcel back in his coat pocket, he nodded to Knighton and left the room. IV In Curzon Street The Hon. Mrs. Derek Kettering lived in Curzon Street. The butler who opened the door recognised Rufus Van Aldin at once and permitted himself a discreet smile of greeting. He led the way upstairs to the big double drawingroom on the first floor. A woman who was sitting by the window started up with a cry. Why, Dad, if that isnt too good for anything! Ive been telephoning Major Knighton all day to try and get hold of you, but he couldnt say for sure when you were expected back. Ruth Kettering was twentyeight years of age. Without being beautiful, or in the real sense of the word even pretty, she was striking looking because of her colouring. Van Aldin had been called Carrots and Ginger in his time, and Ruths hair was almost pure auburn. With it went dark eyes and very black lashesthe effect somewhat enhanced by art. She was tall and slender, and moved well. At a careless glance it was the face of a Raphael Madonna. Only if one looked closely did one perceive the same line of jaw and chin as in Van Aldins face, bespeaking the same hardness and determination. It suited the man, but suited the woman less well. From her childhood upward Ruth Van Aldin had been accustomed to having her own way, and anyone who had ever stood up against her soon realised that Rufus Van Aldins daughter never gave in. Knighton told me youd phoned him, said Van Aldin. I only got back from Paris half an hour ago. Whats all this about Derek? Ruth Kettering flushed angrily. Its unspeakable. Its beyond all limits, she cried. Hehe doesnt seem to listen to anything I say. There was bewilderment as well as anger in her voice. Hell listen to me, said the millionaire grimly. Ruth went on Ive hardly seen him for the last month. He goes about everywhere with that woman. With what woman? Mirelle. She dances at the Parthenon, you know. Van Aldin nodded. I was down at Leconbury last week. II spoke to Lord Leconbury. He was awfully sweet to me, sympathised entirely. He said hed give Derek a good talking to. Ah! said Van Aldin. What do you mean by Ah! Dad? Just what you think I mean, Ruthie. Poor old Leconbury is a washout. Of course he sympathised with you, of course he tried to soothe you down. Having got his son and heir married to the daughter of one of the richest men in the States, he naturally doesnt want to mess the thing up. But hes got one foot in the grave already, everyone knows that, and anything he may say will cut darned little ice with Derek. Cant you do anything, Dad? urged Ruth, after a minute or two. I might, said the millionaire. He waited a second reflectively, and then went on There are several things I might do, but theres only one that will be any real good. How much pluck have you got, Ruthie? She stared at him. He nodded back at her. I mean just what I say. Have you got the grit to admit to all the world that youve made a mistake. Theres only one way out of this mess, Ruthie. Cut your losses and start afresh. You mean Divorce. Divorce! Van Aldin smiled drily. You say that word, Ruth, as though youd never heard it before. And yet your friends are doing it all round you every day. Oh! I know that. But She stopped, biting her lip. Her father nodded comprehendingly. I know, Ruth. Youre like me, you cant bear to let go. But Ive learnt, and youve got to learn, that there are times when its the only way. I might find ways of whistling Derek back to you, but it would all come to the same in the end. Hes no good, Ruth; hes rotten through and through. And mind you, I blame myself for ever letting you marry him. But you were kind of set on having him, and he seemed in earnest about turning over a new leafand well, Id crossed you once, honey He did not look at her as he said the last words. Had he done so, he might have seen the swift colour that came up in her face. You did, she said in a hard voice. I was too durned softhearted to do it a second time. I cant tell you how I wish I had, though. Youve led a poor kind of life for the last few years, Ruth. It has not been veryagreeable, agreed Mrs. Kettering. Thats why I say to you that this thing has got to stop! He brought his hand down with a bang on the table. You may have a hankering after the fellow still. Cut it out. Face facts. Derek Kettering married you for your money. Thats all there is to it. Get rid of him, Ruth. Ruth Kettering looked down at the ground for some moments, then she said, without raising her head Supposing he doesnt consent? Van Aldin looked at her in astonishment. He wont have a say in the matter. She flushed and bit her lip. Nonoof course not. I only meant She stopped. Her father eyed her keenly. What did you mean? I meant She paused, choosing her words carefully. He maynt take it lying down. The millionaires chin shot out grimly. You mean hell fight the case? Let him! But, as a matter of fact, youre wrong. He wont fight. Any solicitor he consults will tell him he hasnt a leg to stand upon. You dont thinkshe hesitatedI meanout of sheer spite against mehe might, well, try to make it awkward? Her father looked at her in some astonishment. Fight the case, you mean? He shook his head. Very unlikely. You see, he would have to have something to go upon. Mrs. Kettering did not answer. Van Aldin looked at her sharply. Come, Ruth, out with it. Theres something troubling youwhat is it? Nothing, nothing at all. But her voice was unconvincing. You are dreading the publicity, eh? Is that it? You leave it to me. Ill put the whole thing through so smoothly that there will be no fuss at all. Very well, Dad, if you really think its the best thing to be done. Got a fancy for the fellow still, Ruth? Is that it? No. The word came with no uncertain emphasis. Van Aldin seemed satisfied. He patted his daughter on the shoulder. It will be all right, little girl. Dont you worry any. Now lets forget about all this. I have brought you a present from Paris. For me? Something very nice? I hope youll think so, said Van Aldin, smiling. He took the parcel from his coat pocket and handed it to her. She unwrapped it eagerly, and snapped open the case. A longdrawn Oh! came from her lips. Ruth Kettering loved jewelsalways had done so. Dad, howhow wonderful! Rather in a class by themselves, arent they? said the millionaire with satisfaction. You like them, eh? Like them? Dad, theyre unique. How did you get hold of them? Van Aldin smiled. Ah! thats my secret. They had to be bought privately, of course. They are rather well known. See that big stone in the middle? You have heard of it, maybe; thats the historic Heart of Fire. Heart of Fire! repeated Mrs. Kettering. She had taken the stones from the case and was holding them against her breast. The millionaire watched her. He was thinking of the series of women who had worn the jewels. The heartaches, the despairs, the jealousies. Heart of Fire, like all famous stones, had left behind it a trail of tragedy and violence. Held in Ruth Ketterings assured hand, it seemed to lose its potency of evil. With her cool, equable poise, this woman of the western world seemed a negation to tragedy or heartburnings. Ruth returned the stones to their case; then, jumping up, she flung her arms round her fathers neck. Thank you, thank you, thank you, Dad. They are wonderful! You do give me the most marvellous presents always. Thats all right, said Van Aldin, patting her shoulder. You are all I have, you know, Ruthie. You will stay to dinner, wont you, Father? I dont think so. You were going out, werent you? Yes, but I can easily put that off. Nothing very exciting. No, said Van Aldin. Keep your engagement. I have got a good deal to attend to. See you tomorrow, my dear. Perhaps if I phone you, we can meet at Galbraiths? Messrs. Galbraith, Galbraith, Cuthbertson Galbraith were Van Aldins London solicitors. Very well, Dad. She hesitated. I suppose itthiswont keep me from going to the Riviera? When are you off? On the fourteenth. Oh, that will be all right. These things take a long time to mature. By the way, Ruth, I shouldnt take those rubies abroad if I were you. Leave them at the bank. Mrs. Kettering nodded. We dont want to have you robbed and murdered for the sake of Heart of Fire, said the millionaire jocosely. And yet you carried it about in your pocket loose, retorted his daughter, smiling. Yes Something, some hesitation, caught her attention. What is it, Dad? Nothing. He smiled. Thinking of a little adventure of mine in Paris. An adventure? Yes, the night I bought these things. He made a gesture towards the jewel case. Oh, do tell me. Nothing to tell, Ruthie. Some apache fellows got a bit fresh and I shot at them and they got off. Thats all. She looked at him with some pride. Youre a tough proposition, Dad. You bet I am, Ruthie. He kissed her affectionately and departed. On arriving back at the Savoy, he gave a curt order to Knighton. Get hold of a man called Goby; youll find his address in my private book. Hes to be here tomorrow morning at halfpast nine. Yes, sir. I also want to see Mr. Kettering. Run him to earth for me if you can. Try his Clubat any rate, get hold of him somehow, and arrange for me to see him here tomorrow morning. Better make it latish, about twelve. His sort arent early risers. The secretary nodded in comprehension of these instructions. Van Aldin gave himself into the hands of his valet. His bath was prepared, and as he lay luxuriating in the hot water, his mind went back over the conversation with his daughter. On the whole he was well satisfied. His keen mind had long since accepted the fact that divorce was the only possible way out. Ruth had agreed to the proposed solution with more readiness than he had hoped for. Yet, in spite of her acquiescence, he was left with a vague sense of uneasiness. Something about her manner, he felt, had not been quite natural. He frowned to himself. Maybe Im fanciful, he muttered, and yetI bet theres something she has not told me. V A Useful Gentleman Rufus Van Aldin had just finished the sparse breakfast of coffee and dry toast, which was all he ever allowed himself, when Knighton entered the room. Mr. Goby is below, sir, waiting to see you. The millionaire glanced at the clock. It was just halfpast nine. All right, he said curtly. He can come up. A minute or two later, Mr. Goby entered the room. He was a small, elderly man, shabbily dressed, with eyes that looked carefully all round the room, and never at the person he was addressing. Good morning, Goby, said the millionaire. Take a chair. Thank you, Mr. Van Aldin. Mr. Goby sat down with his hands on his knees, and gazed earnestly at the radiator. I have got a job for you. Yes, Mr. Van Aldin? My daughter is married to the Hon. Derek Kettering, as you may perhaps know. Mr.

Goby transferred his gaze from the radiator to the lefthand drawer of the desk, and permitted a deprecating smile to pass over his face. Mr. Goby knew a great many things, but he always hated to admit the fact. By my advice, she is about to file a petition for divorce. That, of course, is a solicitors business. But, for private reasons, I want the fullest and most complete information. Mr. Goby looked at the cornice and murmured About Mr. Kettering? About Mr. Kettering. Very good, sir. Mr. Goby rose to his feet. When will you have it ready for me? Are you in a hurry, sir? Im always in a hurry, said the millionaire. Mr. Goby smiled understandingly at the fender. Shall we say two oclock this afternoon, sir? he asked. Excellent, approved the other. Good morning, Goby. Good morning, Mr. Van Aldin. Thats a very useful man, said the millionaire as Goby went out and his secretary came in. In his own line hes a specialist. What is his line? Information. Give him twentyfour hours and he would lay the private life of the Archbishop of Canterbury bare for you. A useful sort of chap, said Knighton, with a smile. He has been useful to me once or twice, said Van Aldin. Now then, Knighton, Im ready for work. The next few hours saw a vast quantity of business rapidly transacted. It was halfpast twelve when the telephone bell rang, and Mr. Van Aldin was informed that Mr. Kettering had called. Knighton looked at Van Aldin, and interpreted his brief nod. Ask Mr. Kettering to come up, please. The secretary gathered up his papers and departed. He and the visitor passed each other in the doorway, and Derek Kettering stood aside to let the other go out. Then he came in, shutting the door behind him. Good morning, sir. You are very anxious to see me, I hear. The lazy voice with its slightly ironic inflection roused memories in Van Aldin. There was charm in itthere had always been charm in it. He looked piercingly at his soninlaw. Derek Kettering was thirtyfour, lean of build, with a dark, narrow face, which had even now something indescribably boyish in it. Come in, said Van Aldin curtly. Sit down. Kettering flung himself lightly into an armchair. He looked at his fatherinlaw with a kind of tolerant amusement. Not seen you for a long time, sir, he remarked pleasantly. About two years, I should say. Seen Ruth yet? I saw her last night, said Van Aldin. Looking very fit, isnt she? said the other lightly. I didnt know you had had much opportunity of judging, said Van Aldin drily. Derek Kettering raised his eyebrows. Oh, we sometimes meet at the same night club, you know, he said airily. I am not going to beat about the bush, Van Aldin said curtly. I have advised Ruth to file a petition for divorce. Derek Kettering seemed unmoved. How drastic! he murmured. Do you mind if I smoke, sir? He lit a cigarette, and puffed out a cloud of smoke as he added nonchalantly And what did Ruth say? Ruth proposes to take my advice, said her father. Does she really? Is that all you have got to say? demanded Van Aldin sharply. Kettering flicked his ash into the grate. I think, you know, he said, with a detached air, that shes making a great mistake. From your point of view she doubtless is, said Van Aldin grimly. Oh, come now, said the other; dont lets be personal. I really wasnt thinking of myself at the moment. I was thinking of Ruth. You know my poor old Governor really cant last much longer; all the doctors say so. Ruth had better give it a couple more years, then I shall be Lord Leconbury, and she can be chtelaine of Leconbury, which is what she married me for. I wont have any of your darned impudence, roared Van Aldin. Derek Kettering smiled at him quite unmoved. I agree with you. Its an obsolete idea, he said. Theres nothing in a title nowadays. Still, Leconbury is a very fine old place, and, after all, we are one of the oldest families in England. It will be very annoying for Ruth if she divorces me to find me marrying again, and some other woman queening it at Leconbury instead of her. I am serious, young man, said Van Aldin. Oh, so am I, said Kettering. I am in very low water financially; it will put me in a nasty hole if Ruth divorces me, and, after all, if she has stood it for ten years, why not stand it a little longer? I give you my word of honour that the old man cant possibly last out another eighteen months, and, as I said before, its a pity Ruth shouldnt get what she married me for. You suggest that my daughter married you for your title and position? Derek Kettering laughed a laugh that was not all amusement. You dont think it was a question of a love match? he asked. I know, said Van Aldin slowly, that you spoke very differently in Paris ten years ago. Did I? Perhaps I did. Ruth was very beautiful, you knowrather like an angel or a saint, or something that had stepped down from a niche in a church. I had fine ideas, I remember, of turning over a new leaf, of settling down and living up to the highest traditions of English homelife with a beautiful wife who loved me. He laughed again, rather more discordantly. But you dont believe that, I suppose? he said. I have no doubt at all that you married Ruth for her money, said Van Aldin unemotionally. And that she married me for love? asked the other ironically. Certainly, said Van Aldin. Derek Kettering stared at him for a minute or two, then he nodded reflectively. I see you believe that, he said. So did I at the time. I can assure you, my dear fatherinlaw, I was very soon undeceived. I dont know what you are getting at, said Van Aldin, and I dont care. You have treated Ruth darned badly. Oh, I have, agreed Kettering lightly, but shes tough, you know. Shes your daughter. Underneath the pinkandwhite softness of her shes as hard as granite. You have always been known as a hard man, so I have been told, but Ruth is harder than you are. You, at any rate, love one person better than yourself. Ruth never has and never will. That is enough, said Van Aldin. I asked you here so that I could tell you fair and square what I meant to do. My girl has got to have some happiness, and remember this, I am behind her. Derek Kettering got up and stood by the mantelpiece. He tossed away his cigarette. When he spoke, his voice was very quiet. What exactly do you mean by that, I wonder? he said. I mean, said Van Aldin, that you had better not try to defend the case. Oh, said Kettering. Is that a threat? You can take it any way you please, said Van Aldin. Kettering drew a chair up to the table. He sat down fronting the millionaire. And supposing, he said softly, that, just for arguments sake, I did defend the case? Van Aldin shrugged his shoulders. You have not got a leg to stand upon, you young fool. Ask your solicitors, they will soon tell you. Your conduct has been notorious, the talk of London. Ruth has been kicking up a row about Mirelle, I suppose. Very foolish of her. I dont interfere with her friends. What do you mean? said Van Aldin sharply. Derek Kettering laughed. I see you dont know everything, sir, he said. You are, perhaps naturally, prejudiced. He took up his hat and stick and moved towards the door. Giving advice is not much in my line. He delivered his final thrust. But, in this case, I should advise most strongly perfect frankness between father and daughter. He passed quickly out of the room and shut the door behind him just as the millionaire sprang up. Now, what the hell did he mean by that? said Van Aldin as he sank back into his chair again. All his uneasiness returned in full force. There was something here that he had not yet got to the bottom of. The telephone was by his elbow; he seized it, and asked for the number of his daughters house. Hallo! Hallo! Is that Mayfair 81907? Mrs. Kettering in? Oh, shes out, is she? Yes, out to lunch. What time will she be in? You dont know? Oh, very good; no, theres no message. He slammed the receiver down again angrily. At two oclock he was pacing the floor of his room waiting expectantly for Goby. The latter was ushered in at ten minutes past two. Well? barked the millionaire sharply. But little Mr. Goby was not to be hurried. He sat down at the table, produced a very shabby pocketbook, and proceeded to read from it in a monotonous voice. The millionaire listened attentively, with an increasing satisfaction. Goby came to a full stop, and looked attentively at the wastepaperbasket. Um! said Van Aldin. That seems pretty definite. The case will go through like winking. The hotel evidence is all right, I suppose? Cast iron, said Mr. Goby, and looked malevolently at a gilt armchair. And financially hes in very low water. Hes trying to raise a loan now, you say? Has already raised practically all he can upon his expectations from his father. Once the news of the divorce gets about, he wont be able to raise another cent, and not only that, his obligations can be bought up and pressure can be put upon him from that quarter. We have got him, Goby; we have got him in a cleft stick. He hit the table a bang with his fist. His face was grim and triumphant. The information, said Mr. Goby in a thin voice, seems satisfactory. I have got to go round to Curzon Street now, said the millionaire. I am much obliged to you, Goby. You are the goods all right. A pale smile of gratification showed itself on the little mans face. Thank you, Mr. Van Aldin, he said; I try to do my best. Van Aldin did not go direct to Curzon Street. He went first to the City, where he had two interviews which added to his satisfaction. From there he took the tube to Down Street. As he was walking along Curzon Street, a figure came out of No. 160, and turned up the street towards him, so that they passed each other on the pavement. For a moment, the millionaire had fancied it might be Derek Kettering himself; the height and build were not unlike. But as they came face to face, he saw that the man was a stranger to him. At leastno, not a stranger; his face awoke some call of recognition in the millionaires mind, and it was associated definitely with something unpleasant. He cudgelled his brains in vain, but the thing eluded him. He went on, shaking his head irritably. He hated to be baffled. Ruth Kettering was clearly expecting him. She ran to him and kissed him when he entered. Well, Dad, how are things going? Very well, said Van Aldin; but I have got a word or two to say to you, Ruth. Almost insensibly he felt the change in her; something shrewd and watchful replaced the impulsiveness of her greeting. She sat down in a big armchair. Well, Dad? she asked. What is it? I saw your husband this morning, said Van Aldin. You saw Derek? I did. He said a lot of things, most of which were darned cheek. Just as he was leaving, he said something that I didnt understand. He advised me to be sure that there was perfect frankness between father and daughter. What did he mean by that, Ruthie? Mrs. Kettering moved a little in her chair. II dont know, Dad. How should I? Of course you know, said Van Aldin. He said something else, about his having his friends and not interfering with yours. What did he mean by that? I dont know, said Ruth Kettering again. Van Aldin sat down. His mouth set itself in a grim line. See here, Ruth. I am not going into this with my eyes closed. I am not at all sure that that husband of yours doesnt mean to make trouble. Now, he cant do it, I am sure of that. I have got the means to silence him, to shut his mouth for good and all, but I have got to know if theres any need to use those means. What did he mean by your having your own friends? Mrs. Kettering shrugged her shoulders. I have got lots of friends, she said uncertainly. I dont know what he meant, I am sure. You do, said Van Aldin. He was speaking now as he might have spoken to a business adversary. I will put it plainer. Who is the man? What man? The man. Thats what Derek was driving at. Some special man who is a friend of yours. You neednt worry, honey, I know there is nothing in it, but we have got to look at everything as it might appear to the Court. They can twist these things about a good deal, you know. I want to know who the man is, and just how friendly you have been with him. Ruth didnt answer. Her hands were kneading themselves together in intense nervous absorption. Come, honey, said Van Aldin in a softer voice. Dont be afraid of your old Dad. I was not too harsh, was I, even that time in Paris?By gosh! He stopped, thunderstruck. Thats who it was, he murmured to himself. I thought I knew his face. What are you talking about, Dad? I dont understand. The millionaire strode across to her and took her firmly by the wrist. See here, Ruth, have you been seeing that fellow again? What fellow? The one we had all that fuss about years ago. You know who I mean well enough. You meanshe hesitatedyou mean the Comte de la Roche? Comte de la Roche! snorted Van Aldin. I told you at the time that the man was no better than a swindler. You had entangled yourself with him then very deeply, but I got you out of his clutches. Yes, you did, said Ruth bitterly. And I married Derek Kettering. You wanted to, said the millionaire sharply. She shrugged her shoulders. And now, said Van Aldin slowly, you have been seeing him againafter all I told you. He has been in the house today. I met him outside, and couldnt place him for the moment. Ruth Kettering had recovered her composure. I want to tell you one thing, Dad; you are wrong about Armandthe Comte de la Roche, I mean. Oh, I know there were several regrettable incidents in his youthhe has told me about them; butwell, he has cared for me always. It broke his heart when you parted us in Paris, and now She was interrupted by the snort of indignation her father gave. So you fell for that stuff, did you? You, a daughter of mine! My God! He threw up his hands. That women can be such darned fools! VI Mirelle Derek Kettering emerged from Van Aldins suite so precipitantly that he collided with a lady passing across the corridor. He apologised, and she accepted his apologies with a smiling reassurance and passed on, leaving with him a pleasant impression of a soothing personality and rather fine grey eyes. For all his nonchalance, his interview with his fatherinlaw had shaken him more than he cared to show. He had a solitary lunch, and after it, frowning to himself a little, he went round to the sumptuous flat that housed the lady known as Mirelle. A trim Frenchwoman received him with smiles. But enter then, Monsieur. Madame reposes herself. He was ushered into the long room with its Eastern setting which he knew so well. Mirelle was lying on the divan, supported by an incredible number of cushions, all in varying shades of amber, to harmonise with the yellow ochre of her complexion. The dancer was a beautifully made woman, and if her face, beneath its mask of yellow, was in truth somewhat haggard, it had a bizarre charm of its own, and her orange lips smiled invitingly at Derek Kettering. He kissed her, and flung himself into a chair. What have you been doing with yourself? Just got up, I suppose? The orange mouth widened into a long smile. No, said the dancer. I have been at work. She flung out a long, pale hand towards the piano, which was littered with untidy music scores. Ambrose has been here. He has been playing me the new Opera. Kettering nodded without paying much attention. He was profoundly uninterested in Claud Ambrose and the latters operatic setting of Ibsens Peer Gynt. So was Mirelle, for that matter, regarding it merely as a unique opportunity for her own presentation as Anitra. It is a marvellous dance, she murmured. I shall put all the passion of the desert into it. I shall dance hung over with jewelsah! and, by the way, mon ami, there is a pearl that I saw yesterday in Bond Streeta black pearl. She paused, looking at him invitingly. My dear girl, said Kettering, its no use talking of black pearls to me. At the present minute, as far as I am concerned, the fat is in the fire. She was quick to respond to his tone. She sat up, her big black eyes widening. What is that you say, Dereek? What has happened? My esteemed fatherinlaw, said Kettering, is preparing to go off the deep end. Eh? In other words, he wants Ruth to divorce me. How stupid! said Mirelle. Why should she want to divorce you? Derek Kettering grinned. Mainly because of you, chrie! he said. Mirelle shrugged her shoulders. That is foolish, she observed in a matteroffact voice. Very foolish, agreed Derek. What are you going to do about it? demanded Mirelle. My dear girl, what can I do? On the one side, the man with unlimited money; on the other side, the man with unlimited debts. There is no question as to who will come out on top. They are extraordinary, these Americans, commented Mirelle. It is not as though your wife were fond of you. Well, said Derek, what are we going to do about it? She looked at him inquiringly. He came over and took both her hands in his. Are you going to stick to me? What do you mean? After Yes, said Kettering. After, when the creditors come down like wolves on the fold. I am damned fond of you, Mirelle; are you going to let me down? She pulled her hands away from him. You know I adore you, Dereek. He caught the note of evasion in her voice. So thats that, is it? The rats will leave the sinking ship. Ah, Dereek! Out with it, he said violently. You will fling me over; is that it? She shrugged her shoulders. I am fond of you, mon amiindeed I am fond of you. You are very charmingun beau garon, but ce nest pas pratique. You are a rich mans luxury, eh? Is that it? If you like to put it that way. She leaned back on the cushions, her head flung back. All the same, I am fond of you, Dereek. He went over to the window and stood there some time looking out, with his back to her. Presently the dancer raised herself on her elbow and stared at him curiously. What are you thinking of, mon ami? He grinned at her over his shoulder, a curious grin, that made her vaguely uneasy. As it happened, I was thinking of a woman, my dear. A woman, eh? Mirelle pounced on something that she could understand. You are thinking of some other woman, is that it? Oh, you neednt worry; it is purely a fancy portrait. Portrait of a lady with grey eyes. Mirelle said sharply, When did you meet her? Derek Kettering laughed, and his laughter had a mocking, ironical sound. I ran into the lady in the corridor of the Savoy Hotel. Well! What did she say? As far as I can remember, I said, I beg your pardon, and she said, It doesnt matter, or words to that effect. And then? persisted the dancer. Kettering shrugged his shoulders. And thennothing. That was the end of the incident. I dont understand a word of what you are talking about, declared the dancer. Portrait of a lady with grey eyes, murmured Derek reflectively. Just as well I am never likely to meet her again. Why? She might bring me bad luck. Women do. Mirelle slipped quietly from her couch, and came across to him, laying one long, snakelike arm round his neck. You are foolish, Dereek, she murmured. You are very foolish. You are beau garon, and I adore you, but I am not made to be poorno, decidedly I am not made to be poor. Now listen to me; everything is very simple. You must make it up with your wife. I am afraid thats not going to be actually in the sphere of practical politics, said Derek drily. How do you say? I do not understand. Van Aldin, my dear, is not taking any. He is the kind of man who makes up his mind and sticks to it. I have heard of him, nodded the dancer. He is very rich, is he not? Almost the richest man in America. A few days ago, in Paris, he bought the most wonderful ruby in the worldHeart of Fire it is called. Kettering did not answer. The dancer went on musingly It is a wonderful stonea stone that should belong to a woman like me. I love jewels, Dereek; they say something to me. Ah! to wear a ruby like Heart of Fire. She gave a little sigh, and then became practical once more. You dont understand these things, Dereek; you are only a man. Van Aldin will give these rubies to his daughter, I suppose. Is she his only child? Yes. Then when he dies, she will inherit all his money. She will be a rich woman. She is a rich woman already, said Kettering drily. He settled a couple of millions on her at her marriage. A couple of million! But that is immense. And if she died suddenly, eh? That would all come to you? As things stand at present, said Kettering slowly, it would. As far as I know she has not made a will. Mon Dieu! said the dancer. If she were to die, what a solution that would be. There was a moments pause, and then Derek Kettering laughed outright. I like your simple, practical mind, Mirelle, but I am afraid what you desire wont come to pass. My wife is an extremely healthy person. Eh bien! said Mirelle; there are accidents. He looked at her sharply but did not answer. She went on. But you are right, mon ami, we must not dwell on possibilities. See now, my little Dereek, there must be no more talk of this divorce. Your wife must give up the idea. And if she wont? The dancers eyes narrowed to slits. I think she will, my friend. She is one of those who would not like the publicity. There are one or two pretty stories that she would not like her friends to read in the newspapers. What do you mean? asked Kettering sharply. Mirelle laughed, her head thrown back. Parbleu! I mean the gentleman who calls himself the Comte de la Roche. I know all about him. I am Parisienne, you remember. He was her lover before she married you, was he not? Kettering took her sharply by the shoulders. That is a damned lie, he said, and please remember that, after all, you are speaking of my wife. Mirelle was a little sobered. You are extraordinary, you English, she complained. All the same, I dare say that you may be right. The Americans are so cold, are they not? But you will permit me to say, mon ami, that she was in love with him before she married you, and her father stepped in and sent the Comte about his business. And the little Mademoiselle, she wept many tears! But she obeyed. Still, you must know as well as I do, Dereek, that it is a very different story now. She sees him nearly every day, and on the fourteenth she goes to Paris to meet him. How do you know all this? demanded Kettering. Me? I have friends in Paris, my dear Dereek, who know the Comte intimately. It is all arranged. She is going to the Riviera, so she says, but in reality the Comte meets her in Paris andwho knows! Yes, yes, you can take my word for it, it is all arranged. Derek Kettering stood motionless. You see, purred the dancer, if you are clever, you have her in the hollow of your hand. You can make things very awkward for her. Oh, for Gods sake be quiet, cried Kettering. Shut your cursed mouth! Mirelle flung herself down again on the divan with a laugh. Kettering caught up his hat and coat and left the flat, banging the door violently. And still the dancer sat on the divan and laughed softly to herself. She was not displeased with her work. VII Letters Mrs. Samuel Harfield presents her compliments to Miss Katherine Grey and wishes to point out that under the circumstances Miss Grey may not be aware Mrs. Harfield, having written so far fluently, came to a dead stop, held up by what has proved an insuperable difficulty to many other peoplenamely, the difficulty of expressing oneself fluently in the third person. After a minute or two of hesitation, Mrs. Harfield tore up the sheet of notepaper and started afresh. Dear Miss GreyWhilst fully appreciating the adequate way you discharged your duties to my Cousin Emma (whose recent death has indeed been a severe blow to us all), I cannot but feel Again Mrs. Harfield came to a stop. Once more the letter was consigned to the wastepaper basket. It was not until four false starts had been made that Mrs. Harfield at last produced an epistle that satisfied her. It was duly sealed and stamped and addressed to Miss Katherine Grey, Little Crampton, St. Mary Mead, Kent, and it lay beside the ladys plate on the following morning at breakfast time in company with a more importantlooking communication in a long blue envelope. Katherine Grey opened Mrs. Harfields letter first. The finished production ran as follows Dear Miss GreyMy husband and I wish to express our thanks to you for your services to my poor cousin, Emma. Her death has been a great blow to us, though we were, of course, aware that her mind has been failing for some time past. I understand that her latter testamentary dispositions have been of a most peculiar character, and they would not hold good, of course, in any court of law. I have no doubt that, with your usual good sense, you have already realised this fact. If these matters can be arranged privately it is always so much better, my husband says. We shall be pleased to recommend you most highly for a similar post, and hope that you will also accept a small present. Believe me, dear Miss Grey, yours cordially, Mary Anne Harfield. Katherine Grey read the letter through, smiled a little, and read it a second time. Her face as she laid the letter down after the second reading was distinctly amused. Then she took up the second letter. After one brief perusal she laid it down and stared very straight in front of her. This time she did not smile. Indeed, it would have been hard for anyone watching her to guess what emotions lay behind that quiet, reflective gaze. Katherine Grey was thirtythree. She came of good family, but her father had lost all his money, and Katherine had had to work for her living from an early age. She had been just twentythree when she had come to old Mrs. Harfield as companion. It was generally recognised that old Mrs. Harfield was difficult. Companions came and went with startling rapidity. They arrived full of hope and they usually left in tears. But from the moment Katherine Grey set foot in Little Crampton, ten years ago, perfect peace had reigned. No one knows how these things come about. Snakecharmers, they say, are born, not made. Katherine Grey was born with the power of managing old ladies, dogs, and small boys, and she did it without any apparent sense of strain. At twentythree she had been a quiet girl with beautiful eyes. At thirtythree she was a quiet woman, with those same grey eyes, shining steadily out on the world with a kind of happy serenity that nothing could shake. Moreover, she had been born with, and still possessed, a sense of humour. As she sat at the breakfasttable, staring in front of her, there was a ring at the bell, accompanied by a very energetic ratatattat at the knocker. In another minute the little maidservant opened the door and announced rather breathlessly Dr. Harrison. The big, middleaged doctor came bustling in with the energy and breeziness that had been foreshadowed by his onslaught on the knocker. Good morning, Miss Grey. Good morning, Dr. Harrison. I dropped in early, began the doctor, in case you should have heard from one of those Harfield cousins. Mrs. Samuel, she calls herselfa perfectly poisonous person. Without a word, Katherine picked up Mrs. Harfields letter from the table and gave it to him. With a good deal of amusement she watched his perusal of it, the drawing together of the bushy eyebrows, the snorts and grunts of violent disapproval. He dashed it down again on the table. Perfectly monstrous, he fumed. Dont you let it worry you, my dear. Theyre talking through their hat. Mrs. Harfields intellect was as good as yours or mine, and you wont get anyone to say the contrary. They wouldnt have a leg to stand upon, and they know it. All that talk of taking it into court is pure bluff. Hence this attempt to get round you in a holeandcorner way. And look here, my dear, dont let them get round you with soft soap either. Dont get fancying its your duty to hand over the cash, or any tomfoolery of conscientious scruples. Im afraid it hasnt occurred to me to have scruples, said Katherine. All these people are distant relatives of Mrs. Harfields husband, and they never came near her or took any notice of her in her lifetime. Youre a sensible woman, said the doctor. I know, none better, that youve had a hard life of it for the last ten years. Youre fully entitled to enjoy the old ladys savings, such as they were. Katherine smiled thoughtfully. Such as they were, she repeated. Youve no idea of the amount, doctor? Wellenough to bring in five hundred a year or so, I suppose. Katherine nodded. Thats what I thought, she said. Now read this. She handed him the letter she had taken from the long blue envelope. The doctor read and uttered an exclamation of utter astonishment. Impossible, he muttered. Impossible. She was one of the original shareholders in Mortaulds. Forty years ago she must have had an income of eight or ten thousand a year. She has never, I am sure, spent more than four hundred a year. She was always terribly careful about money. I always believed that she was obliged to be careful about every penny. And all the time the income has accumulated at compound interest. My dear, youre going to be a very rich woman. Katherine Grey nodded. Yes, she said, I am. She spoke in a detached, impersonal tone, as though she were looking at the situation from outside. Well, said the doctor, preparing to depart, you have all my congratulations. He flicked Mrs. Samuel Harfields letter with his thumb. Dont worry about that woman and her odious letter. It really isnt an odious letter, said Miss Grey tolerantly. Under the circumstances, I think its really quite a natural thing to do. I have the gravest suspicions of you sometimes, said the doctor. Why? The things that you find perfectly natural. Katherine Grey laughed. Doctor Harrison retailed the great news to his wife at lunchtime. She was very excited about it. Fancy old Mrs. Harfieldwith all that money. Im glad she left it to Katherine Grey. That girls a saint. The doctor made a wry face. Saints I always imagined must have been difficult people. Katherine Grey is too human for a saint. Shes a saint with a sense of humour, said the doctors wife, twinkling. And, though I dont suppose youve ever noticed the fact, shes extremely good looking. Katherine Grey? The doctor was honestly surprised. Shes got very nice eyes, I know. Oh, you men! cried his wife. Blind as bats. Katherines got all the makings of a beauty in her. All she wants is clothes! Clothes? Whats wrong with her clothes? She always looks very nice. Mrs. Harrison gave an exasperated sigh, and the doctor rose preparatory to starting on his rounds. You might look in on her, Polly, he suggested. Im going to, said Mrs. Harrison promptly. She made her call about three oclock. My dear, Im so glad, she said warmly, as she squeezed Katherines hand. And everyone in the village will be glad too. Its very nice of you to come and tell me, said Katherine. I hoped you would come in because I wanted to ask about Johnnie. Oh! Johnnie. Well Johnnie was Mrs. Harrisons youngest son. In another minute she was off, retailing a long history in which Johnnies adenoids and tonsils bulked largely. Katherine listened sympathetically. Habits die hard. Listening had been her portion for ten years now. My dear, I wonder if I ever told you about the naval ball at Portsmouth? When Lord Charles admired my gown? And composedly, kindly, Katherine would reply I rather think you have, Mrs. Harfield, but Ive forgotten about it. Wont you tell it me again? And then the old lady would start off full swing, with numerous corrections, and stops, and remembered details. And half of Katherines mind would be listening, saying the right things mechanically when the old lady paused Now, with the same curious feeling of duality to which she was accustomed, she listened to Mrs. Harrison. At the end of half an hour, the latter recalled herself suddenly. Ive been talking about myself all this time, she exclaimed.

And I came here to talk about you and your plans. I dont know that Ive got any yet. My dearyoure not going to stay on here. Katherine smiled at the horror in the others tone. No; I think I want to travel. Ive never seen much of the world, you know. I should think not. It must have been an awful life for you cooped up here all these years. I dont know, said Katherine. It gave me a lot of freedom. She caught the others gasp, and reddened a little. It must sound foolishsaying that. Of course, I hadnt much freedom in the downright physical sense I should think not, breathed Mrs. Harrison, remembering that Katherine had seldom had that useful thing, a day off. But in a way, being tied physically gives you lots of scope mentally. Youre always free to think. Ive had a lovely feeling always of mental freedom. Mrs. Harrison shook her head. I cant understand that. Oh! you would if youd been in my place. But, all the same, I feel I want a change. I wantwell, I want things to happen. Oh! not to meI dont mean that. But to be in the midst of thingsexciting thingseven if Im only the lookeron. You know, things dont happen in St. Mary Mead. They dont indeed, said Mrs. Harrison, with fervour. I shall go to London first, said Katherine. I have to see the solicitors, anyway. After that, I shall go abroad, I think. Very nice. But, of course, first of all Yes? I must get some clothes. Exactly what I said to Arthur this morning, cried the doctors wife. You know, Katherine, you could look possibly positively beautiful if you tried. Miss Grey laughed unaffectedly. Oh! I dont think you could ever make a beauty out of me, she said sincerely. But I shall enjoy having some really good clothes. Im afraid Im talking about myself an awful lot. Mrs. Harrison looked at her shrewdly. It must be quite a novel experience for you, she said drily. Katherine went to say goodbye to old Miss Viner before leaving the village. Miss Viner was two years older than Mrs. Harfield, and her mind was mainly taken up with her own success in outliving her dead friend. You wouldnt have thought Id have outlasted Jane Harfield, would you? she demanded triumphantly of Katherine. We were at school together, she and I. And here we are, she taken, and I left. Who would have thought it? Youve always eaten brown bread for supper, havent you? murmured Katherine mechanically. Fancy your remembering that, my dear. Yes; if Jane Harfield had had a slice of brown bread every evening and taken a little stimulant with her meals she might be here today. The old lady paused, nodding her head triumphantly; then added in sudden remembrance And so youve come into a lot of money, I hear? Well, well. Take care of it. And youre going up to London to have a good time? Dont think youll get married, though, my dear, because you wont. Youre not the kind to attract the men. And, besides, youre getting on. How old are you now? Thirtythree, Katherine told her. Well, remarked Miss Viner doubtfully, thats not so very bad. Youve lost your first freshness, of course. Im afraid so, said Katherine, much entertained. But youre a very nice girl, said Miss Viner kindly. And Im sure theres many a man might do worse than take you for a wife instead of one of these flibbertigibbets running about nowadays showing more of their legs than the Creator ever intended them to. Goodbye, my dear, and I hope youll enjoy yourself, but things are seldom what they seem in this life. Heartened by these prophecies, Katherine took her departure. Half the village came to see her off at the station, including the little maid of all work, Alice, who brought a stiff wired nosegay and cried openly. There aint a many like her, sobbed Alice when the train had finally departed. Im sure when Charlie went back on me with that girl from the Dairy, nobody could have been kinder than Miss Grey was, and though particular about the brasses and the dust, she was always one to notice when youd give a thing an extra rub. Cut myself in little pieces for her, I would, any day. A real lady, thats what I call her. Such was Katherines departure from St. Mary Mead. VIII Lady Tamplin Writes a Letter Well, said Lady Tamplin, well. She laid down the continental Daily Mail and stared out across the blue waters of the Mediterranean. A branch of golden mimosa, hanging just above her head, made an effective frame for a very charming picture. A goldenhaired, blueeyed lady in a very becoming negligee. That the golden hair owed something to art, as did the pinkandwhite complexion, was undeniable, but the blue of the eyes was Natures gift, and at fortyfour Lady Tamplin could still rank as a beauty. Charming as she looked, Lady Tamplin was, for once, not thinking of herself. That is to say, she was not thinking of her appearance. She was intent on graver matters. Lady Tamplin was a wellknown figure on the Riviera, and her parties at the Villa Marguerite were justly celebrated. She was a woman of considerable experience, and had had four husbands. The first had been merely an indiscretion, and so was seldom referred to by the lady. He had had the good sense to die with commendable promptitude, and his widow thereupon espoused a rich manufacturer of buttons. He too had departed for another sphere after three years of married lifeit was said after a congenial evening with some boon companions. After him came Viscount Tamplin, who had placed Rosalie securely on those heights where she wished to tread. She retained her title when she married for a fourth time. This fourth venture had been undertaken for pure pleasure. Mr. Charles Evans, an extremely goodlooking young man of twentyseven, with delightful manners, a keen love of sport, and an appreciation of this worlds goods, had no money of his own whatsoever. Lady Tamplin was very pleased and satisfied with life generally, but she had occasional faint preoccupations about money. The button manufacturer had left his widow a considerable fortune, but, as Lady Tamplin was wont to say, what with one thing and another (one thing being the depreciation of stocks owing to the War, and the other the extravagances of the late Lord Tamplin). She was still comfortably off. But to be merely comfortably off was hardly satisfactory to one of Rosalie Tamplins temperament. So, on this particular January morning, she opened her blue eyes extremely wide as she read a certain item of news and uttered that noncommittal monosyllable Well. The only other occupant of the balcony was her daughter, the Hon. Lenox Tamplin. A daughter such as Lenox was a sad thorn in Lady Tamplins side, a girl with no kind of tact, who actually looked older than her age, and whose peculiar sardonic form of humour was, to say the least of it, uncomfortable. Darling, said Lady Tamplin, just fancy. What is it? Lady Tamplin picked up the Daily Mail, handed it to her daughter, and indicated with an agitated forefinger the paragraph of interest. Lenox read it without any of the signs of agitation shown by her mother. She handed back the paper. What about it? she asked. It is the sort of thing that is always happening. Cheeseparing old women are always dying in villages and leaving fortunes of millions to their humble companions. Yes, dear, I know, said her mother, and I dare say the fortune is not anything like as large as they say it is; newspapers are so inaccurate. But even if you cut it down by half Well, said Lenox, it has not been left to us. Not exactly, dear, said Lady Tamplin; but this girl, this Katherine Grey, is actually a cousin of mine. One of the Worcestershire Greys, the Edgeworth lot. My very own cousin! Fancy! Ahha, said Lenox. And I was wondering said her mother. What there is in it for us, finished Lenox, with that sideways smile that her mother always found difficult to understand. Oh, darling, said Lady Tamplin, on a faint note of reproach. It was very faint, because Rosalie Tamplin was used to her daughters outspokenness and to what she called Lenoxs uncomfortable way of putting things. I was wondering, said Lady Tamplin, again drawing her artistically pencilled brows together, whetheroh, good morning, Chubby darling are you going to play tennis? How nice! Chubby, thus addressed, smiled kindly at her, remarked perfunctorily, How topping you look in that peachcoloured thing, and drifted past them and down the steps. The dear thing, said Lady Tamplin, looking affectionately after her husband. Let me see, what was I saying? Ah! She switched her mind back to business once more. I was wondering Oh, for Gods sake get on with it. That is the third time you have said that. Well, dear, said Lady Tamplin, I was thinking that it would be very nice if I wrote to dear Katherine and suggested that she should pay us a little visit out here. Naturally, she is quite out of touch with Society. It would be nicer for her to be launched by one of her own people. An advantage for her and an advantage for us. How much do you think you would get her to cough up? asked Lenox. Her mother looked at her reproachfully and murmured We should have to come to some financial arrangement, of course. What with one thing and anotherthe, Waryour poor father And Chubby now, said Lenox. He is an expensive luxury if you like. She was a nice girl as I remember her, murmured Lady Tamplin, pursuing her own line of thoughtquiet, never wanted to shove herself forward, not a beauty, and never a manhunter. She will leave Chubby alone, then? said Lenox. Lady Tamplin looked at her in protest. Chubby would never she began. No, said Lenox, I dont believe he would; he knows a jolly sight too well which way his bread is buttered. Darling, said Lady Tamplin, you have such a coarse way of putting things. Sorry, said Lenox. Lady Tamplin gathered up the Daily Mail and her negligee, a vanity bag, and various odd letters. I shall write to dear Katherine at once, she said, and remind her of the dear old days at Edgeworth. She went into the house, a light of purpose shining in her eyes. Unlike Mrs. Samuel Harfield, correspondence flowed easily from her pen. She covered four sheets without pause or effort, and on rereading it found no occasion to alter a word. Katherine received it on the morning of her arrival in London. Whether she read between the lines of it or not is another matter. She put it in her handbag and started out to keep the appointment she had made with Mrs. Harfields lawyers. The firm was an oldestablished one in Lincolns Inn Fields, and after a few minutes delay Katherine was shown into the presence of the senior partner, a kindly, elderly man with shrewd blue eyes and a fatherly manner. They discussed Mrs. Harfields will and various legal matters for some twenty minutes, then Katherine handed the lawyer Mrs. Samuels letter. I had better show you this, I suppose, she said, though it is really rather ridiculous. He read it with a slight smile. Rather a crude attempt, Miss Grey. I need hardly tell you, I suppose, that these people have no claim of any kind upon the estate, and if they endeavour to contest the will no court will uphold them. I thought as much. Human nature is not always very wise. In Mrs. Samuel Harfields place, I should have been more inclined to make an appeal to your generosity. That is one of the things I want to speak to you about. I should like a certain sum to go to these people. There is no obligation. I know that. And they will not take it in the spirit it is meant. They will probably regard it as an attempt to pay them off, though they will not refuse it on that account. I can see that, and it cant be helped. I should advise you, Miss Grey, to put that idea out of your mind. Katherine shook her head. You are quite right, I know, but I should like it done all the same. They will grab at the money and abuse you all the more afterwards. Well, said Katherine, let them if they like. We all have our own ways of enjoying ourselves. They were, after all, Mrs. Harfields only relatives, and though they despised her as a poor relation and paid no attention to her when she was alive, it seems to me unfair that they should be cut off with nothing. She carried her point, though the lawyer was still unwilling, and she presently went out into the streets of London with a comfortable assurance that she could spend money freely and make what plans she liked for the future. Her first action was to visit the establishment of a famous dressmaker. A slim, elderly Frenchwoman, rather like a dreaming duchess, received her, and Katherine spoke with a certain naivete. I want, if I may, to put myself in your hands. I have been very poor all my life and know nothing about clothes, but now I have come into some money and want to look really well dressed. The Frenchwoman was charmed. She had an artists temperament, which had been soured earlier in the morning by a visit from an Argentine meat queen, who had insisted on having those models least suited to her flamboyant type of beauty. She scrutinised Katherine with keen, clever eyes. Yesyes, it will be a pleasure. Mademoiselle has a very good figure; for her the simple lines will be best. She is also trs anglaise. Some people it would offend them if I said that, but Mademoiselle no. Une belle Anglaise, there is no style more delightful. The demeanour of a dreaming duchess was suddenly put off. She screamed out directions to various mannequins. Clothilde, Virginie, quickly, my little ones, the little tailleur gris clair and the robe de soire soupir dautomne. Marcelle, my child, the little mimosa suit of crpe de chine. It was a charming morning. Marcelle, Clothilde, Virginie, bored and scornful, passed slowly round, squirming and wriggling in the timehonoured fashion of mannequins. The Duchess stood by Katherine and made entries in a small notebook. An excellent choice, Mademoiselle. Mademoiselle has great got. Yes, indeed. Mademoiselle cannot do better than those little suits if she is going to the Riviera, as I suppose, this winter. Let me see that evening dress once more, said Katherinethe pinky mauve one. Virginie appeared, circling slowly. That is the prettiest of all, said Katherine, as she surveyed the exquisite draperies of mauve and grey and blue. What do you call it? Soupir dautomne; yes, yes, that is truly the dress of Mademoiselle. What was there in these words that came back to Katherine with a faint feeling of sadness after she had left the dressmaking establishment. Soupir dautomne; that is truly the dress of Mademoiselle. Autumn, yes, it was autumn for her. She who had never known spring or summer, and would never know them now. Something she had lost never could be given to her again. These years of servitude in St. Mary Meadand all the while life passing by. I am an idiot, said Katherine. I am an idiot. What do I want? Why, I was more contented a month ago than I am now. She drew out from her handbag the letter she had received that morning from Lady Tamplin. Katherine was no fool. She understood the nuances of that letter as well as anybody and the reason of Lady Tamplins sudden show of affection towards a longforgotten cousin was not lost upon her. It was for profit and not for pleasure that Lady Tamplin was so anxious for the company of her dear cousin. Well, why not? There would be profit on both sides. I will go, said Katherine. She was walking down Piccadilly at the moment, and turned into Cooks to clinch the matter then and there. She had to wait for a few minutes. The man with whom the clerk was engaged was also going to the Riviera. Everyone, she felt, was going. Well, for the first time in her life, she, too, would be doing what everybody did. The man in front of her turned abruptly, and she stepped into his place. She made her demand to the clerk, but at the same time half of her mind was busy with something else. That mans facein some vague way it was familiar to her. Where had she seen him before? Suddenly she remembered. It was in the Savoy outside her room that morning. She had collided with him in the passage. Rather an odd coincidence that she should run into him twice in a day. She glanced over her shoulder, rendered uneasy by something, she knew not what. The man was standing in the doorway looking back at her. A cold shiver passed over Katherine; she had a haunting sense of tragedy, of doom impending. Then she shook the impression from her with her usual good sense and turned her whole attention to what the clerk was saying. IX An Offer Refused It was rarely that Derek Kettering allowed his temper to get the better of him. An easygoing insouciance was his chief characteristic, and it had stood him in good stead in more than one tight corner. Even now, by the time he had left Mirelles flat, he had cooled down. He had need of coolness. The corner he was in now was a tighter one than he had ever been in before, and unforeseen factors had arisen with which, for the moment, he did not know how to deal. He strolled along deep in thought. His brow was furrowed, and there was none of the easy, jaunty manner which sat so well upon him. Various possibilities floated through his mind. It might have been said of Derek Kettering that he was less of a fool than he looked. He saw several roads that he might takeone in particular. If he shrank from it, it was for the moment only. Desperate ills need desperate remedies. He had gauged his fatherinlaw correctly. A war between Derek Kettering and Rufus Van Aldin could end only one way. Derek damned money and the power of money vehemently to himself. He walked up St. Jamess Street, across Piccadilly, and strolled along it in the direction of Piccadilly Circus. As he passed the offices of Messrs. Thomas Cook Sons his footsteps slackened. He walked on, however, still turning the matter over in his mind. Finally, he gave a brief nod of his head, turned sharplyso sharply as to collide with a couple of pedestrians who were following in his footsteps, and went back the way he had come. This time he did not pass Cooks, but went in. The office was comparatively empty, and he got attended to at once. I want to go to Nice next week. Will you give me particulars? What date, sir? The fourteenth. What is the best train? Well, of course, the best train is what they call The Blue Train. You avoid the tiresome Customs business at Calais. Derek nodded. He knew all this, none better. The fourteenth, murmured the clerk; that is rather soon. The Blue Train is nearly always all booked up. See if there is a berth left, said Derek. If there is not He left the sentence unfinished, with a curious smile on his face. The clerk disappeared for a few minutes, and presently returned. That is all right, sir; still three berths left. I will book you one of them. What name? Pavett, said Derek. He gave the address of his rooms in Jermyn Street. The clerk nodded, finished writing it down, wished Derek good morning politely, and turned his attention to the next client. I want to go to Niceon the fourteenth. Isnt there a train called the Blue Train? Derek looked round sharply. Coincidencea strange coincidence. He remembered his own halfwhimsical words to Mirelle. Portrait of a lady with grey eyes. I dont suppose I shall ever see her again. But he had seen her again, and, what was more, she proposed to travel to the Riviera on the same day as he did. Just for a moment a shiver passed over him; in some ways he was superstitious. He had said, halflaughingly, that this woman might bring him bad luck. Supposesuppose that should prove to be true. From the doorway he looked back at her as she stood talking to the clerk. For once his memory had not played him false. A ladya lady in every sense of the word. Not very young, not singularly beautiful. But with somethinggrey eyes that might perhaps see too much. He knew as he went out of the door that in some way he was afraid of this woman. He had a sense of fatality. He went back to his rooms in Jermyn Street and summoned his man. Take this cheque, Pavett, cash it first thing in the morning, and go round to Cook in Piccadilly. They will have some tickets there booked in your name, pay for them, and bring them back. Very good, sir. Pavett withdrew. Derek strolled over to a sidetable and picked up a handful of letters. They were of a type only too familiar. Bills, small bills and large bills, one and all pressing for payment. The tone of the demands was still polite. Derek knew how soon that polite tone would change ifif certain news became public property. He flung himself moodily into a large, leathercovered chair. A damned holethat was what he was in. Yes, a damned hole! And ways of getting out of that damned hole were not too promising. Pavett appeared with a discreet cough. A gentleman to see yousirMajor Knighton. Knighton, eh? Derek sat up, frowned, became suddenly alert. He said in a softer tone, almost to himself KnightonI wonder what is in the wind now? Shall Iershow him in, sir? His master nodded. When Knighton entered the room he found a charming and genial host awaiting him. Very good of you to look me up, said Derek. Knighton was nervous. The others keen eyes noticed that at once. The errand on which the secretary had come was clearly distasteful to him. He replied almost mechanically to Dereks easy flow of conversation. He declined a drink, and, if anything, his manner became stiffer than before. Derek appeared at last to notice it. Well, he said cheerfully, what does my esteemed fatherinlaw want with me? You have come on his business, I take it? Knighton did not smile in reply. I have, yes, he said carefully. II wish Mr. Van Aldin had chosen someone else. Derek raised his eyebrows in mock dismay. Is it as bad as all that? I am not very thin skinned, I can assure you, Knighton. No, said Knighton; but this He paused. Derek eyed him keenly. Go on, out with it, he said kindly. I can imagine my dear fatherinlaws errands might not always be pleasant ones. Knighton cleared his throat. He spoke formally in tones that he strove to render free of embarrassment. I am directed by Mr. Van Aldin to make you a definite offer. An offer? For a moment Derek showed his surprise. Knightons opening words were clearly not what he had expected. He offered a cigarette to Knighton, lit one himself, and sank back in his chair, murmuring in a slightly sardonic voice An offer? That sounds rather interesting. Shall I go on? Please. You must forgive my surprise, but it seems to me that my dear fatherinlaw has rather climbed down since our chat this morning. And climbing down is not what one associates with strong men, Napoleons of finance, etc. It showsI think it shows that he finds his position weaker than he thought it. Knighton listened politely to the easy, mocking voice, but no sign of any kind showed itself on his rather stolid countenance. He waited until Derek had finished, and then he said quietly I will state the proposition in the fewest possible words. Go on. Knighton did not look at the other. His voice was curt and matteroffact. The matter is simply this. Mrs. Kettering, as you know, is about to file a petition for divorce. If the case goes undefended you will receive one hundred thousand on the day that the decree is made absolute. Derek, in the act of lighting his cigarette, suddenly stopped dead. A hundred thousand! he said sharply. Dollars? Pounds. There was dead silence for at least two minutes. Kettering had his brows together thinking. A hundred thousand pounds. It meant Mirelle and a continuance of his pleasant, careless life. It meant that Van Aldin knew something. Van Aldin did not pay for nothing. He got up and stood by the chimneypiece. And in the event of my refusing his handsome offer? he asked, with a cold, ironical politeness. Knighton made a deprecating gesture. I can assure you, Mr. Kettering, he said earnestly, that it is with the utmost unwillingness that I came here with this message. Thats all right, said Kettering. Dont distress yourself; its not your fault. Now thenI asked you a question, will you answer it? Knighton also rose. He spoke more reluctantly than before. In the event of your refusing this proposition, he said, Mr. Van Aldin wished me to tell you in plain words that he proposes to break you. Just that. Kettering raised his eyebrows, but he retained his light, amused manner. Well, well! he said, I suppose he can do it. I certainly should not be able to put up much of a fight against Americas man of many millions. A hundred thousand! If you are going to bribe a man there is nothing like doing it thoroughly. Supposing I were to tell you that for two hundred thousand Id do what he wanted, what then? I would take your message back to Mr. Van Aldin, said Knighton unemotionally. Is that your answer? No, said Derek; funnily enough it is not. You can go back to my fatherinlaw and tell him to take himself and his bribes to hell. Is that clear? Perfectly, said Knighton. He got up, hesitated, and then flushed. Iyou will allow me to say, Mr. Kettering, that I am glad you have answered as you have. Derek did not reply. When the other had left the room he remained for a minute or two lost in thought. A curious smile came to his lips. And that is that, he said softly. X On the Blue Train Dad! Mrs. Kettering started violently. Her nerves were not completely under control this morning. Very perfectly dressed in a long mink coat and a little hat of Chinese lacquer red, she had been walking along the crowded platform of Victoria deep in thought, and her fathers sudden appearance and hearty greeting had an unlookedfor effect upon her. Why, Ruth, how you jumped! I didnt expect to see you, I suppose, Dad. You said goodbye to me last night and said you had a conference this morning. So I have, said Van Aldin, but you are more to me than any number of darned conferences. I came to take a last look at you, since I am not going to see you for some time. That is very sweet of you, Dad. I wish you were coming too. What would you say if I did? The remark was merely a joking one. He was surprised to see the quick colour of flame in Ruths cheeks. For a moment he almost thought he saw dismay flash out of her eyes. She laughed uncertainly and nervously. Just for a moment I really thought you meant it, she said. Would you have been pleased? Of course. She spoke with exaggerated emphasis. Well, said Van Aldin, thats good. It isnt really for very long, Dad, continued Ruth; you know, you are coming out next month. Ah! said Van Aldin unemotionally, sometimes I guess I will go to one of these big guys in Harley Street and have him tell me that I need sunshine and change of air right away. Dont be so lazy, cried Ruth; next month is ever so much nicer than this month out there. You have got all sorts of things you cant possibly leave just now. Well, thats so, I suppose, said Van Aldin, with a sigh. You had better be getting on board this train of yours, Ruth. Where is your seat? Ruth Kettering looked vaguely up at the train. At the door of one of the Pullman cars a thin, tall woman dressed in black was standingRuth Ketterings maid. She drew aside as her mistress came up to her. I have put your dressingcase under your seat, Madam, in case you should need it. Shall I take the rugs, or will you require one? No, no, I shant want one. Better go and find your own seat now, Mason. Yes, Madam. The maid departed. Van Aldin entered the Pullman car with Ruth. She found her seat, and Van Aldin deposited various papers and magazines on the table in front of her. The seat opposite to her was already taken, and the American gave a cursory glance at its occupant. He had a fleeting impression of attractive grey eyes and a neat travelling costume. He indulged in a little more desultory conversation with Ruth, the kind of talk peculiar to those seeing other people off by train. Presently, as whistles blew, he glanced at his watch. I had best be clearing out of here. Goodbye, my dear. Dont worry, I will attend to things. Oh, Father! He turned back sharply. There had been something in Ruths voice, something so entirely foreign to her usual manner, that he was startled. It was almost a cry of despair. She had made an impulsive movement towards him, but in another minute she was mistress of herself once more. Till next month, she said cheerfully. Two minutes later the train started. Ruth sat very still, biting her underlip and trying hard to keep the unaccustomed tears from her eyes. She felt a sudden sense of horrible desolation. There was a wild longing upon her to jump out of the train and to go back before it was too late. She, so calm, so selfassured, for the first time in her life felt like a leaf swept by the wind. If her father knewwhat would he say? Madness! Yes, just that, madness! For the first time in her life she was swept away by emotion, swept away to the point of doing a thing which even she knew to be incredibly foolish and reckless. She was enough Van Aldins daughter to realise her own folly, and levelheaded enough to condemn her own action. But she was his daughter in another sense also. She had that same iron determination that would have what it wanted, and once it had made up its mind would not be balked. From her cradle she had been selfwilled; the very circumstances of her life had developed that selfwill in her. It drove her now remorselessly. Well, the die was cast. She must go through with it now. She looked up, and her eyes met those of the woman sitting opposite. She had a sudden fancy that in some way this other woman had read her mind. She saw in those grey eyes understanding andyescompassion. It was only a fleeting impression. The faces of both women hardened to wellbred impassiveness. Mrs. Kettering took up a magazine, and Katherine Grey looked out of the window and watched a seemingly endless vista of depressing streets and suburban houses. Ruth found an increasing difficulty in fixing her mind on the printed page in front of her. In spite of herself, a thousand apprehensions preyed on her mind. What a fool she had been! What a fool she was! Like all cool and selfsufficient people, when she did lose her selfcontrol she lost it thoroughly. It was too late. Was it too late? Oh, for someone to speak to, for someone to advise her. She had never before had such a wish; she would have scorned the idea of relying on any judgment other than her own, but nowwhat was the matter with her? Panic. Yes, that would describe it bestpanic. She, Ruth Kettering, was completely and utterly panic stricken. She stole a covert glance at the figure opposite. If only she knew someone like that, some nice, cool, calm, sympathetic creature. That was the sort of person one could talk to. But you cant, of course, confide in a stranger. And Ruth smiled to herself a little at the idea. She picked up the magazine again. Really she must control herself. After all she had thought all this out. She had decided of her own free will. What happiness had she ever had in her life up to now? She said to herself restlessly Why shouldnt I be happy? No one will ever know. It seemed no time before Dover was reached. Ruth was a good sailor. She disliked the cold, and was glad to reach the shelter of the private cabin she had telegraphed for. Although she would not have admitted the fact, Ruth was in some ways superstitious. She was of the order of people to whom coincidence appeals. After disembarking at Calais and settling herself down with her maid in her double compartment in the Blue Train, she went along to the luncheon car. It was with a little shock of surprise that she found herself set down to a small table with, opposite her, the same woman who had been her visvis in the Pullman. A faint smile came to the lips of both women. This is quite a coincidence, said Mrs. Kettering. I know, said Katherine; it is odd the way things happen.

A flying attendant shot up to them with the wonderful velocity always displayed by the Compagnie Internationale des WagonsLits and deposited two cups of soup. By the time the omelette succeeded the soup they were chatting together in friendly fashion. It will be heavenly to get into the sunshine, sighed Ruth. I am sure it will be a wonderful feeling. You know the Riviera well? No; this is my first visit. Fancy that. You go every year, I expect? Practically. January and February in London are horrible. I have always lived in the country. They are not very inspiring months there either. Mostly mud. What made you suddenly decide to travel? Money, said Katherine. For ten years I have been a paid companion with just enough money of my own to buy myself strong country shoes; now I have been left what seems to me a fortune, though I dare say it would not seem so much to you. Now I wonder why you said thatthat it would not seem so to me. Katherine laughed. I dont really know. I suppose one forms impressions without thinking of it. I put you down in my own mind as one of the very rich of the earth. It was just an impression. I dare say I am wrong. No, said Ruth, you are not wrong. She had suddenly become very grave. I wish you would tell me what other impressions you formed about me? I Ruth swept on disregarding the others embarrassment. Oh, please, dont be conventional. I want to know. As we left Victoria I looked across at you, and I had the sort of feeling that youwell, understood what was going on in my mind. I can assure you I am not a mind reader, said Katherine smiling. No; but will you tell me, please, just what you thought. Ruths eagerness was so intense and so sincere that she carried her point. I will tell you if you like, but you must not think me impertinent. I thought that for some reason you were in great distress of mind, and I was sorry for you. You are right. You are quite right. I am in terrible trouble. II should like to tell you something about it, if I may. Oh, dear, Katherine thought to herself, how extraordinarily alike the world seems to be everywhere! People were always telling me things in St. Mary Mead, and it is just the same thing here, and I dont really want to hear anybodys troubles! She replied politely Do tell me. They were just finishing their lunch. Ruth gulped down her coffee, rose from her seat, and quite oblivious of the fact that Katherine had not begun to sip her coffee, said Come to my compartment with me. They were two single compartments with a communicating door between them. In the second of them a thin maid, whom Katherine had noticed at Victoria, was sitting very upright on the seat, clutching a big scarlet morocco case with the initials R. V. K. on it. Mrs. Kettering pulled the communicating door to and sank down on the seat. Katherine sat down beside her. I am in trouble and I dont know what to do. There is a man whom I am fond ofvery fond of indeed. We cared for each other when we were young, and we were thrust apart most brutally and unjustly. Now we have come together again. Yes? II am going to meet him now. Oh! I dare say you think it is all wrong, but you dont know the circumstances. My husband is impossible. He has treated me disgracefully. Yes, said Katherine again. What I feel so badly about is this. I have deceived my fatherit was he who came to see me off at Victoria today. He wishes me to divorce my husband, and, of course, he has no ideathat I am going to meet this other man. He would think it extraordinarily foolish. Well, dont you think it is? II suppose it is. Ruth Kettering looked down at her hands; they were shaking violently. But I cant draw back now. Why not? Iit is all arranged, and it would break his heart. Dont you believe it, said Katherine robustly; hearts are pretty tough. He will think I have no courage, no strength of purpose. It seems to me an awfully silly thing that you are going to do, said Katherine. I think you realise that yourself. Ruth Kettering buried her face in her hands. I dont knowI dont know. Ever since I left Victoria I have had a horrible feeling of somethingsomething that is coming to me very soonthat I cant escape. She clutched convulsively at Katherines hand. You must think I am mad talking to you like this, but I tell you I know something horrible is going to happen. Dont think it, said Katherine; try to pull yourself together. You could send your father a wire from Paris, if you like, and he would come to you at once. The other brightened. Yes, I could do that. Dear old Dad. It is queerbut I never knew until today how terribly fond of him I am. She sat up and dried her eyes with a handkerchief. I have been very foolish. Thank you so much for letting me talk to you. I dont know why I got into such a queer, hysterical state. She got up. I am quite all right now. I suppose, really, I just needed someone to talk to. I cant think now why I have been making such an absolute fool of myself. Katherine got up too. I am glad you feel better, she said, trying to make her voice sound as conventional as possible. She was only too well aware that the aftermath of confidences is embarrassment. She added tactfully I must be going back to my own compartment. She emerged into the corridor at the same time as the maid was also coming out from the next door. The latter looked towards Katherine, over her shoulder, and an expression of intense surprise showed itself on her face. Katherine turned also, but by that time whoever it was who had aroused the maids interest had retreated into his or her compartment, and the corridor was empty. Katherine walked down it to regain her own place, which was in the next coach. As she passed the end compartment the door opened and a womans face looked out for a moment and then pulled the door to sharply. It was a face not easily forgotten, as Katherine was to know when she saw it again. A beautiful face, oval and dark, very heavily made up in a bizarre fashion. Katherine had a feeling that she had seen it before somewhere. She regained her own compartment without other adventure and sat for some time thinking of the confidence which had just been made to her. She wondered idly who the woman in the mink coat might be, wondered also how the end of her story would turn out. If I had stopped anyone from making an idiot of themselves, I suppose I have done good work, she thought to herself. But who knows? That is the kind of woman who is hardheaded and egotistical all her life, and it might be good for her to do the other sort of thing for a change. Oh, wellI dont suppose I shall ever see her again. She certainly wont want to see me again. That is the worst of letting people tell you things. They never do. She hoped that she would not be given the same place at dinner. She reflected, not without humour, that it might be awkward for both of them. Leaning back with her head against a cushion she felt tired and vaguely depressed. They had reached Paris, and the slow journey round the ceinture, with its interminable stops and waits, was very wearisome. When they arrived at the Gare de Lyon she was glad to get out and walk up and down the platform. The keen cold air was refreshing after the steamheated train. She observed with a smile that her friend of the mink coat was solving the possible awkwardness of the dinner problem in her own way. A dinner basket was being handed up and received through the window by the maid. When the train started once more, and dinner was announced by a violent ringing of bells, Katherine went along to it much relieved in mind. Her visvis tonight was of an entirely different kinda small man, distinctly foreign in appearance, with a rigidly waxed moustache and an eggshaped head which he carried rather on one side. Katherine had taken in a book to dinner with her. She found the little mans eyes fixed upon it with a kind of twinkling amusement. I see, Madame, that you have a roman policier. You are fond of such things? They amuse me, Katherine admitted. The little man nodded with the air of complete understanding. They have a good sale always, so I am told. Now why is that, eh, Mademoiselle? I ask of you as a student of human naturewhy should that be? Katherine felt more and more amused. Perhaps they give one the illusion of living an exciting life, she suggested. He nodded gravely. Yes; there is something in that. Of course, one knows that such things dont really happen, Katherine was continuing, but he interrupted her sharply. Sometimes, Mademoiselle! Sometimes! I who speak to youthey have happened to me. She threw him a quick, interested glance. Some day, who knows, you might be in the thick of things, he went on. It is all chance. I dont think it is likely, said Katherine. Nothing of that kind ever happens to me. He leaned forward. Would you like it to? The question startled her, and she drew in her breath sharply. It is my fancy, perhaps, said the little man, as he dexterously polished one of the forks, but I think that you have a yearning in you for interesting happenings. Eh bien, Mademoiselle, all through my life I have observed one thingAll one wants one gets! Who knows? His face screwed itself up comically. You may get more than you bargain for. Is that a prophecy? asked Katherine, smiling as she rose from the table. The little man shook his head. I never prophesy, he declared pompously. It is true that I have the habit of being always rightbut I do not boast of it. Good night, Mademoiselle, and may you sleep well. Katherine went back along the train amused and entertained by her little neighbour. She passed the open door of her friends compartment and saw the conductor making up the bed. The lady in the mink coat was standing looking out of the window. The second compartment, as Katherine saw through the communicating door, was empty, with rugs and bags heaped up on the seat. The maid was not there. Katherine found her own bed prepared, and since she was tired, she went to bed and switched off her light about halfpast nine. She woke with a sudden start; how much time had passed she did not know. Glancing at her watch, she found that it had stopped. A feeling of intense uneasiness pervaded her and grew stronger moment by moment. At last she got up, threw her dressinggown round her shoulders, and stepped out into the corridor. The whole train seemed wrapped in slumber. Katherine let the window down and sat by it for some minutes, drinking in the cool night air and trying vainly to calm her uneasy fears. She presently decided that she would go along to the end and ask the conductor for the right time so that she could set her watch. She found, however, that his little chair was vacant. She hesitated for a moment and then walked through into the next coach. She looked down the long, dim line of the corridor and saw, to her surprise, that a man was standing with his hand on the door of the compartment occupied by the lady in the mink coat. That is to say, she thought it was the compartment. Probably, however, she was mistaken. He stood there for a moment or two with his back to her, seeming uncertain and hesitating in his attitude. Then he slowly turned, and with an odd feeling of fatality, Katherine recognised him as the same man whom she had noticed twice beforeonce in the corridor of the Savoy Hotel and once in Cooks offices. Then he opened the door of the compartment and passed in, drawing it to behind him. An idea flashed across Katherines mind. Could this be the man of whom the other woman had spokenthe man she was journeying to meet. Then Katherine told herself that she was romancing. In all probability she had mistaken the compartment. She went back to her own carriage. Five minutes later the train slackened speed. There was the long plaintive hiss of the Westinghouse brake, and a few minutes later the train came to a stop at Lyons. XI Murder Katherine wakened the next morning to brilliant sunshine. She went along to breakfast early, but met none of her acquaintances of the day before. When she returned to her compartment it had just been restored to its daytime appearance by the conductor, a dark man with a drooping moustache and melancholy face. Madame is fortunate, he said; the sun shines. It is always a great disappointment to passengers when they arrive on a grey morning. I should have been disappointed, certainly, said Katherine. The man prepared to depart. We are rather late, Madame, he said. I will let you know just before we get to Nice. Katherine nodded. She sat by the window, entranced by the sunlit panorama. The palm trees, the deep blue of the sea, the bright yellow mimosa came with all the charm of novelty to the woman who for fourteen years had known only the drab winters of England. When they arrived at Cannes, Katherine got out and walked up and down the platform. She was curious about the lady in the mink coat, and looked up at the windows of her compartment. The blinds were still drawn downthe only ones to be so on the whole train. Katherine wondered a little, and when she reentered the train she passed along the corridor and noticed that these two compartments were still shuttered and closed. The lady of the mink coat was clearly no early riser. Presently the conductor came to her and told her that in a few minutes the train would arrive at Nice. Katherine handed him a tip; the man thanked her, but still lingered. There was something odd about him. Katherine, who had at first wondered whether the tip had not been big enough, was now convinced that something far more serious was amiss. His face was of a sickly pallor, he was shaking all over, and looked as if he had been frightened out of his life. He was eyeing her in a curious manner. Presently he said abruptly Madame will excuse me, but is she expecting friends to meet her at Nice? Probably, said Katherine. Why? But the man merely shook his head and murmured something that Katherine could not catch and moved away, not reappearing until the train came to rest at the station, when he started handing her belongings down from the window. Katherine stood for a moment or two on the platform rather at a loss, but a fair young man with an ingenuous face came up to her and said rather hesitatingly Miss Grey, is it not? Katherine said that it was, and the young man beamed upon her seraphically and murmured I am Chubby, you knowLady Tamplins husband. I expect she mentioned me, but perhaps she forgot. Have you got your billet de bagages? I lost mine when I came out this year, and you would not believe the fuss they made about it. Regular French red tape! Katherine produced it, and was just about to move off beside him when a very gentle and insidious voice murmured in her ear A little moment, Madame, if you please. Katherine turned to behold an individual who made up for insignificance of stature by a large quantity of gold lace and uniform. The individual explained. There were certain formalities. Madame would perhaps be so kind as to accompany him. The regulations of the police He threw up his arms. Absurd, doubtless, but there it was. Mr. Chubby Evans listened with a very imperfect comprehension, his French being of a limited order. So like the French, murmured Mr. Evans. He was one of those staunch patriotic Britons who, having made a portion of a foreign country their own, strongly resent the original inhabitants of it. Always up to some silly dodge or other. Theyve never tackled people on the station before, though. This is something quite new. I suppose youll have to go. Katherine departed with her guide. Somewhat to her surprise, he led her towards a siding where a coach of the departed train had been shunted. He invited her to mount into this, and, preceding her down the corridor, held aside the door of one of the compartments. In it was a pompouslooking official personage, and with him a nondescript being who appeared to be a clerk. The pompouslooking personage rose politely, bowed to Katherine, and said You will excuse me, Madame, but there are certain formalities to be complied with. Madame speaks French, I trust? Sufficiently, I think, Monsieur, replied Katherine in that language. That is good. Pray be seated, Madame. I am M. Caux, the Commissary of Police. He blew out his chest importantly, and Katherine tried to look sufficiently impressed. You wish to see my passport? she inquired. Here it is. The Commissary eyed her keenly and gave a little grunt. Thank you, Madame, he said, taking the passport from her. He cleared his throat. But what I really desire is a little information. Information? The Commissary nodded his head slowly. About a lady who has been a fellowpassenger of yours. You lunched with her yesterday. I am afraid I cant tell you anything about her. We fell into conversation over our meal, but she is a complete stranger to me. I have never seen her before. And yet, said the Commissary sharply, you returned to her compartment with her after lunch and sat talking for some time? Yes, said Katherine; that is true. The Commissary seemed to expect her to say something more. He looked at her encouragingly. Yes, Madame? Well, Monsieur? said Katherine. You can, perhaps, give me some kind of idea of that conversation? I could, said Katherine, but at the moment I see no reason to do so. In a somewhat British fashion she felt annoyed. This foreign official seemed to her impertinent. No reason? cried the Commissary. Oh yes, Madame, I can assure you that there is a reason. Then perhaps you will give it to me. The Commissary rubbed his chin thoughtfully for a minute or two without speaking. Madame, he said at last, the reason is very simple. The lady in question was found dead in her compartment this morning. Dead! gasped Katherine. What was itheart failure? No, said the Commissary in a reflective, dreamy voice. Noshe was murdered. Murdered! cried Katherine. So you see, Madame, why we are anxious for any information we can possibly get. But surely her maid The maid has disappeared. Oh! Katherine paused to assemble her thoughts. Since the conductor had seen you talking with her in her compartment, he quite naturally reported the fact to the police, and that is why, Madame, we have detained you, in the hope of gaining some information. I am very sorry, said Katherine; I dont even know her name. Her name is Kettering. That we know from her passport and from the labels on her luggage. If we There was a knock on the compartment door. M. Caux frowned. He opened it about six inches. What is the matter? he said peremptorily. I cannot be disturbed. The eggshaped head of Katherines dinner acquaintance showed itself in the aperture. On his face was a beaming smile. My name, he said, is Hercule Poirot. Not, the Commissary stammered, not the Hercule Poirot? The same, said M. Poirot. I remember meeting you once, M. Caux, at the Sret in Paris, though doubtless you have forgotten me? Not at all, Monsieur, not at all, declared the Commissary heartily. But enter, I pray of you. You know of this Yes, I know, said Hercule Poirot. I came to see if I might be of any assistance? We should be flattered, replied the Commissary promptly. Let me present you, M. Poirot, tohe consulted the passport he still held in his handto MadameerMademoiselle Grey. Poirot smiled across at Katherine. It is strange, is it not, he murmured, that my words should have come true so quickly? Mademoiselle, alas! can tell us very little, said the Commissary. I have been explaining, said Katherine, that this poor lady was a complete stranger to me. Poirot nodded. But she talked to you, did she not? he said gently. You formed an impressionis it not so? Yes, said Katherine thoughtfully. I suppose I did. And that impression was Yes, Mademoisellethe Commissary jerked himself forwardlet us by all means have your impressions. Katherine sat turning the whole thing over in her mind. She felt in a way as if she were betraying a confidence, but with that ugly word Murder ringing in her ears she dared not keep anything back. Too much might hang upon it. So, as nearly as she could, she repeated word for word the conversation she had had with the dead woman. That is interesting, said the Commissary, glancing at the other. Eh, M. Poirot, that is interesting? Whether it has anything to do with the crime He left the sentence unfinished. I suppose it could not be suicide, said Katherine, rather doubtfully. No, said the Commissary, it could not be suicide. She was strangled with a length of black cord. Oh! Katherine shivered. M. Caux spread out his hands apologetically. It is not niceno. I think that our train robbers are more brutal than they are in your country. It is horrible. Yes, yeshe was soothing and apologeticbut you have great courage, Mademoiselle. At once, as soon as I saw you, I said to myself, Mademoiselle has great courage. That is why I am going to ask you to do something moresomething distressing, but I assure you very necessary. Katherine looked at him apprehensively. He spread out his hands apologetically. I am going to ask you, Mademoiselle, to be so good as to accompany me to the next compartment. Must I? asked Katherine in a low voice. Someone must identify her, said the Commissary, and since the maid has disappearedhe coughed significantlyyou appear to be the person who has seen most of her since she joined the train. Very well, said Katherine quietly; if it is necessary She rose. Poirot gave her a little nod of approval. Mademoiselle is sensible, he said. May I accompany you, M. Caux? Enchanted, my dear M. Poirot. They went out into the corridor, and M. Caux unlocked the door of the dead womans compartment. The blinds on the far side had been drawn halfway up to admit light. The dead woman lay on the berth to their left, in so natural a posture that one could have thought her asleep. The bedclothes were drawn up over her, and her head was turned to the wall, so that only the red auburn curls showed. Very gently M. Caux laid a hand on her shoulder and turned the body back so that the face came into view. Katherine flinched a little and dug her nails into her palms. A heavy blow had disfigured the features almost beyond recognition. Poirot gave a sharp exclamation. When was that done, I wonder? he demanded. Before death or after? The doctor says after, said M. Caux. Strange, said Poirot, drawing his brows together. He turned to Katherine. Be brave, Mademoiselle; look at her well. Are you sure that this is the woman you talked to in the train yesterday? Katherine had good nerves. She steeled herself to look long and earnestly at the recumbent figure. Then she leaned forward and took up the dead womans hand. I am quite sure, she replied at length. The face is too disfigured to recognise, but the build and carriage and hair are exact, and besides I noticed thisshe pointed to a tiny mole on the dead womans wristwhile I was talking to her. Bon, approved Poirot. You are an excellent witness, Mademoiselle. There is, then, no question as to the identity, but it is strange, all the same. He frowned down on the dead woman in perplexity. M. Caux shrugged his shoulders. The murderer was carried away by rage, doubtless, he suggested. If she had been struck down, it would have been comprehensible, mused Poirot, but the man who strangled her slipped up behind and caught her unawares. A little chokea little gurglethat is all that would be heard, and then afterwardsthat smashing blow on her face. Now why? Did he hope that if the face were unrecognisable she might not be identified? Or did he hate her so much that he could not resist striking that blow even after she was dead? Katherine shuddered, and he turned at once to her kindly. You must not let me distress you, Mademoiselle, he said. To you this is all very new and terrible. To me, alas! it is an old story. One moment, I pray of you both. They stood against the door watching him as he went quickly round the compartment. He noted the dead womans clothes neatly folded on the end of the berth, the big fur coat that hung from a hook, and the little red lacquer hat tossed on the rack. Then he passed through into the adjoining compartment, that in which Katherine had seen the maid sitting. Here the berth had not been made up. Three or four rugs were piled loosely on the seat; there was a hatbox and a couple of suitcases. He turned suddenly to Katherine. You were in here yesterday, he said. Do you see anything changed, anything missing? Katherine looked carefully round both compartments. Yes, she said, there is something missinga scarlet morocco case. It had the initials R. V. K. on it. It might have been a small dressingcase or a big jewelcase. When I saw it, the maid was holding it. Ah! said Poirot. But, surely, said Katherine, Iof course, I dont know anything about such things, but surely it is plain enough, if the maid and the jewelcase are missing? You mean that it was the maid who was the thief? No, Mademoiselle, there is a very good reason against that. What? The maid was left behind in Paris. He turned to Poirot. I should like you to hear the conductors story yourself, he murmured confidentially. It is very suggestive. Mademoiselle would doubtless like to hear it also, said Poirot. You do not object, Monsieur le Commissaire? No, said the Commissary, who clearly did object very much. No, certainly, M. Poirot, if you say so. You have finished here? I think so. One little minute. He had been turning over the rugs, and now he took one to the window and looked at it, picking something off it with his fingers. What is it? demanded M. Caux sharply. Four auburn hairs. He bent over the dead woman. Yes, they are from the head of Madame. And what of it? Do you attach importance to them? Poirot let the rug drop back on the seat. What is important? What is not? One cannot say at this stage. But we must note each little fact carefully. They went back again into the first compartment, and in a minute or two the conductor of the carriage arrived to be questioned. Your name is Pierre Michel? said the Commissary. Yes, Monsieur le Commissaire. I should like you to repeat to this gentlemanhe indicated Poirotthe story that you told me as to what happened in Paris. Very good, Monsieur le Commissaire. It was after we had left the Gare de Lyon I came along to make the beds, thinking that Madame would be at dinner, but she had a dinnerbasket in her compartment. She said to me that she had been obliged to leave her maid behind in Paris, so that I only need make up one berth. She took her dinner basket into the adjoining compartment, and sat there while I made up the bed; then she told me that she did not wish to be wakened early in the morning, that she liked to sleep on. I told her I quite understood, and she wished me good night. You yourself did not go into the adjoining compartment? No, Monsieur. Then you did not happen to notice if a scarlet morocco case was amongst the luggage there? No, Monsieur, I did not. Would it have been possible for a man to have been concealed in the adjoining compartment? The conductor reflected. The door was half open, he said. If a man had stood behind that door I should not have been able to see him, but he would, of course, have been perfectly visible to Madame when she went in there. Quite so, said Poirot. Is there anything more you have to tell us? I think that is all, Monsieur. I can remember nothing else. And now this morning? prompted Poirot. As Madame had ordered, I did not disturb her. It was not until just before Cannes that I ventured to knock at the door. Getting no reply, I opened it. The lady appeared to be in her bed asleep. I took her by the shoulder to rouse her, and then And then you saw what had happened, volunteered Poirot. Trs bien. I think I know all I want to know. I hope, Monsieur le Commissaire, it is not that I have been guilty of any negligence, said the man piteously. Such an affair to happen on the Blue Train! It is horrible. Console yourself, said the Commissary. Everything will be done to keep the affair as quiet as possible, if only in the interests of justice. I cannot think you have been guilty of any negligence. And Monsieur le Commissaire will report as much to the Company? But certainly, but certainly, said M. Caux, impatiently. That will do now. The conductor withdrew. According to the medical evidence, said the Commissary, the lady was probably dead before the train reached Lyons. Who then was the murderer? From Mademoiselles story, it seems clear that somewhere on her journey she was to meet this man of whom she spoke. Her action in getting rid of the maid seems significant. Did the man join the train at Paris, and did she conceal him in the adjoining compartment? If so, they may have quarrelled, and he may have killed her in a fit of rage. That is one possibility. The other, and the more likely to my mind, is that her assailant was a train robber travelling on the train; that he stole along the corridor unseen by the conductor, killed her, and went off with the red morocco case, which doubtless contained jewels of some value. In all probability he left the train at Lyons, and we have already telegraphed to the station there for full particulars of anyone seen leaving the train. Or he might have come on to Nice, suggested Poirot. He might, agreed the Commissary, but that would be a very bold course. Poirot let a minute or two go by before speaking, and then he said In the latter case you think the man was an ordinary train robber? The Commissary shrugged his shoulders. It depends. We must get hold of the maid. It is possible that she has the red morocco case with her. If so, then the man of whom she spoke to Mademoiselle may be concerned in the case, and the affair is a crime of passion. I myself think the solution of a train robber is the more probable. These bandits have become very bold of late. Poirot looked suddenly across at Katherine. And you, Mademoiselle, he said, you heard and saw nothing during the night? Nothing, said Katherine. Poirot turned to the Commissary. We need detain Mademoiselle no longer, I think, he suggested. The latter nodded. She will leave us her address? he said. Katherine gave him the name of Lady Tamplins villa. Poirot made her a little bow. You permit that I see you again, Mademoiselle? he said. Or have you so many friends that your time will be all taken up? On the contrary, said Katherine, I shall have plenty of leisure, and I shall be very pleased to see you again. Excellent, said Poirot, and gave her a little friendly nod. This shall be a roman policier nous. We will investigate this affair together. XII At the Villa Marguerite Then you were really in the thick of it all! said Lady Tamplin enviously. My dear, how thrilling! She opened her china blue eyes very wide and gave a little sigh. A real murder, said Mr. Evans gloatingly. Of course Chubby had no idea of anything of the kind, went on Lady Tamplin; he simply could not imagine why the police wanted you. My dear, what an opportunity! I think, you knowyes, I certainly think something might be made out of this. A calculating look rather marred the ingenuousness of the blue eyes. Katherine felt slightly uncomfortable. They were just finishing lunch, and she looked in turn at the three people sitting round the table. Lady Tamplin, full of practical schemes; Mr. Evans, beaming with naive appreciation, and Lenox with a queer crooked smile on her dark face. Marvellous luck, murmured Chubby; I wish I could have gone along with youand seenall the exhibits. His tone was wistful and childlike. Katherine said nothing. The police had laid no injunctions of secrecy upon her, and it was clearly impossible to suppress the bare facts or try to keep them from her hostess. But she did rather wish it had been possible to do so. Yes, said Lady Tamplin, coming suddenly out of her reverie, I do think something might be done.

A little account, you know, cleverly written up. An eyewitness, a feminine touch How I chatted with the dead woman, little thinking that sort of thing, you know. Rot! said Lenox. You have no idea, said Lady Tamplin in a soft, wistful voice, what newspapers will pay for a little titbit! Written, of course, by someone of really unimpeachable social position. You would not like to do it yourself, I dare say, Katherine dear, but just give me the bare bones of it, and I will manage the whole thing for you. Mr. de Haviland is a special friend of mine. We have a little understanding together. A most delightful mannot at all reporterish. How does the idea strike you, Katherine? I would much prefer to do nothing of the kind, said Katherine bluntly. Lady Tamplin was rather disconcerted at this uncompromising refusal. She sighed and turned to the elucidation of further details. A very strikinglooking woman, you said? I wonder now who she could have been. You didnt hear her name? It was mentioned, Katherine admitted, but I cant remember it. You see, I was rather upset. I should think so, said Mr. Evans; it must have been a beastly shock. It is to be doubted whether, even if Katherine had remembered the name, she would have admitted the fact. Lady Tamplins remorseless crossexamination was making her restive. Lenox, who was observant in her own way, noticed this, and offered to take Katherine upstairs to see her room. She left her there, remarking kindly before she went You mustnt mind Mother; she would make a few pennies profit out of her dying grandmother if she could. Lenox went down again to find her mother and her stepfather discussing the newcomer. Presentable, said Lady Tamplin, quite presentable. Her clothes are all right. That grey thing is the same model that Gladys Cooper wore in Palm Trees in Egypt. Have you noticed her eyeswhat? interposed Mr. Evans. Never mind her eyes, Chubby, said Lady Tamplin tartly; we are discussing the things that really matter. Oh, quite, said Mr. Evans, and retired into his shell. She doesnt seem to me verymalleable, said Lady Tamplin, rather hesitating to choose the right word. She has all the instincts of a lady, as they say in books, said Lenox, with a grin. Narrowminded, murmured Lady Tamplin. Inevitable under the circumstances, I suppose. I expect you will do your best to broaden her, said Lenox, with a grin, but you will have your work cut out. Just now, you noticed, she stuck down her fore feet and laid back her ears and refused to budge. Anyway, said Lady Tamplin hopefully, she doesnt look to me at all mean. Some people, when they come into money, seem to attach undue importance to it. Oh, youll easily touch her for what you want, said Lenox; and, after all, that is all that matters, isnt it? That is what she is here for. She is my own cousin, said Lady Tamplin, with dignity. Cousin, eh? said Mr. Evans, waking up again. I suppose I call her Katherine, dont I? It is of no importance at all what you call her, Chubby, said Lady Tamplin. Good, said Mr. Evans; then I will. Do you suppose she plays tennis? he added hopefully. Of course not, said Lady Tamplin. She has been a companion, I tell you. Companions dont play tennisor golf. They might possibly play golfcroquet, but I have always understood that they wind wool and wash dogs most of the day. O God! said Mr. Evans; do they really? Lenox drifted upstairs again to Katherines room. Can I help you? she asked rather perfunctorily. On Katherines disclaimer, Lenox sat on the edge of the bed and stared thoughtfully at her guest. Why did you come? she said at last. To us, I mean. Were not your sort. Oh, I am anxious to get into Society. Dont be an ass, said Lenox promptly, detecting the flicker of a smile. You know what I mean well enough. You are not a bit what I thought you would be. I say, you have got some decent clothes. She sighed. Clothes are no good to me. I was born awkward. Its a pity, because I love them. I love them too, said Katherine, but it has not been much use my loving them up to now. Do you think this is nice? She and Lenox discussed several models with artistic fervour. I like you, said Lenox suddenly. I came up to warn you not to be taken in by Mother, but I think now that there is no need to do that. You are frightfully sincere and upright and all those queer things, but you are not a fool. Oh hell! what is it now? Lady Tamplins voice was calling plaintively from the hall Lenox, Derek has just rung up. He wants to come to dinner tonight. Will it be all right? I mean, we havent got anything awkward, like quails, have we? Lenox reassured her and came back into Katherines room. Her face looked brighter and less sullen. Im glad old Derek is coming, she said; youll like him. Who is Derek? He is Lord Leconburys son, married a rich American woman. Women are simply potty about him. Why? Oh, the usual reasonvery goodlooking and a regular bad lot. Everyone goes off their head about him. Do you? Sometimes I do, said Lenox, and sometimes I think I would like to marry a nice curate and live in the country and grow things in frames. She paused a minute, and then added, An Irish curate would be best, and then I should hunt. After a minute or two she reverted to her former theme. There is something queer about Derek. All that family are a bit pottymad gamblers, you know. In the old days they used to gamble away their wives and their estates, and did most reckless things just for the love of it. Derek would have made a perfect highwaymandebonair and gay, just the right manner. She moved to the door. Well, come down when you feel like it. Left alone, Katherine gave herself up to thought. Just at present she felt thoroughly ill at ease and jarred by her surroundings. The shock of the discovery in the train and the reception of the news by her new friends jarred upon her susceptibilities. She thought long and earnestly about the murdered woman. She had been sorry for Ruth, but she could not honestly say that she had liked her. She had divined only too well the ruthless egoism that was the keynote of her personality, and it repelled her. She had been amused and a trifle hurt by the others cool dismissal of her when she had served her turn. That she had come to some decision, Katherine was quite certain, but she wondered now what that decision had been. Whatever it was, death had stepped in and made all decisions meaningless. Strange that it should have been so, and that a brutal crime should have been the ending of that fateful journey. But suddenly Katherine remembered a small fact that she ought, perhaps, to have told the policea fact that had for the moment escaped her memory. Was it of any real importance? She had certainly thought that she had seen a man going into that particular compartment, but she realised that she might easily have been mistaken. It might have been the compartment next door, and certainly the man in question could be no train robber. She recalled him very clearly as she had seen him on those two previous occasionsonce at the Savoy and once at Cooks office. No, doubtless she had been mistaken. He had not gone into the dead womans compartment, and it was perhaps as well that she had said nothing to the police. She might have done incalculable harm by doing so. She went down to join the others on the terrace outside. Through the branches of mimosa, she looked out over the blue of the Mediterranean, and, whilst listening with half an ear to Lady Tamplins chatter, she was glad that she had come. This was better than St. Mary Mead. That evening she put on the mauvy pink dress that went by the name of soupir dautomne, and after smiling at her reflection in the mirror, went downstairs with, for the first time in her life, a faint feeling of shyness. Most of Lady Tamplins guests had arrived, and since noise was the essential of Lady Tamplins parties, the din was already terrific. Chubby rushed up to Katherine, pressed a cocktail upon her, and took her under his wing. Oh, here you are, Derek, cried Lady Tamplin, as the door opened to admit the last comer. Now at last we can have something to eat. I am starving. Katherine looked across the room. She was startled. So thiswas Derek, and she realised that she was not surprised. She had always known that she would some day meet the man whom she had seen three times by such a curious chain of coincidences. She thought, too, that he recognised her. He paused abruptly in what he was saying to Lady Tamplin, and went on again as though with an effort. They all went in to dinner, and Katherine found that he was placed beside her. He turned to her at once with a vivid smile. I knew I was going to meet you soon, he remarked, but I never dreamt that it would be here. It had to be, you know. Once at the Savoy and once at Cooksnever twice without three times. Dont say you cant remember me or never noticed me. I insist upon your pretending that you noticed me, anyway. Oh, I did, said Katherine; but this is not the third time. It is the fourth. I saw you on the Blue Train. On the Blue Train! Something undefinable came over his manner; she could not have said just what it was. It was as though he had received a check, a setback. Then he said carelessly What was the rumpus this morning? Somebody had died, hadnt they? Yes, said Katherine slowly; somebody had died. You shouldnt die on a train, remarked Derek flippantly. I believe it causes all sorts of legal and international complications, and it gives the train an excuse for being even later than usual. Mr. Kettering? A stout American lady, who was sitting opposite, leaned forward and spoke to him with the deliberate intonation of her race. Mr. Kettering, I do believe you have forgotten me, and I thought you such a perfectly lovely man. Derek leaned forward, answering her, and Katherine sat almost dazed. Kettering! That was the name, of course! She remembered it nowbut what a strange, ironical situation! Here was this man whom she had seen go into his wifes compartment last night, who had left her alive and well, and now he was sitting at dinner, quite unconscious of the fate that had befallen her. Of that there was no doubt. He did not know. A servant was leaning over Derek, handing him a note and murmuring in his ear. With a word of excuse to Lady Tamplin, he broke it open, and an expression of utter astonishment came over his face as he read; then he looked at his hostess. This is most extraordinary. I say, Rosalie, I am afraid I will have to leave you. The Prefect of Police wants to see me at once. I cant think what about. Your sins have found you out, remarked Lenox. They must have, said Derek; probably some idiotic nonsense, but I suppose I shall have to push off to the Prefecture. How dare the old boy rout me out from dinner? It ought to be something deadly serious to justify that, and he laughed as he pushed back his chair and rose to leave the room. XIII Van Aldin Gets a Telegram On the afternoon of the fifteenth February a thick yellow fog had settled down on London. Rufus Van Aldin was in his suite at the Savoy and was making the most of the atmospheric conditions by working double time. Knighton was overjoyed. He had found it difficult of late to get his employer to concentrate on the matters in hand. When he had ventured to urge certain courses, Van Aldin had put him off with a curt word. But now Van Aldin seemed to be throwing himself into work with redoubled energy, and the secretary made the most of his opportunities. Always tactful, he plied the spur so unobtrusively that Van Aldin never suspected it. Yet in the middle of this absorption in business matters, one little fact lay at the back of Van Aldins mind. A chance remark of Knightons, uttered by the secretary in all unconsciousness, had given rise to it. It now festered unseen, gradually reaching further and further forward into Van Aldins consciousness, until at last, in spite of himself, he had to yield to its insistence. He listened to what Knighton was saying with his usual air of keen attention, but in reality not one word of it penetrated his mind. He nodded automatically, however, and the secretary turned to some other paper. As he was sorting them out, his employer spoke Do you mind telling me that over again, Knighton? For a moment Knighton was at a loss. You mean about this, sir? He held up a closely written Company report. No, no, said Van Aldin; what you told me about seeing Ruths maid in Paris last night. I cant make it out. You must have been mistaken. I cant have been mistaken, sir; I actually spoke to her. Well, tell me the whole thing again. Knighton complied. I had fixed up the deal with Bartheimers, he explained, and had gone back to the Ritz to pick up my traps preparatory to having dinner and catching the nine oclock train from the Gare du Nord. At the reception desk I saw a woman whom I was quite sure was Mrs. Ketterings maid. I went up to her and asked if Mrs. Kettering was staying there. Yes, yes, said Van Aldin. Of course. Naturally. And she told you that Ruth had gone on to the Riviera and had sent her to the Ritz to await further orders there? Exactly that, sir. It is very odd, said Van Aldin. Very odd, indeed, unless the woman had been impertinent or something of that kind. In that case, objected Knighton, surely Mrs. Kettering would have paid her down a sum of money, and told her to go back to England. She would hardly have sent her to the Ritz. No, muttered the millionaire; thats true. He was about to say something further, but checked himself. He was fond of Knighton and liked and trusted him, but he could hardly discuss his daughters private affairs with his secretary. He had already felt hurt by Ruths lack of frankness, and this chance information which had come to him did nothing to allay his misgivings. Why had Ruth got rid of her maid in Paris? What possible object or motive could she have had in so doing? He reflected for a moment or two on the curious combination of chance. How should it have occurred to Ruth, except as the wildest coincidence, that the first person that the maid should run across in Paris should be her fathers secretary? Ah, but that was the way things happened. That was the way things got found out. He winced at the last phrase; it had arisen with complete naturalness to his mind. Was there then something to be found out? He hated to put this question to himself; he had no doubt of the answer. The answer washe was sure of itArmand de la Roche. It was bitter to Van Aldin that a daughter of his should be gulled by such a man, yet he was forced to admit that she was in good companythat other wellbred and intelligent women had succumbed just as easily to the Counts fascination. Men saw through him, women did not. He sought now for a phrase that would allay any suspicion that his secretary might have felt. Ruth is always changing her mind about things at a moments notice, he remarked, and then he added in a wouldbe careless tone The maid didnt give anyerreason for this change of plan? Knighton was careful to make his voice as natural as possible as he replied She said, sir, that Mrs. Kettering had met a friend unexpectedly. Is that so? The secretarys practised ears caught the note of strain underlying the seemingly casual tone. Oh, I see. Man or woman? I think she said a man, sir. Van Aldin nodded. His worst fears were being realised. He rose from his chair, and began pacing up and down the room, a habit of his when agitated. Unable to contain his feelings any longer, he burst forth There is one thing no man can do, and that is to get a woman to listen to reason. Somehow or other, they dont seem to have any kind of sense. Talk of womans instinctwhy, it is well known all the world over that a woman is the surest mark for any rascally swindler. Not one in ten of them knows a scoundrel when she meets one; they can be preyed on by any goodlooking fellow with a soft side to his tongue. If I had my way He was interrupted. A pageboy entered with a telegram. Van Aldin tore it open, and his face went a sudden chalky white. He caught hold of the back of a chair to steady himself, and waved the pageboy from the room. Whats the matter, sir? Knighton had risen in concern. Ruth! said Van Aldin hoarsely. Mrs. Kettering? Killed! An accident to the train? Van Aldin shook his head. No. From this it seems she has been robbed as well. They dont use the word, Knighton, but my poor girl has been murdered. Oh, my God, sir! Van Aldin tapped the telegram with his forefinger. This is from the police at Nice. I must go out there by the first train. Knighton was efficient as ever. He glanced at the clock. Five oclock from Victoria, sir. Thats right. You will come with me, Knighton. Tell my man, Archer, and pack your own things. See to everything here. I want to go round to Curzon Street. The telephone rang sharply, and the secretary lifted the receiver. Yes; who is it? Then to Van Aldin Mr. Goby, sir. Goby? I cant see him now. Nowait, we have plenty of time. Tell them to send him up. Van Aldin was a strong man. Already he had recovered that iron calm of his. Few people would have noticed anything amiss in his greeting to Mr. Goby. I am pressed for time, Goby. Got anything important to tell me? Mr. Goby coughed. The movements of Mr. Kettering, sir. You wished them reported to you. Yeswell? Mr. Kettering, sir, left London for the Riviera yesterday morning. What? Something in his voice must have startled Mr. Goby. That worthy gentleman departed from his usual practice of never looking at the person to whom he was talking, and stole a fleeting glance at the millionaire. What train did he go on? demanded Van Aldin. The Blue Train, sir. Mr. Goby coughed again and spoke to the clock on the mantelpiece. Mademoiselle Mirelle, the dancer from the Parthenon, went by the same train. XIV Ada Masons Story I cannot repeat to you often enough, Monsieur, our horror, our consternation, and the deep sympathy we feel for you. Thus M. Carrge, the Juge dInstruction, addressed Van Aldin. M. Caux, the Commissary, made sympathetic noises in his throat. Van Aldin brushed away horror, consternation, and sympathy with an abrupt gesture. The scene was the Examining Magistrates room at Nice. Besides M. Carrge, the Commissary, and Van Aldin, there was a further person in the room. It was that person who now spoke. M. Van Aldin, he said, desires actionswift action. Ah! cried the Commissary, I have not yet presented you. M. Van Aldin, this is M. Hercule Poirot; you have doubtless heard of him. Although he has retired from his profession for some years now, his name is still a household word as one of the greatest living detectives. Pleased to meet you, M. Poirot, said Van Aldin, falling back mechanically on a formula that he had discarded some years ago. You have retired from your profession? That is so, Monsieur. Now I enjoy the world. The little man made a grandiloquent gesture. M. Poirot happened to be travelling on the Blue Train, explained the Commissary, and he has been so kind as to assist us out of his vast experience. The millionaire looked at Poirot keenly. Then he said unexpectedly I am a very rich man, M. Poirot. It is usually said that a rich man labours under the belief that he can buy everything and everyone. That is not true. I am a big man in my way, and one big man can ask a favour from another big man. Poirot nodded a quick appreciation. That is very well said, M. Van Aldin. I place myself entirely at your service. Thank you, said Van Aldin. I can only say call upon me at any time, and you will not find me ungrateful. And now, gentlemen, to business. I propose, said M. Carrge, to interrogate the maid, Ada Mason. You have her here, I understand? Yes, said Van Aldin. We picked her up in Paris in passing through. She was very upset to hear of her mistresss death, but she tells her story coherently enough. We will have her in, then, said M. Carrge. He rang the bell on his desk, and in a few minutes Ada Mason entered the room. She was very neatly dressed in black, and the tip of her nose was red. She had exchanged her grey travelling gloves for a pair of black sude ones. She cast a look round the Examining Magistrates office in some trepidation, and seemed relieved at the presence of her mistresss father. The Examining Magistrate prided himself on his geniality of manner, and did his best to put her at her ease. He was helped in this by Poirot, who acted as interpreter, and whose friendly manner was reassuring to the Englishwoman. Your name is Ada Mason; is that right? Ada Beatrice I was christened, sir, said Mason primly. Just so. And we can understand, Mason, that this has all been very distressing. Oh, indeed it has, sir. I have been with many ladies and always given satisfaction, I hope, and I never dreamt of anything of this kind happening in any situation where I was. No, no, said M. Carrge. Naturally, I have read of such things, of course, in the Sunday papers. And then I always have understood that those foreign trains She suddenly checked her flow, remembering that the gentlemen who were speaking to her were of the same nationality as the trains. Now let us talk this affair over, said M. Carrge. There was, I understand, no question of your staying in Paris when you started from London? Oh no, sir. We were to go straight through to Nice. Have you ever been abroad with your mistress before? No, sir. I had only been with her two months, you see. Did she seem quite as usual when starting on this journey? She was worried like and a bit upset, and she was rather irritable and difficult to please. M. Carrge nodded. Now then, Mason, what was the first you heard of your stopping in Paris? It was at the place they call the Gare de Lyon, sir. My mistress was thinking of getting out and walking up and down the platform. She was just going out into the corridor when she gave a sudden exclamation, and came back into her compartment with a gentleman. She shut the door between her carriage and mine, so that I didnt see or hear anything, till she suddenly opened it again and told me that she had changed her plans. She gave me some money and told me to get out and go to the Ritz. They knew her well there, she said, and would give me a room. I was to wait there until I heard from her; she would wire me what she wanted me to do. I had just time to get my things together and jump out of the train before it started off. It was a rush. While Mrs. Kettering was telling you this, where was the gentleman? He was standing in the other compartment, sir, looking out of the window. Can you describe him to us? Well, you see, sir, I hardly saw him. He had his back to me most of the time. He was a tall gentleman and dark; thats all I can say. He was dressed very like another gentleman in a dark blue overcoat and a grey hat. Was he one of the passengers on the train? I dont think so, sir; I took it that he had come to the station to see Mrs. Kettering in passing through. Of course he might have been one of the passengers; I never thought of that. Mason seemed a little flurried by the suggestion. Ah! M. Carrge passed lightly to another subject. Your mistress later requested the conductor not to rouse her early in the morning. Was that a likely thing for her to do, do you think? Oh yes, sir. The mistress never ate any breakfast and she didnt sleep well at nights, so that she liked sleeping on in the morning. Again M. Carrge passed to another subject. Amongst the luggage there was a scarlet morocco case, was there not? he asked. Your mistresss jewelcase? Yes, sir. Did you take that case to the Ritz? Me take the mistresss jewelcase to the Ritz! Oh no, indeed, sir. Masons tones were horrified. You left it behind you in the carriage? Yes, sir. Had your mistress many jewels with her, do you know? A fair amount, sir; made me a bit uneasy sometimes, I can tell you, with those nasty tales you hear of being robbed in foreign countries. They were insured, I know, but all the same it seemed a frightful risk. Why, the rubies alone, the mistress told me, were worth several hundred thousand pounds. The rubies! What rubies? barked Van Aldin suddenly. Mason turned to him. I think it was you who gave them to her, sir, not very long ago. My God! cried Van Aldin. You dont say she had those rubies with her? I told her to leave them at the bank. Mason gave once more the discreet cough which was apparently part of her stockintrade as a ladys maid. This time it expressed a good deal. It expressed far more clearly than words could have done, that Masons mistress had been a lady who took her own way. Ruth must have been mad, muttered Van Aldin. What on earth could have possessed her? M. Carrge in turn gave vent to a cough, again a cough of significance. It riveted Van Aldins attention on him. For the moment, said M. Carrge, addressing Mason, I think that is all. If you will go into the next room, Mademoiselle, they will read over to you the questions and answers, and you will sign accordingly. Mason went out escorted by the clerk, and Van Aldin said immediately to the Magistrate Well? M. Carrge opened a drawer in his desk, took out a letter, and handed it across to Van Aldin. This was found in Madames handbag. Chre Amie (the letter ran)I will obey you; I will be prudent, discreetall those things that a lover most hates. Paris would perhaps have been unwise, but the Isles dOr are far away from the world, and you may be assured that nothing will leak out. It is like you and your divine sympathy to be so interested in the work on famous jewels that I am writing. It will, indeed, be an extraordinary privilege to actually see and handle these historic rubies. I am devoting a special passage to Heart of Fire. My wonderful one! Soon I will make up to you for all those sad years of separation and emptiness.Your everadoring, Armand. XV The Comte de la Roche Van Aldin read the letter through in silence. His face turned a dull angry crimson. The men watching him saw the veins start out on his forehead, and his big hands clench themselves unconsciously. He handed back the letter without a word. M. Carrge was looking with close attention at his desk, M. Cauxs eyes were fixed upon the ceiling, and M. Hercule Poirot was tenderly brushing a speck of dust from his coat sleeve. With the greatest tact they none of them looked at Van Aldin. It was M. Carrge, mindful of his status and his duties, who tackled the unpleasant subject. Perhaps, Monsieur, he murmured, you are aware by whomerthis letter was written? Yes, I know, said Van Aldin heavily. Ah? said the Magistrate inquiringly. A scoundrel who calls himself the Comte de la Roche. There was a pause; then M. Poirot leaned forward, straightened a ruler on the judges desk, and addressed the millionaire directly. M. Van Aldin, we are all sensible, deeply sensible, of the pain it must give you to speak of these matters, but believe me, Monsieur, it is not the time for concealments. If justice is to be done, we must know everything. If you will reflect a little minute you will realise the truth of that clearly for yourself. Van Aldin was silent for a moment or two, then almost reluctantly he nodded his head in agreement. You are quite right, M. Poirot, he said. Painful as it is, I have no right to keep anything back. The Commissary gave a sigh of relief, and the Examining Magistrate leaned back in his chair and adjusted a pincenez on his long thin nose. Perhaps you will tell us in your own words, M. Van Aldin, he said, all that you know of this gentleman. It began eleven or twelve years agoin Paris. My daughter was a young girl then, full of foolish, romantic notions, like all young girls are. Unknown to me, she made the acquaintance of this Comte de la Roche. You have heard of him, perhaps? The Commissary and Poirot nodded in assent. He calls himself the Comte de la Roche, continued Van Aldin, but I doubt if he has any right to the title. You would not have found his name in the Almanac de Gotha, agreed the Commissary. I discovered as much, said Van Aldin. The man was a goodlooking, plausible scoundrel, with a fatal fascination for women. Ruth was infatuated with him, but I soon put a stop to the whole affair. The man was no better than a common swindler. You are quite right, said the Commissary. The Comte de la Roche is well known to us. If it were possible, we should have laid him by the heels before now, but ma foi! it is not easy; the fellow is cunning, his affairs are always conducted with ladies of high social position. If he obtains money from them under false pretences or as the fruit of blackmail, eh bien! naturally they will not prosecute. To look foolish in the eyes of the world, oh no, that would never do, and he has an extraordinary power over women. That is so, said the millionaire heavily. Well, as I told you, I broke the affair up pretty sharply. I told Ruth exactly what he was, and she had, perforce, to believe me. About a year afterwards, she met her present husband and married him. As far as I knew, that was the end of the matter; but only a week ago, I discovered, to my amazement, that my daughter had resumed her acquaintance with the Comte de la Roche. She had been meeting him frequently in London and Paris. I remonstrated with her on her imprudence, for I may tell you gentlemen that, on my insistence, she was preparing to bring a suit for divorce against her husband. That is interesting, murmured Poirot softly, his eyes on the ceiling. Van Aldin looked at him sharply, and then went on. I pointed out to her the folly of continuing to see the Comte under the circumstances. I thought she agreed with me. The Examining Magistrate coughed delicately. But according to this letter he began, and then stopped. Van Aldins jaw set itself squarely. I know. Its no good mincing matters. However unpleasant, we have got to face facts. It seems clear that Ruth had arranged to go to Paris and meet de la Roche there. After my warnings to her, however, she must have written to the Count suggesting a change of rendezvous. The Isles dOr, said the Commissary thoughtfully, are situated just opposite Hyres, a remote and idyllic spot. Van Aldin nodded. My God! How could Ruth be such a fool? he exclaimed bitterly. All this talk about writing a book on jewels! Why, he must have been after the rubies from the first. There are some very famous rubies, said Poirot, originally part of the Crown jewels of Russia; they are unique in character, and their value is almost fabulous. There has been a rumour that they have lately passed into the possession of an American. Are we right in concluding, Monsieur, that you were the purchaser? Yes, said Van Aldin. They came into my possession in Paris about ten days ago. Pardon me, Monsieur, but you have been negotiating for their purchase for some time? A little over two months. Why? These things become known, said Poirot. There is always a pretty formidable crowd on the track of jewels such as these. A spasm distorted the others face. I remember, he said brokenly, a joke I made to Ruth when I gave them to her. I told her not to take them to the Riviera with her, as I could not afford to have her robbed and murdered for the sake of the jewels. My God! the things one saysnever dreaming or knowing they will come true. There was a sympathetic silence, and then Poirot spoke in a detached manner. Let us arrange our facts with order and precision. According to our present theory, this is how they run. The Comte de la Roche knows of your purchase of these jewels. By an easy stratagem he induces Madame Kettering to bring the stones with her. He, then, is the man Mason saw in the train at Paris. The other three nodded in agreement. Madame is surprised to see him, but he deals with the situation promptly. Mason is got out of the way; a dinner basket is ordered.

We know from the conductor that he made up the berth for the first compartment, but he did not go into the second compartment, and that a man could quite well have been concealed from him. So far the Comte could have been hidden to a marvel. No one knows of his presence on the train except Madame; he has been careful that the maid did not see his face. All that she could say is that he was tall and dark. It is all most conveniently vague. They are aloneand the train rushes through the night. There would be no outcry, no struggle, for the man is, so she thinks, her lover. He turned gently to Van Aldin. Death, Monsieur, must have been almost instantaneous. We will pass over that quickly. The Comte takes the jewelcase which lies ready to his hand. Shortly afterwards the train draws into Lyons. M. Carrge nodded his approval. Precisely. The conductor without descends. It would be easy for our man to leave the train unseen; it would be easy to catch a train back to Paris or anywhere he pleases. And the crime would be put down as an ordinary train robbery. But for the letter found in Madames bag, the Comte would not have been mentioned. It was an oversight on his part not to search that bag, declared the Commissary. Without doubt he thought she had destroyed that letter. It waspardon me, Monsieurit was an indiscretion of the first water to keep it. And yet, murmured Poirot, it was an indiscretion the Comte might have foreseen. You mean? I mean we are all agreed on one point, and that is that the Comte de la Roche knows one subject fond Women. How was it that, knowing women as he does, he did not foresee that Madame would have kept that letter? Yesyes, said the Examining Magistrate doubtfully, there is something in what you say. But at such times, you understand, a man is not master of himself. He does not reason calmly. Mon Dieu! he added, with feeling, if our criminals kept their heads and acted with intelligence, how should we capture them? Poirot smiled to himself. It seems to me a clear case, said the other, but a difficult one to prove. The Comte is a slippery customer, and unless the maid can identify him Which is most unlikely, said Poirot. True, true. The Examining Magistrate rubbed his chin. It is going to be difficult. If he did indeed commit the crime began Poirot. M. Caux interrupted. Ifyou say if? Yes, Monsieur le Commissaire, I say if. The other looked at him sharply. You are right, he said at last, we go too fast. It is possible that the Comte may have an alibi. Then we should look foolish. Ah, a par exemple, replied Poirot, that is of no importance whatever. Naturally, if he committed the crime he will have an alibi. A man with the Comtes experience does not neglect to take precautions. No, I said if for a very definite reason. And what was that? Poirot wagged an emphatic forefinger. The psychology. Eh? said the Commissary. The psychology is at fault. The Comte is a scoundrelyes. The Comte is a swindleryes. The Comte preys upon womenyes. He proposes to steal Madames jewelsagain yes. Is he the kind of man to commit murder? I say no! A man of the type of the Comte is always a coward; he takes no risks. He plays the safe, the mean, what the English call the lowdown game; but murder, a hundred times no! He shook his head in a dissatisfied manner. The Examining Magistrate, however, did not seem disposed to agree with him. The day always comes when such gentry lose their heads and go too far, he observed sagely. Doubtless that is the case here. Without wishing to disagree with you, M. Poirot It was only an opinion, Poirot hastened to explain. The case is, of course, in your hands, and you will do what seems fit to you. I am satisfied in my own mind the Comte de la Roche is the man we need to get hold of, said M. Carrge. You agree with me, Monsieur le Commissaire? Perfectly. And you, M. Van Aldin? Yes, said the millionaire. Yes; the man is a thoroughpaced villain, no doubt about it. It will be difficult to lay hands on him, I am afraid, said the Magistrate, but we will do our best. Telegraphed instructions shall go out at once. Permit me to assist you, said Poirot. There need be no difficulty. Eh? The others stared at him. The little man smiled beamingly back at them. It is my business to know things, he explained. The Comte is a man of intelligence. He is at present at a villa he has leased, the Villa Marina at Antibes. XVI Poirot Discusses the Case Everybody looked respectfully at Poirot. Undoubtedly the little man had scored heavily. The Commissary laughedon a rather hollow note. You teach us all our business, he cried. M. Poirot knows more than the police. Poirot gazed complacently at the ceiling, adopting a mockmodest air. What will you; it is my little hobby, he murmured, to know things. Naturally I have the time to indulge it. I am not overburdened with affairs. Ah! said the Commissary shaking his head portentously. As for me He made an exaggerated gesture to represent the cares that lay on his shoulders. Poirot turned suddenly to Van Aldin. You agree, Monsieur, with this view? You feel certain that the Comte de la Roche is the murderer? Why, it would seem soyes, certainly. Something guarded in the answer made the Examining Magistrate look at the American curiously. Van Aldin seemed aware of his scrutiny and made an effort as though to shake off some preoccupation. What about my soninlaw? he asked. You have acquainted him with the news? He is in Nice, I understand. Certainly, Monsieur. The Commissary hesitated, and then murmured very discreetly You are doubtless aware, M. Van Aldin, that M. Kettering was also one of the passengers on the Blue Train that night? The millionaire nodded. Heard it just before I left London, he vouchsafed laconically. He tells us, continued the Commissary, that he had no idea his wife was travelling on the train. I bet he hadnt, said Van Aldin grimly. It would have been rather a nasty shock to him if hed come across her on it. The three men looked at him questioningly. Im not going to mince matters, said Van Aldin savagely. No one knows what my poor girl has had to put up with. Derek Kettering wasnt alone. He had a lady with him. Ah? Mirellethe dancer. M. Carrge and the Commissary looked at each other and nodded as though confirming some previous conversation. M. Carrge leaned back in his chair, joined his hands, and fixed his eyes on the ceiling. Ah! he murmured again. One wondered. He coughed. One has heard rumours. The lady, said M. Caux, is very notorious. And also, murmured Poirot softly, very expensive. Van Aldin had gone very red in the face. He leant forward and hit the table a bang with his fist. See here, he cried, my soninlaw is a damned scoundrel! He glared at them, looking from one face to another. Oh, I dont know, he went on. Good looks and a charming, easy manner. It took me in once upon a time. I suppose he pretended to be brokenhearted when you broke the news to himthat is, if he didnt know it already. Oh, it came as a surprise to him. He was overwhelmed. Darned young hypocrite, said Van Aldin. Simulated great grief, I suppose? Nno, said the Commissary cautiously. I would not quite say thateh, M. Carrge? The Magistrate brought the tips of his fingers together, and half closed his eyes. Shock, bewilderment, horrorthese things, yes, he declared judicially. Great sorrownoI should not say that. Hercule Poirot spoke once more. Permit me to ask, M. Van Aldin, does M. Kettering benefit by the death of his wife? He benefits to the tune of a couple of millions, said Van Aldin. Dollars? Pounds. I settled that sum on Ruth absolutely on her marriage. She made no will and leaves no children, so the money will go to her husband. Whom she was on the point of divorcing, murmured Poirot. Ah, yesprcisment. The Commissary turned and looked sharply at him. Do you mean? he began. I mean nothing, said Poirot. I arrange the facts, that is all. Van Aldin stared at him with awakening interest. The little man rose to his feet. I do not think I can be of any further service to you, M. le Juge, he said politely, bowing to M. Carrge. You will keep me informed of the course of events? It will be a kindness. But certainlymost certainly. Van Aldin rose also. You dont want me any more at present? No, Monsieur; we have all the information we need for the moment. Then I will walk a little way with M. Poirot. That is, if he does not object? Enchanted, Monsieur, said the little man, with a bow. Van Aldin lighted a large cigar, having first offered one to Poirot, who declined it and lit one of his own tiny cigarettes. A man of great strength of character, Van Aldin already appeared to be his everyday, normal self once more. After strolling along for a minute or two in silence, the millionaire spoke I take it, M. Poirot, that you no longer exercise your profession? That is so, Monsieur. I enjoy the world. Yet you are assisting the police in this affair? Monsieur, if a doctor walks along the street and an accident happens, does he say, I have retired from my profession, I will continue my walk, when there is someone bleeding to death at his feet? If I had been already in Nice, and the police had sent to me and asked me to assist them, I should have refused. But this affair, the good God thrust it upon me. You were on the spot, said Van Aldin thoughtfully. You examined the compartment, did you not? Poirot nodded. Doubtless you found things that were, shall we say, suggestive to you? Perhaps, said Poirot. I hope you see what I am leading up to? said Van Aldin. It seems to me that the case against this Comte de la Roche is perfectly clear, but I am not a fool. I have been watching you for this last hour or so, and I realise that for some reason of your own you dont agree with that theory? Poirot shrugged his shoulders. I may be wrong. So we come to the favour I want to ask you. Will you act in this matter for me? For you, personally? That was my meaning. Poirot was silent for a moment or two. Then he said You realise what you are asking? I guess so, said Van Aldin. Very well, said Poirot. I accept. But in that case, I must have frank answers to my questions. Why, certainly. That is understood. Poirots manner changed. He became suddenly brusque and businesslike. This question of a divorce, he said. It was you who advised your daughter to bring the suit? Yes. When? About ten days ago. I had had a letter from her complaining of her husbands behaviour, and I put it to her very strongly that divorce was the only remedy. In what way did she complain of his behaviour? He was being seen about with a very notorious ladythe one we have been speaking ofMirelle. The dancer. Ahha! And Madame Kettering objected? Was she very devoted to her husband? I would not say that, said Van Aldin, hesitating a little. It was not her heart that suffered, it was her prideis that what you would say? Yes, I suppose you might put it like that. I gather that the marriage has not been a happy one from the beginning? Derek Kettering is rotten to the core, said Van Aldin. He is incapable of making any woman happy. He is, as you say in England, a bad lot. That is right, is it not? Van Aldin nodded. Trs bien! You advise Madame to seek a divorce, she agrees; you consult your solicitors. When does M. Kettering get news of what is in the wind? I sent for him myself, and explained the course of action I proposed to take. And what did he say? murmured Poirot softly. Van Aldins face darkened at the remembrance. He was infernally impudent. Excuse the question, Monsieur, but did he refer to the Comte de la Roche? Not by name, growled the other unwillingly, but he showed himself cognizant of the affair. What, if I may ask, was M. Ketterings financial position at the time? How do you suppose I should know that? asked Van Aldin, after a very brief hesitation. It seemed likely to me that you would inform yourself on that point. Wellyou are quite right, I did. I discovered that Kettering was on the rocks. And now he has inherited two million pounds! La vieit is a strange thing, is it not? Van Aldin looked at him sharply. What do you mean? I moralise, said Poirot, I reflect, I speak the philosophy. But to return to where we were. Surely M. Kettering did not propose to allow himself to be divorced without making a fight for it? Van Aldin did not answer for a minute or two, then he said I dont exactly know what his intentions were. Did you hold any further communications with him? Again a slight pause, then Van Aldin said No. Poirot stopped dead, took off his hat, and held out his hand. I must wish you good day, Monsieur. I can do nothing for you. What are you getting at? demanded Van Aldin angrily. If you do not tell me the truth, I can do nothing. I dont know what you mean. I think you do. You may rest assured, M. Van Aldin, that I know how to be discreet. Very well, then, said the millionaire. Ill admit that I was not speaking the truth just now. I did have further communication with my soninlaw. Yes? To be exact, I sent my secretary, Major Knighton, to see him, with instructions to offer him the sum of one hundred thousand pounds in cash if the divorce went through undefended. A pretty sum of money, said Poirot appreciatively; and the answer of Monsieur your soninlaw? He sent back word that I could go to hell, replied the millionaire succinctly. Ah! said Poirot. He betrayed no emotion of any kind. At the moment he was engaged in methodically recording facts. Monsieur Kettering has told the police that he neither saw nor spoke to his wife on the journey from England. Are you inclined to believe that statement, Monsieur? Yes, I am, said Van Aldin. He would take particular pains to keep out of her way, I should say. Why? Because he had got that woman with him. Mirelle? Yes. How did you come to know that fact? A man of mine, whom I had put on to watch him, reported to me that they both left by that train. I see, said Poirot. In that case, as you said before, he would not be likely to attempt to hold any communication with Madame Kettering. The little man fell silent for some time. Van Aldin did not interrupt his meditation. XVII An Aristocratic Gentleman You have been to the Riviera before, Georges? said Poirot to his valet the following morning. George was an intensely English, rather woodenfaced individual. Yes, sir. I was here two years ago when I was in the service of Lord Edward Frampton. And today, murmured his master, you are here with Hercule Poirot. How one mounts in the world! The valet made no reply to this observation. After a suitable pause he asked The brown lounge suit, sir? The wind is somewhat chilly today. There is a grease spot on the waistcoat, objected Poirot. A morceau of Filet de sole la Jeanette alighted there when I was lunching at the Ritz last Tuesday. There is no spot there now, sir, said George reproachfully. I have removed it. Trs bien! said Poirot. I am pleased with you, Georges. Thank you, sir. There was a pause, and then Poirot murmured dreamily Supposing, my good Georges, that you had been born in the same social sphere as your late master, Lord Edward Framptonthat, penniless yourself, you had married an extremely wealthy wife, but that wife proposed to divorce you, with excellent reasons, what would you do about it? I should endeavour, sir, replied George, to make her change her mind. By peaceful or by forcible methods? George looked shocked. You will excuse me, sir, he said, but a gentleman of the aristocracy would not behave like a Whitechapel coster. He would not do anything low. Would he not, Georges? I wonder now. Well, perhaps you are right. There was a knock on the door. George went to it and opened it a discreet inch or two. A low murmured colloquy went on, and then the valet returned to Poirot. A note, sir. Poirot took it. It was from M. Caux, the Commissary of Police. We are about to interrogate the Comte de la Roche. The Juge dInstruction begs that you will be present. Quickly, my suit, Georges! I must hasten myself. A quarter of an hour later, spick and span in his brown suit, Poirot entered the Examining Magistrates room. M. Caux was already there, and both he and M. Carrge greeted Poirot with polite empressement. The affair is somewhat discouraging, murmured M. Caux. It appears that the Comte arrived in Nice the day before the murder. If that is true, it will settle your affair nicely for you, responded Poirot. M. Carrge cleared his throat. We must not accept this alibi without very cautious inquiry, he declared. He struck the bell upon the table with his hand. In another minute a tall dark man, exquisitely dressed, with a somewhat haughty cast of countenance, entered the room. So very aristocraticlooking was the Count, that it would have seemed sheer heresy even to whisper that his father had been an obscure cornchandler in Nanteswhich, as a matter of fact, was the case. Looking at him, one would have been prepared to swear that innumerable ancestors of his must have perished by the guillotine in the French Revolution. I am here, gentlemen, said the Count haughtily. May I ask why you wish to see me? Pray be seated, Monsieur le Comte, said the Examining Magistrate politely. It is the affair of the death of Madame Kettering that we are investigating. The death of Madame Kettering? I do not understand. You wereahem!acquainted with the lady, I believe, Monsieur le Comte? Certainly I was acquainted with her. What has that to do with the matter? Sticking an eyeglass in his eye, he looked coldly round the room, his glance resting longest on Poirot, who was gazing at him with a kind of simple, innocent admiration which was most pleasing to the Counts vanity. M. Carrge leaned back in his chair and cleared his throat. You do not perhaps know, Monsieur le Comtehe pausedthat Madame Kettering was murdered? Murdered? Mon Dieu, how terrible! The surprise and the sorrow were excellently doneso well done, indeed, as to seem wholly natural. Madame Kettering was strangled between Paris and Lyons, continued M. Carrge, and her jewels were stolen. It is iniquitous! cried the Count warmly; the police should do something about these train bandits. Nowadays no one is safe. In Madames handbag, continued the Judge, we found a letter to her from you. She had, it seemed, arranged to meet you? The Count shrugged his shoulders and spread out his hands. Of what use are concealments, he said frankly. We are all men of the world. Privately and between ourselves, I admit the affair. You met her in Paris and travelled down with her, I believe? said M. Carrge. That was the original arrangement, but by Madames wish it was changed. I was to meet her at Hyres. You did not meet her on the train at Gare de Lyon on the evening of the fourteenth? On the contrary, I arrived in Nice on the morning of that day, so what you suggest is impossible. Quite so, quite so, said M. Carrge. As a matter of form, you would perhaps give me an account of your movements during the evening and night of the fourteenth. The Count reflected for a minute. I dined in Monte Carlo at the Caf de Paris. Afterwards I went to the Le Sporting. I won a few thousands francs, he shrugged his shoulders. I returned home at perhaps one oclock. Pardon me, Monsieur, but how did you return home? In my own twoseater car. No one was with you? No one. You could produce witnesses in support of this statement? Doubtless many of my friends saw me there that evening. I dined alone. Your servant admitted you on your return to your villa? I let myself in with my own latchkey. Ah! murmured the Magistrate. Again he struck the bell on the table with his hand. The door opened, and a messenger appeared. Bring in the maid, Mason, said M. Carrge. Very good, Monsieur le Juge. Ada Mason was brought in. Will you be so good, Mademoiselle, as to look at this gentleman. To the best of your ability was it he who entered your mistresss compartment in Paris? The woman looked long and searchingly at the Count, who was, Poirot fancied, rather uneasy under this scrutiny. I could not say, sir, I am sure, said Mason at last. It might be and again it might not. Seeing as how I only saw his back, its hard to say. I rather think it was the gentleman. But you are not sure? Noo, said Mason unwillingly; nno, I am not sure. You have seen this gentleman before in Curzon Street? Mason shook her head. I should not be likely to see any visitors that come to Curzon Street, she explained, unless they were staying in the house. Very well, that will do, said the Examining Magistrate sharply. Evidently he was disappointed. One moment, said Poirot. There is a question I would like to put to Mademoiselle, if I may? Certainly, M. Poirotcertainly, by all means. Poirot addressed himself to the maid. What happened to the tickets? The tickets, sir? Yes; the tickets from London to Nice. Did you or your mistress have them? The mistress had her own Pullman ticket, sir; the others were in my charge. What happened to them? I gave them to the conductor on the French train, sir; he said it was usual. I hope I did right, sir? Oh, quite right, quite right. A mere matter of detail. Both M. Caux and the Examining Magistrate looked at him curiously. Mason stood uncertainly for a minute or two, and then the magistrate gave her a brief nod of dismissal, and she went out. Poirot scribbled something on a scrap of paper and handed it across to M. Carrge. The latter read it and his brow cleared. Well, gentlemen, demanded the Count haughtily, am I to be detained further? Assuredly not, assuredly not, M. Carrge hastened to say, with a great deal of amiability. Everything is now cleared up as regards your own position in this affair. Naturally, in view of Madames letter, we were bound to question you. The Count rose, picked up his handsome stick from the corner, and, with rather a curt bow, left the room. And that is that, said M. Carrge. You were quite right, M. Poirotmuch better to let him feel he is not suspected. Two of my men will shadow him night and day, and at the same time we will go into the question of the alibi. It seems to me ratherera fluid one. Possibly, agreed Poirot thoughtfully. I asked M. Kettering to come here this morning, continued the Magistrate, though really I doubt if we have much to ask him, but there are one or two suspicious circumstances He paused, rubbing his nose. Such as? asked Poirot. Wellthe Magistrate coughedthis lady with whom he is said to be travellingMademoiselle Mirelle. She is staying at one hotel and he at another. That strikes meeras rather odd. It looks, said M. Caux, as though they were being careful. Exactly, said M. Carrge triumphantly; and what should they have to be careful about? An excess of caution is suspicious, eh? said Poirot. Prcisment. We might, I think, murmured Poirot, ask M. Kettering one or two questions. The Magistrate gave instructions. A moment or two later, Derek Kettering, debonair as ever, entered the room. Good morning, Monsieur, said the Judge politely. Good morning, said Derek Kettering curtly. You sent for me. Has anything fresh turned up? Pray sit down, Monsieur. Derek took a seat and flung his hat and stick on the table. Well? he asked impatiently. We have, so far, no fresh data, said M. Carrge cautiously. Thats very interesting, said Derek drily. Did you send for me here in order to tell me that? We naturally thought, Monsieur, that you would like to be informed of the progress of the case, said the Magistrate severely. Even if the progress is nonexistent. We also wished to ask you a few questions. Ask away. You are quite sure that you neither saw nor spoke with your wife on the train. Ive answered that already. I did not. You had, no doubt, your reasons. Derek stared at him suspiciously. Ididnotknowshewasonthetrain, he explained, spacing his words elaborately, as though to someone dull of intellect. That is what you say, yes, murmured M. Carrge. A quick frown suffused Dereks face. I should like to know what you are driving at. Do you know what I think, M. Carrge? What do you think, Monsieur? I think the French police are vastly overrated. Surely you must have some data as to these gangs of train robbers. Its outrageous that such a thing could happen on a train de luxe like that, and that the French police should be helpless to deal with the matter. We are dealing with it, Monsieur, never fear. Madame Kettering, I understand, did not leave a will, interposed Poirot suddenly. His fingertips were joined together, and he was looking intently at the ceiling. I dont think she ever made one, said Kettering. Why? It is a very pretty little fortune that you inherit there, said Poirota very pretty little fortune. Although his eyes were still on the ceiling, he managed to see the dark flush that rose to Derek Ketterings face. What do you mean, and who are you? Poirot gently uncrossed his knees, withdrew his gaze from the ceiling, and looked the young man full in the face. My name is Hercule Poirot, he said quietly, and I am probably the greatest detective in the world. You are quite sure that you did not see or speak to your wife on that train? What are you getting at? Do youdo you mean to insinuate that II killed her? He laughed suddenly. I mustnt lose my temper; its too palpably absurd. Why, if I killed her I should have had no need to steal her jewels, would I? That is true, murmured Poirot, with a rather crestfallen air. I did not think of that. If ever there were a clear case of murder and robbery this is it, said Derek Kettering. Poor Ruth, it was those damned rubies did for her. It must have got about she had them with her. There has been murder done for those same stones before now, I believe. Poirot sat up suddenly in his chair. A very faint green light glowed in his eyes. He looked extraordinarily like a sleek, wellfed cat. One more question, M. Kettering, he said. Will you give me the date when you last saw your wife? Let me see, Kettering reflected. It must have beenyes, over three weeks ago. I am afraid I cant give you the date exactly. No matter, said Poirot drily; that is all I wanted to know. Well, said Derek Kettering impatiently, anything further? He looked towards M. Carrge. The latter sought inspiration from Poirot, and received it in a very faint shake of the head. No, M. Kettering, he said politely; no, I do not think we need trouble you any further. I wish you good morning. Good morning, said Kettering. He went out, banging the door behind him. Poirot leaned forward and spoke sharply, as soon as the young man was out of the room. Tell me, he said peremptorily, when did you speak of these rubies to M. Kettering? I have not spoken of them, said M. Carrge. It was only yesterday afternoon that we learnt about them from M. Van Aldin. Yes; but there was a mention of them in the Comtes letter. M. Carrge looked pained. Naturally I did not speak of that letter to M. Kettering, he said in a shocked voice. It would have been most indiscreet at the present juncture of affairs. Poirot leaned forward and tapped the table. Then how did he know about them? he demanded softly. Madame could not have told him, for he has not seen her for three weeks. It seems unlikely that either M. Van Aldin or his secretary would have mentioned them; their interviews with him have been on entirely different lines, and there has not been any hint or reference to them in the newspapers. He got up and took his hat and stick. And yet, he murmured to himself, our gentleman knows all about them. I wonder now, yes, I wonder! XVIII Derek Lunches Derek Kettering went straight to the Negresco, where he ordered a couple of cocktails and disposed of them rapidly; then he stared moodily out over the dazzling blue sea. He noted the passersby mechanicallya damned dull crowd, badly dressed, and painfully uninteresting; one hardly ever saw anything worthwhile nowadays. Then he corrected this last impression rapidly, as a woman placed herself at a table a little distance away from him. She was wearing a marvellous confection of orange and black, with a little hat that shaded her face. He ordered a third cocktail; again he stared out to sea, and then suddenly he started. A wellknown perfume assailed his nostrils, and he looked up to see the orangeandblack lady standing beside him. He saw her face now, and recognised her. It was Mirelle. She was smiling that insolent, seductive smile he knew so well. Derek! she murmured. You are pleased to see me, no? She dropped into a seat the other side of the table. But welcome me, then, stupid one, she mocked. This is an unexpected pleasure, said Derek. When did you leave London? She shrugged her shoulders. A day or two ago. And the Parthenon? I have, how do you say it?given them the chuck! Really? You are not very amiable, Dereek. Do you expect me to be? Mirelle lit a cigarette and puffed at it for a few minutes before saying You think, perhaps, that it is not prudent so soon? Derek stared at her, then he shrugged his shoulders, and remarked formally You are lunching here? Mais oui. I am lunching with you. I am exceedingly sorry, said Derek. I have a very important engagement. Mon Dieu! But you men are like children, exclaimed the dancer. But yes, it is the spoilt child that you act to me, ever since that day in London when you flung yourself out of my flat, you sulk. Ah! mais cest inou! My dear girl, said Derek, I really dont know what you are talking about. We agreed in London that rats desert a sinking ship, that is all that there is to be said. In spite of his careless words, his face looked haggard and strained. Mirelle leaned forward suddenly. You cannot deceive me, she murmured. I knowI know what you have done for me. He looked up at her sharply. Some undercurrent in her voice arrested his attention. She nodded her head at him. Ah! have no fear; I am discreet. You are magnificent! You have a superb courage, but, all the same, it was I who gave you the idea that day, when I said to you in London that accidents sometimes happened. And you are not in danger? The police do not suspect you? What the devil Hush! She held up a slim olive hand with one big emerald on the little finger. You are right; I should not have spoken so in a public place. We will not speak of the matter again, but our troubles are ended; our life together will be wonderfulwonderful! Derek laughed suddenlya harsh, disagreeable laugh. So the rats come back, do they? Two million makes a differenceof course it does. I ought to have known that. He laughed again. You will help me to spend that two million, wont you, Mirelle? You know how, no woman better. He laughed again. Hush! cried the dancer. What is the matter with you, Derek? Seepeople are turning to stare at you. Me? I will tell you what is the matter. I have finished with you, Mirelle. Do you hear? Finished! Mirelle did not take it as he expected her to do. She looked at him for a minute or two, and then she smiled softly. But what a child! You are angryyou are sore, and all because I am practical. Did I not always tell you that I adored you? She leaned forward. But I know you, Derek. Look at mesee, it is Mirelle who speaks to you. You cannot live without her, you know it. I loved you before, I will love you a hundred times more now. I will make life wonderful for youbut wonderful. There is no one like Mirelle. Her eyes burned into his. She saw him grow pale and draw in his breath, and she smiled to herself contentedly. She knew her own magic and power over men. That is settled, she said softly, and gave a little laugh. And now, Dereek, will you give me lunch? No. He drew in his breath sharply and rose to his feet. I am sorry, but I told youI have got an engagement. You are lunching with someone else? Bah! I dont believe it. I am lunching with that lady over there. He crossed abruptly to where a lady in white had just come up the steps. He addressed her a little breathlessly.

Miss Grey, will youwill you have lunch with me? You met me at Lady Tamplins, if you remember. Katherine looked at him for a minute or two with those thoughtful grey eyes that said so much. Thank you, she said, after a moments pause; I should like to very much. XIX An Unexpected Visitor The Comte de la Roche had just finished djeuner, consisting of an omelette fines herbes, an entrecte Bearnaise, and a Savarin au Rhum. Wiping his fine black moustache delicately with his table napkin, the Comte rose from the table. He passed through the salon of the villa, noting with appreciation the few objets dart which were carelessly scattered about. The Louis XV snuffbox, the satin shoe worn by Marie Antoinette, and the other historic trifles were part of the Comtes miseenscne. They were, he would explain to his fair visitors, heirlooms in his family. Passing through on to the terrace, the Comte looked out on to the Mediterranean with an unseeing eye. He was in no mood for appreciating the beauties of scenery. A fully matured scheme had been rudely brought to naught, and his plans had to be cast afresh. Stretching himself out in a basket chair, a cigarette held between his white fingers, the Comte pondered deeply. Presently Hipolyte, his manservant, brought out coffee and a choice of liqueurs. The Comte selected some very fine old brandy. As the manservant was preparing to depart, the Comte arrested him with a slight gesture. Hipolyte stood respectfully to attention. His countenance was hardly a prepossessing one, but the correctitude of his demeanour went far to obliterate the fact. He was now the picture of respectful attention. It is possible, said the Comte, that in the course of the next few days various strangers may come to the house. They will endeavour to scrape acquaintance with you and with Marie. They will probably ask you various questions concerning me. Yes, Monsieur le Comte. Perhaps this has already happened? No, Monsieur le Comte. There have been no strangers about the place? You are certain? There has been no one, Monsieur le Comte. That is well, said the Comte drily; nevertheless they will comeI am sure of it. They will ask questions. Hipolyte looked at his master in intelligent anticipation. The Comte spoke slowly, without looking at Hipolyte. As you know, I arrived here last Tuesday morning. If the police or any other inquirer should question you, do not forget that fact. I arrived on Tuesday, the fourteenthnot Wednesday, the fifteenth. You understand? Perfectly, Monsieur le Comte. In an affair where a lady is concerned, it is always necessary to be discreet. I feel certain, Hipolyte, that you can be discreet. I can be discreet, Monsieur. And Marie? Marie also. I will answer for her. That is well then, murmured the Comte. When Hipolyte had withdrawn, the Comte sipped his black coffee with a reflective air. Occasionally he frowned, once he shook his head slightly, twice he nodded it. Into the midst of these cogitations came Hipolyte once more. A lady, Monsieur. A lady? The Comte was surprised. Not that a visit from a lady was an unusual thing at the Villa Marina, but at this particular moment the Comte could not think who the lady was likely to be. She is, I think, a lady not known to Monsieur, murmured the valet helpfully. The Comte was more and more intrigued. Show her out here, Hipolyte, he commanded. A moment later a marvellous vision in orange and black stepped out on the terrace, accompanied by a strong perfume of exotic blossoms. Monsieur le Comte de la Roche? At your service, Mademoiselle, said the Comte, bowing. My name is Mirelle. You may have heard of me. Ah, indeed, Mademoiselle, but who has not been enchanted by the dancing of Mademoiselle Mirelle? Exquisite! The dancer acknowledged this compliment with a brief mechanical smile. My descent upon you is unceremonious, she began. But seat yourself, I beg of you, Mademoiselle, cried the Comte, bringing forward a chair. Behind the gallantry of his manner he was observing her narrowly. There were very few things that the Comte did not know about women. True, his experience had not lain much in ladies of Mirelles class, who were themselves predatory. He and the dancer were, in a sense, birds of a feather. His arts, the Comte knew, would be thrown away on Mirelle. She was a Parisienne, and a shrewd one. Nevertheless, there was one thing that the Comte could recognise infallibly when he saw it. He knew at once that he was in the presence of a very angry woman, and an angry woman, as the Comte was well aware, always says more than is prudent, and is occasionally a source of profit to a levelheaded gentleman who keeps cool. It is most amiable of you, Mademoiselle, to honour my poor abode thus. We have mutual friends in Paris, said Mirelle. I have heard of you from them, but I come to see you today for another reason. I have heard of you since I came to Nicein a different way, you understand. Ah? said the Comte softly. I will be brutal, continued the dancer; nevertheless, believe that I have your welfare at heart. They are saying in Nice, Monsieur le Comte, that you are the murderer of the English lady, Madame Kettering. I!the murderer of Madame Kettering? Bah! But how absurd! He spoke more languidly than indignantly, knowing that he would thus provoke her further. But yes, she insisted; it is as I tell you. It amuses people to talk, murmured the Comte indifferently. It would be beneath me to take such wild accusations seriously. You do not understand. Mirelle bent forward, her dark eyes flashing. It is not the idle talk of those in the streets. It is the police. The policeah? The Comte sat up, alert once more. Mirelle nodded her head vigorously several times. Yes, yes. You comprehend meI have friends everywhere. The Prefect himself She left the sentence unfinished, with an eloquent shrug of the shoulders. Who is not indiscreet where a beautiful woman is concerned? murmured the Count politely. The police believe that you killed Madame Kettering. But they are wrong. Certainly they are wrong, agreed the Comte easily. You say that, but you do not know the truth. I do. The Comte looked at her curiously. You know who killed Madame Kettering? Is that what you would say, Mademoiselle? Mirelle nodded vehemently. Yes. Who was it? asked the Comte sharply. Her husband. She leant across to the Comte, speaking in a low voice that vibrated with anger and excitement. It was her husband who killed her. The Comte leaned back in his chair. His face was a mask. Let me ask you, Mademoisellehow do you know this? How do I know it? Mirelle sprang to her feet, with a laugh. He boasted of it beforehand. He was ruined, bankrupt, dishonoured. Only the death of his wife could save him. He told me so. He travelled on the same trainbut she was not to know it. Why was that, I ask you? So that he might creep upon her in the nightAh!she shut her eyesI can see it happening The Count coughed. Perhapsperhaps, he murmured. But surely, Mademoiselle, in that case he would not steal the jewels? The jewels! breathed Mirelle. The jewels. Ah! Those rubies Her eyes grew misty, a faraway light in them. The Comte looked at her curiously, wondering for the hundredth time at the magical influence of precious stones on the female sex. He recalled her to practical matters. What do you want me to do, Mademoiselle? Mirelle became alert and businesslike once more. Surely it is simple. You will go to the police. You will say to them that M. Kettering committed this crime. And if they do not believe me? If they ask for proof? He was eyeing her closely. Mirelle laughed softly, and drew her orangeandblack wrap closer round her. Send them to me, Monsieur le Comte, she said softly; I will give them the proof they want. Upon that she was gone, an impetuous whirlwind, her errand accomplished. The Comte looked after her, his eyebrows delicately raised. She is in a fury, he murmured. What has happened now to upset her? But she shows her hand too plainly. Does she really believe that Mr. Kettering killed his wife? She would like me to believe it. She would even like the police to believe it. He smiled to himself. He had no intention whatsoever of going to the police. He saw various other possibilities; to judge by his smile, an agreeable vista of them. Presently, however, his brow clouded. According to Mirelle, he was suspected by the police. That might be true or it might not. An angry woman of the type of the dancer was not likely to bother about the strict veracity of her statements. On the other hand, she might easily have obtainedinside information. In that casehis mouth set grimlyin that case he must take certain precautions. He went into the house and questioned Hipolyte closely once more as to whether any strangers had been to the house. The valet was positive in his assurances that this was not the case. The Comte went up to his bedroom and crossed over to an old bureau that stood against the wall. He let down the lid of this, and his delicate fingers sought for a spring at the back of one of the pigeonholes. A secret drawer flew out; in it was a small brown paper package. The Comte took this out and weighed it in his hand carefully for a minute or two. Raising his hand to his head, with a slight grimace he pulled out a single hair. This he placed on the lip of the drawer and shut it carefully. Still carrying the small parcel in his hand, he went downstairs and out of the house to the garage, where stood a scarlet twoseater car. Ten minutes later he had taken the road for Monte Carlo. He spent a few hours at the Casino, then sauntered out into the town. Presently he reentered the car and drove off in the direction of Mentone. Earlier in the afternoon he had noticed an inconspicuous grey car some little distance behind him. He noticed it again now. He smiled to himself. The road was climbing steadily upwards. The Comtes foot pressed hard on the accelerator. The little red car had been specially built to the Comtes design, and had a far more powerful engine than would have been suspected from its appearance. It shot ahead. Presently he looked back and smiled; the grey car was following behind. Smothered in dust, the little red car leaped along the road. It was travelling now at a dangerous pace, but the Comte was a firstclass driver. Now they were going downhill, twisting and curving unceasingly. Presently the car slackened speed, and finally came to a standstill before a Bureau de Poste. The Comte jumped out, lifted the lid of the tool chest, extracted the small brown paper parcel and hurried into the post office. Two minutes later he was driving once more in the direction of Mentone. When the grey car arrived there, the Comte was drinking English five oclock tea on the terrace of one of the hotels. Later, he drove back to Monte Carlo, dined there, and reached home once more at eleven oclock. Hipolyte came out to meet him with a disturbed face. Ah! Monsieur le Comte has arrived. Monsieur le Comte did not telephone me, by any chance? The Comte shook his head. And yet at three oclock I received a summons from Monsieur le Comte, to present myself to him at Nice, at the Negresco. Really, said the Comte; and you went? Certainly, Monsieur, but at the Negresco they knew nothing of Monsieur le Comte. He had not been there. Ah, said the Comte, doubtless at that hour Marie was out doing her afternoon marketing? That is so, Monsieur le Comte. Ah, well, said the Comte, it is of no importance. A mistake. He went upstairs, smiling to himself. Once within his own room, he bolted his door and looked sharply round. Everything seemed as usual. He opened various drawers and cupboards. Then he nodded to himself. Things had been replaced almost exactly as he had left them, but not quite. It was evident that a very thorough search had been made. He went over to the bureau and pressed the hidden spring. The drawer flew open, but the hair was no longer where he had placed it. He nodded his head several times. They are excellent, our French police, he murmured to himselfexcellent. Nothing escapes them. XX Katherine Makes a Friend On the following morning Katherine and Lenox were sitting on the terrace of the Villa Marguerite. Something in the nature of a friendship was springing up between them, despite the difference in age. But for Lenox, Katherine would have found life at the Villa Marguerite quite intolerable. The Kettering case was the topic of the moment. Lady Tamplin frankly exploited her guests connection with the affair for all it was worth. The most persistent rebuffs that Katherine could administer quite failed to pierce Lady Tamplins selfesteem. Lenox adopted a detached attitude, seemingly amused at her mothers manoeuvres, and yet with a sympathetic understanding of Katherines feelings. The situation was not helped by Chubby, whose naive delight was unquenchable, and who introduced Katherine to all and sundry as This is Miss Grey. You know that Blue Train business? She was in it up to the ears! Had a long talk with Ruth Kettering a few hours before the murder! Bit of luck for her, eh? A few remarks of this kind had provoked Katherine that morning to an unusually tart rejoinder, and when they were alone together Lenox observed in her slow drawl Not used to exploitation, are you? You have a lot to learn, Katherine. I am sorry I lost my temper. I dont, as a rule. It is about time you learnt to blow off steam. Chubby is only an ass; there is no harm in him. Mother, of course, is trying, but you can lose your temper with her until Kingdom come, and it wont make any impression. She will open large, sad blue eyes at you and not care a bit. Katherine made no reply to this filial observation, and Lenox presently went on I am rather like Chubby. I delight in a good murder, and besideswell, knowing Derek makes a difference. Katherine nodded. So you lunched with him yesterday, pursued Lenox reflectively. Do you like him, Katherine? Katherine considered for a minute or two. I dont know, she said very slowly. He is very attractive. Yes, he is attractive. What dont you like about him? Katherine did not reply to the question, or at any rate not directly. He spoke of his wifes death, she said. He said he would not pretend that it had been anything but a bit of most marvellous luck for him. And that shocked you, I suppose, said Lenox. She paused, and then added in rather a queer tone of voice He likes you, Katherine. He gave me a very good lunch, said Katherine, smiling. Lenox refused to be sidetracked. I saw it the night he came here, she said thoughtfully. The way he looked at you; and you are not his usual typejust the opposite. Well, I suppose it is like religionyou get it at a certain age. Mademoiselle is wanted at the telephone, said Marie, appearing at the window of the salon. M. Hercule Poirot desires to speak with her. More blood and thunder. Go on, Katherine; go and dally with your detective. M. Hercule Poirots voice came neat and precise in its intonation to Katherines ear. That is Mademoiselle Grey who speaks? Bon. Mademoiselle, I have a word for you from M. Van Aldin, the father of Madame Kettering. He wishes very much to speak with you, either at the Villa Marguerite or at his hotel, whichever you prefer. Katherine reflected for a moment, but she decided that for Van Aldin to come to the Villa Marguerite would be both painful and unnecessary. Lady Tamplin would have hailed his advent with far too much delight. She never lost a chance of cultivating millionaires. She told Poirot that she would much rather come to Nice. Excellent, Mademoiselle. I will call for you myself in an auto. Shall we say in about threequarters of an hour? Punctually to the moment Poirot appeared. Katherine was waiting for him, and they drove off at once. Well, Mademoiselle, how goes it? She looked at his twinkling eyes, and was confirmed in her first impression that there was something very attractive about M. Hercule Poirot. This is our own roman policier, is it not? said Poirot. I made you the promise that we should study it together. And me, I always keep my promises. You are too kind, murmured Katherine. Ah, you mock yourself at me; but do you want to hear the developments of the case, or do you not? Katherine admitted that she did, and Poirot proceeded to sketch for her a thumbnail portrait of the Comte de la Roche. You think he killed her, said Katherine thoughtfully. That is the theory, said Poirot guardedly. Do you yourself believe that? I did not say so. And you, Mademoiselle, what do you think? Katherine shook her head. How should I know? I dont know anything about those things, but I should say that Yes, said Poirot encouragingly. Wellfrom what you say the Count does not sound the kind of man who would actually kill anybody. Ah! Very good, cried Poirot. You agree with me; that is just what I have said. He looked at her sharply. But tell me, you have met Mr. Derek Kettering? I met him at Lady Tamplins, and I lunched with him yesterday. A mauvais sujet, said Poirot, shaking his head; but les femmesthey like that, eh? He twinkled at Katherine and she laughed. He is the kind of man one would notice anywhere, continued Poirot. Doubtless you observed him on the Blue Train? Yes, I noticed him. In the restaurant car? No. I didnt notice him at meals at all. I only saw him oncegoing into his wifes compartment. Poirot nodded. A strange business, he murmured. I believe you said you were awake, Mademoiselle, and looked out of your window at Lyons? You saw no tall dark man such as the Comte de la Roche leave the train? Katherine shook her head. I dont think I saw anyone at all, she said. There was a youngish lad in a cap and overcoat who got out, but I dont think he was leaving the train, only walking up and down the platform. There was a fat Frenchman with a beard, in pyjamas and an overcoat, who wanted a cup of coffee. Otherwise, I think there were only the train attendants. Poirot nodded his head several times. It is like this, you see, he confided, the Comte de la Roche has an alibi. An alibi, it is a very pestilential thing, and always open to the gravest suspicion. But here we are! They went straight up to Van Aldins suite, where they found Knighton. Poirot introduced him to Katherine. After a few commonplaces had been exchanged, Knighton said I will tell Mr. Van Aldin that Miss Grey is here. He went through a second door into an adjoining room. There was a low murmur of voices, and then Van Aldin came into the room and advanced towards Katherine with outstretched hand, giving her at the same time a shrewd and penetrating glance. I am pleased to meet you, Miss Grey, he said simply. I have been wanting very badly to hear what you can tell me about Ruth. The quiet simplicity of the millionaires manner appealed to Katherine strongly. She felt herself in the presence of a very genuine grief, the more real for its absence of outward sign. He drew forward a chair. Sit here, will you, and just tell me all about it. Poirot and Knighton retired discreetly into the other room, and Katherine and Van Aldin were left alone together. She found no difficulty in her task. Quite simply and naturally she related her conversation with Ruth Kettering, word for word as nearly as she could. He listened in silence, leaning back in his chair, with one hand shading his eyes. When she had finished he said quietly Thank you, my dear. They both sat silent for a minute or two. Katherine felt that words of sympathy would be out of place. When the millionaire spoke, it was in a different tone I am very grateful to you, Miss Grey. I think you did something to ease my poor Ruths mind in the last hours of her life. Now I want to ask you something. You knowM. Poirot will have told youabout the scoundrel that my poor girl had got herself mixed up with. He was the man of whom she spoke to youthe man she was going to meet. In your judgment, do you think she might have changed her mind after her conversation with you? Do you think she meant to go back on her word? I cant honestly tell you. She had certainly come to some decision, and seemed more cheerful in consequence of it. She gave you no idea where she intended to meet the skunkwhether in Paris or at Hyres? Katherine shook her head. She said nothing as to that. Ah! said Van Aldin thoughtfully, and that is the important point. Well, time will show. He got up and opened the door of the adjoining room. Poirot and Knighton came back. Katherine declined the millionaires invitation to lunch, and Knighton went down with her and saw her into the waiting car. He returned to find Poirot and Van Aldin deep in conversation. If we only knew, said the millionaire thoughtfully, what decision Ruth came to. It might have been any of half a dozen. She might have meant to leave the train at Paris and cable to me. She may have meant to have gone on to the south of France and have an explanation with the Count there. We are in the darkabsolutely in the dark. But we have the maids word for it that she was both startled and dismayed at the Counts appearance at the station in Paris. That was clearly not part of the preconceived plan. You agree with me, Knighton? The secretary started. I beg your pardon, Mr. Van Aldin. I was not listening. Daydreaming, eh? said Van Aldin. Thats not like you. I believe that girl has bowled you over. Knighton blushed. She is a remarkably nice girl, said Van Aldin thoughtfully, very nice. Did you happen to notice her eyes? Any man, said Knighton, would be bound to notice her eyes. XXI At the Tennis Several days had elapsed. Katherine had been for a walk by herself one morning, and came back to find Lenox grinning at her expectantly. Your young man has been ringing you up, Katherine! Who do you call my young man? A new oneRufus Van Aldins secretary. You seem to have made rather an impression there. You are becoming a serious breaker of hearts, Katherine. First Derek Kettering, and now this young Knighton. The funny thing is that I remember him quite well. He was in Mothers War Hospital that she ran out here. I was only a kid of about eight at the time. Was he badly wounded? Shot in the leg, if I remember rightlyrather a nasty business. I think the doctors messed it up a bit. They said he wouldnt limp or anything, but when he left here he was still completely dotandgoone. Lady Tamplin came out and joined them. Have you been telling Katherine about Major Knighton? she asked. Such a dear fellow! Just at first I didnt remember himone had so manybut now it all comes back. He was a bit too unimportant to be remembered before, said Lenox. Now that he is a secretary to an American millionaire, it is a very different matter. Darling! said Lady Tamplin in her vague reproachful voice. What did Major Knighton ring up about? inquired Katherine. He asked if you would like to go to the tennis this afternoon. If so, he would call for you in a car. Mother and I accepted for you with empressement. Whilst you dally with a millionaires secretary, you might give me a chance with the millionaire, Katherine. He is about sixty, I suppose, so that he will be looking about for a nice sweet young thing like me. I should like to meet Mr. Van Aldin, said Lady Tamplin earnestly; one has heard so much of him. Those fine rugged figures of the Western worldshe broke offso fascinating, she murmured. Major Knighton was very particular to say it was Mr. Van Aldins invitation, said Lenox. He said it so often that I began to smell a rat. You and Knighton would make a very nice pair, Katherine. Bless you, my children. Katherine laughed, and went upstairs to change her clothes. Knighton arrived soon after lunch and endured manfully Lady Tamplins transports of recognition. When they were driving together towards Cannes he remarked to Katherine Lady Tamplin has changed wonderfully little. In manner or appearance? Both. She must be, I suppose, well over forty, but she is a remarkably beautiful woman still. She is, agreed Katherine. I am very glad that you could come today, went on Knighton. M. Poirot is going to be there also. What an extraordinary little man he is. Do you know him well, Miss Grey? Katherine shook her head. I met him on the train on the way here. I was reading a detective novel, and I happened to say something about such things not happening in real life. Of course, I had no idea of who he was. He is a very remarkable person, said Knighton slowly, and has done some very remarkable things. He has a kind of genius for going to the root of the matter, and right up to the end no one has any idea of what he is really thinking. I remember I was staying at a house in Yorkshire, and Lady Clanravons jewels were stolen. It seemed at first to be a simple robbery, but it completely baffled the local police. I wanted them to call in Hercule Poirot, and said he was the only man who could help them, but they pinned their faith to Scotland Yard. And what happened? said Katherine curiously. The jewels were never recovered, said Knighton drily. You really do believe in him? I do indeed. The Comte de la Roche is a pretty wily customer. He has wriggled out of most things. But I think he has met his match in Hercule Poirot. The Comte de la Roche, said Katherine thoughtfully; so you really think he did it? Of course. Knighton looked at her in astonishment. Dont you? Oh yes, said Katherine hastily; that is, I mean, if it was not just an ordinary train robbery. It might be, of course, agreed the other, but it seems to me that the Comte de la Roche fits into this business particularly well. And yet he has an alibi. Oh, alibis! Knighton laughed, his face broke into his attractive boyish smile. You confess that you read detective stories, Miss Grey. You must know that anyone who has a perfect alibi is always open to grave suspicion. Do you think that real life is like that? asked Katherine, smiling. Why not? Fiction is founded on fact. But is rather superior to it, suggested Katherine. Perhaps. Anyway, if I was a criminal I should not like to have Hercule Poirot on my track. No more should I, said Katherine, and laughed. They were met on arrival by Poirot. As the day was warm he was attired in a white duck suit, with a white camellia in his buttonhole. Bon jour, Mademoiselle, said Poirot. I look very English, do I not? You look wonderful, said Katherine tactfully. You mock yourself at me, said Poirot genially. But no matter. Papa Poirot, he always laughs the last. Where is Mr. Van Aldin? asked Knighton. He will meet us at our seats. To tell you the truth, my friend, he is not too well pleased with me. Oh, those Americansthe repose, the calm, they know it not! Mr. Van Aldin, he would that I fly myself in the pursuit of criminals through all the byways of Nice. I should have thought myself that it would not have been a bad plan, observed Knighton. You are wrong, said Poirot; in these matters one needs not energy but finesse. At the tennis one meets everyone. That is so important. Ah, there is Mr. Kettering. Derek came abruptly up to them. He looked reckless and angry, as though something had arisen to upset him. He and Knighton greeted each other with some frigidity. Poirot alone seemed unconscious of any sense of strain, and chatted pleasantly in a laudable attempt to put everyone at their ease. He paid little compliments. It is amazing, M. Kettering, how well you speak the French, he observedso well that you could be taken for a Frenchman if you chose. That is a very rare accomplishment among Englishmen. I wish I did, said Katherine. I am only too well aware that my French is of a painfully British order. They reached their seats and sat down, and almost immediately Knighton perceived his employer signalling to him from the other end of the court, and went off to speak to him. Me, I approve of that young man, said Poirot, sending a beaming smile after the departing secretary; and you, Mademoiselle? I like him very much. And you, M. Kettering? Some quick rejoinder was springing to Dereks lips, but he checked it as though something in the little Belgians twinkling eyes had made him suddenly alert. He spoke carefully, choosing his words. Knighton is a very good fellow, he said. Just for a moment Katherine fancied that Poirot looked disappointed. He is a great admirer of yours, M. Poirot, she said, and she related some of the things that Knighton had said. It amused her to see the little man plume himself like a bird, thrusting out his chest, and assuming an air of mock modesty that would have deceived no one. That reminds me, Mademoiselle, he said suddenly, I have a little matter of business I have to speak to you about. When you were sitting talking to that poor lady in the train, I think you must have dropped a cigarette case. Katherine looked rather astonished. I dont think so, she said. Poirot drew from his pocket a cigarette case of soft blue leather, with the initial K on it in gold. No, that is not mine, Katherine said. Ah, a thousand apologies. It was doubtless Madames own. K, of course, stands for Kettering. We were doubtful, because she had another cigarette case in her bag, and it seemed odd that she should have two. He turned to Derek suddenly. You do not know, I suppose, whether this was your wifes case or not? Derek seemed momentarily taken aback. He stammered a little in his reply II dont know. I suppose so. It is not yours by any chance? Certainly not. If it were mine it would hardly have been in my wifes possession. Poirot looked more ingenuous and childlike than ever. I thought perhaps you might have dropped it when you were in your wifes compartment, he explained guilelessly. I never was there. I have already told the police that a dozen times. A thousand pardons, said Poirot, with his most apologetic air. It was Mademoiselle here who mentioned having seen you going in. He stopped with an air of embarrassment. Katherine looked at Derek. His face had gone rather white, but perhaps that was her fancy. His laugh, when it came, was natural enough. You made a mistake, Miss Grey, he said easily. From what the police have told me, I gather that my own compartment was only a door or two away from that of my wifesthough I never suspected the fact at the time. You must have seen me going into my own compartment. He got up quickly as he saw Van Aldin and Knighton approaching. Im going to leave you now, he announced. I cant stand my fatherinlaw at any price. Van Aldin greeted Katherine very courteously, but was clearly in a bad humour. You seem fond of watching tennis, M. Poirot, he growled. It is a pleasure to me, yes, replied Poirot placidly. It is as well you are in France, said Van Aldin. We are made of sterner stuff in the States. Business comes before pleasure there. Poirot did not take offence; indeed, he smiled gently and confidingly at the irate millionaire. Do not enrage yourself, I beg of you. Everyone his own methods. Me, I have always found it a delightful and pleasing idea to combine business and pleasure together. He glanced at the other two. They were deep in conversation, absorbed in each other. Poirot nodded his head in satisfaction, and then leant towards the millionaire, lowering his voice as he did so. It is not only for pleasure that I am here, M. Van Aldin. Observe just opposite us that tall old manthe one with the yellow face and the venerable beard. Well, what of him? That, Poirot said, is M. Papopolous. A Greek, eh? As you saya Greek. He is a dealer in antiques of worldwide reputation. He has a small shop in Paris, and he is suspected by the police of being something more. What? A receiver of stolen goods, especially jewels. There is nothing as to the recutting and resetting of gems that he does not know. He deals with the highest in Europe and with the lowest of the riffraff of the underworld. Van Aldin was looking at Poirot with suddenly awakened attention. Well? he demanded, a new note in his voice.

I ask myself, said Poirot, I, Hercule Poirothe thumped himself dramatically on the chestask myself why is M. Papopolous suddenly come to Nice? Van Aldin was impressed. For a moment he had doubted Poirot and suspected the little man of being past his job, a poseur only. Now, in a moment, he switched back to his original opinion. He looked straight at the little detective. I must apologise to you, M. Poirot. Poirot waved the apology aside with an extravagant gesture. Bah! he cried, all that is of no importance. Now listen, M. Van Aldin; I have news for you. The millionaire looked sharply at him, all his interest aroused. Poirot nodded. It is as I say. You will be interested. As you know, M. Van Aldin, the Comte de la Roche has been under surveillance ever since his interview with the Juge dInstruction. The day after that, during his absence, the Villa Marina was searched by the police. Well, said Van Aldin, did they find anything? I bet they didnt. Poirot made him a little bow. Your acumen is not at fault, M. Van Aldin. They found nothing of an incriminating nature. It was not to be expected that they would. The Comte de la Roche, as your expressive idiom has it, was not born on the preceding day. He is an astute gentleman with great experience. Well, go on, growled Van Aldin. It may be, of course, that the Comte had nothing of a compromising nature to conceal. But we must not neglect the possibility. If, then, he has something to conceal, where is it? Not in his housethe police searched thoroughly. Not on his person, for he knows that he is liable to arrest at any minute. There remainshis car. As I say, he was under surveillance. He was followed on that day to Monte Carlo. From there he went by road to Mentone, driving himself. His car is a very powerful one, it outdistanced his pursuers, and for about a quarter of an hour they completely lost sight of him. And during that time you think he concealed something by the roadside? asked Van Aldin, keenly interested. By the roadside, no. a nest pas pratique. But listen nowme, I have made a little suggestion to M. Carrge. He is graciously pleased to approve of it. In each Bureau de Poste in the neighbourhood it has been seen to that there is someone who knows the Comte de la Roche by sight. Because, you see, Messieurs, the best way of hiding a thing is by sending it away by the post. Well? demanded Van Aldin; his face was keenly alight with interest and expectation. Wellvoil! With a dramatic flourish Poirot drew out from his pocket a loosely wrapped brown paper package from which the string had been removed. During that quarter of an hours interval, our good gentleman mailed this. The address? asked the other sharply. Poirot nodded his head. Might have told us something, but unfortunately it does not. The package was addressed to one of these little newspaper shops in Paris where letters and parcels are kept until called for on payment of a small commission. Yes, but what is inside? demanded Van Aldin impatiently. Poirot unwrapped the brown paper and disclosed a square cardboard box. He looked round him. It is a good moment, he said quietly. All eyes are on the tennis. Look, Monsieur! He lifted the lid of the box for the fraction of a second. An exclamation of utter astonishment came from the millionaire. His face turned as white as chalk. My God! he breathed, the rubies. He sat for a minute as though dazed. Poirot restored the box to his pocket and beamed placidly. Then suddenly the millionaire seemed to come out of his trance; he leaned across to Poirot and wrung his hand so heartily that the little man winced with pain. This is great, said Van Aldin. Great! You are the goods, M. Poirot. Once and for all, you are the goods. It is nothing, said Poirot modestly. Order, method, being prepared for eventualities beforehandthat is all there is to it. And now, I suppose, the Comte de la Roche has been arrested? continued Van Aldin eagerly. No, said Poirot. A look of utter astonishment came over Van Aldins face. But why? What more do you want? The Comtes alibi is still unshaken. But that is nonsense. Yes, said Poirot; I rather think it is nonsense, but unfortunately we have to prove it so. In the meantime he will slip through your fingers. Poirot shook his head very energetically. No, he said, he will not do that. The one thing the Comte cannot afford to sacrifice is his social position. At all costs he must stop and brazen it out. Van Aldin was still dissatisfied. But I dont see Poirot raised a hand. Grant me a little moment, Monsieur. Me, I have a little idea. Many people have mocked themselves at the little ideas of Hercule Poirotand they have been wrong. Well, said Van Aldin, go ahead. What is this little idea? Poirot paused for a moment and then he said I will call upon you at your hotel at eleven oclock tomorrow morning. Until then, say nothing to anyone. XXII M. Papopolous Breakfasts M. Papopolous was at breakfast. Opposite him sat his daughter, Zia. There was a knock at the sittingroom door, and a chasseur entered with a card which he brought to M. Papopolous. The latter scrutinised it, raised his eyebrows, and passed it over to his daughter. Ah! said M. Papopolous, scratching his left ear thoughtfully, Hercule Poirot. I wonder now. Father and daughter looked at each other. I saw him yesterday at the tennis, said M. Papopolous. Zia, I hardly like this. He was very useful to you once, his daughter reminded him. That is true, acknowledged M. Papopolous; also he has retired from active work, so I hear. These interchanges between father and daughter had passed in their own language. Now M. Papopolous turned to the chasseur and said in French Fates monter ce monsieur. A few minutes later Hercule Poirot, exquisitely attired, and swinging a cane with a jaunty air, entered the room. My dear M. Papopolous. My dear M. Poirot. And Mademoiselle Zia. Poirot swept her a low bow. You will excuse us going on with our breakfast, said M. Papopolous, pouring himself out another cup of coffee. Your call isahem!a little early. It is scandalous, said Poirot, but you see, I am pressed. Ah! murmured M. Papopolous, you are on an affair then? A very serious affair, said Poirot; the death of Madame Kettering. Let me see, M. Papopolous looked innocently up at the ceiling, that was the lady who died on the Blue Train, was it not? I saw a mention of it in the papers, but there was no suggestion of foul play. In the interests of justice, said Poirot, it was thought best to suppress that fact. There was a pause. And in what way can I assist you, M. Poirot? asked the dealer politely. Voil, said Poirot, I shall come to the point. He took from his pocket the same box that he had displayed at Cannes, and, opening it, he took out the rubies and pushed them across the table to Papopolous. Although Poirot was watching him narrowly, not a muscle of the old mans face moved. He took up the jewels and examined them with a kind of detached interest, then he looked across at the detective inquiringly Superb, are they not? asked Poirot. Quite excellent, said M. Papopolous. How much should you say they are worth? The Greeks face quivered a little. Is it really necessary to tell you, M. Poirot? he asked. You are shrewd, M. Papopolous. No, it is not. They are not, for instance, worth five hundred thousand dollars. Papopolous laughed, and Poirot joined with him. As an imitation, said Papopolous, handing them back to Poirot, they are, as I said, quite excellent. Would it be indiscreet to ask, M. Poirot, where you came across them? Not at all, said Poirot; I have no objection to telling an old friend like yourself. They were in the possession of the Comte de la Roche. M. Papopolous eyebrows lifted themselves eloquently. Indeed, he murmured. Poirot leaned forward and assumed his most innocent and beguiling air. M. Papopolous, he said, I am going to lay my cards upon the table. The original of these jewels was stolen from Madame Kettering on the Blue Train. Now I will say to you first this I am not concerned with the recovery of these jewels. That is the affair of the police. I am working not for the police but for M. Van Aldin. I want to lay hands on the man who killed Madame Kettering. I am interested in the jewels only in so far as they may lead me to the man. You understand? The last two words were uttered with great significance. M. Papopolous, his face quite unmoved, said quietly Go on. It seems to me probable, Monsieur, that the jewels will change hands in Nicemay already have done so. Ah! said M. Papopolous. He sipped his coffee reflectively, and looked a shade more noble and patriarchal than usual. I say to myself, continued Poirot, with animation, what good fortune! My old friend, M. Papopolous, is in Nice. He will aid me. And how do you think I can aid you? inquired M. Papopolous coldly. I said to myself, without doubt M. Papopolous is in Nice on business. Not at all, said M. Papopolous, I am here for my healthby the doctors orders. He coughed hollowly. I am desolated to hear it, replied Poirot, with somewhat insincere sympathy. But to continue. When a Russian Grand Duke, an Austrian Archduchess, or an Italian Prince wish to dispose of their family jewelsto whom do they go? To M. Papopolous, is it not? He who is famous all over the world for the discretion with which he arranges these things. The other bowed. You flatter me. It is a great thing, discretion, mused Poirot, and was rewarded by the fleeting smile which passed across the Greeks face. I, too, can be discreet. The eyes of the two men met. Then Poirot went on speaking very slowly, and obviously picking his words with care. I say to myself, this if these jewels have changed hands in Nice, M. Papopolous would have heard of it. He has knowledge of all that passes in the jewel world. Ah! said M. Papopolous, and helped himself to a croissant. The police, you understand, said M. Poirot, do not enter into the matter. It is a personal affair. One hears rumours, admitted M. Papopolous cautiously. Such as? prompted Poirot. Is there any reason why I should pass them on? Yes, said Poirot, I think there is. You may remember, M. Papopolous, that seventeen years ago there was a certain article in your hands, left there as security by a veryerProminent Person. It was in your keeping and it unaccountably disappeared. You were, if I may use the English expression, in the soup. His eyes came gently round to the girl. She had pushed her cup and plate aside, and with both elbows on the table and her chin resting on her hands was listening eagerly. Still keeping an eye on her he went on I am in Paris at the time. You send for me. You place yourself in my hands. If I restore to you thatarticle, you say I shall earn your undying gratitude. Eh bien! I did restore it to you. A long sigh came from M. Papopolous. It was the most unpleasant moment of my career, he murmured. Seventeen years is a long time, said Poirot thoughtfully, but I believe that I am right in saying, Monsieur, that your race does not forget. A Greek? murmured Papopolous, with an ironical smile. It was not as a Greek I meant, said Poirot. There was a silence, and then the old man drew himself up proudly. You are right, M. Poirot, he said quietly. I am a Jew. And, as you say, our race does not forget. You will aid me then? As regards the jewels, Monsieur, I can do nothing. The old man, as Poirot had done just now, picked his words carefully. I know nothing. I have heard nothing. But I can perhaps do you a good turnthat is, if you are interested in racing. Under certain circumstances I might be, said Poirot, eyeing him steadily. There is a horse running at Longchamps that would, I think, repay attention. I cannot say for certain, you understand; this news passed through so many hands. He stopped, fixing Poirot with his eye, as though to make sure that the latter was comprehending him. Perfectly, perfectly, said Poirot, nodding. The name of the horse, said M. Papopolous, leaning back and joining the tips of his fingers together, is the Marquis. I think, but I am not sure, that it is an English horse, eh, Zia? I think so too, said the girl. Poirot got up briskly. I thank you, Monsieur, he said. It is a great thing to have what the English call a tip from the stable. Au revoir, Monsieur, and many thanks. He turned to the girl. Au revoir, Mademoiselle Zia. It seems to me but yesterday that I saw you in Paris. One would say that two years had passed at most. There is a difference between sixteen and thirtythree, said Zia ruefully. Not in your case, declared Poirot gallantly. You and your father will perhaps dine with me one night. We shall be delighted, replied Zia. Then we will arrange it, declared Poirot, and nowje me sauve. Poirot walked along the street humming a little tune to himself. He twirled his stick with a jaunty air, once or twice he smiled to himself quietly. He turned into the first Bureau de Poste he came to and sent off a telegram. He took some time in wording it, but it was in code and he had to call upon his memory. It purported to deal with a missing scarfpin, and was addressed to Inspector Japp, Scotland Yard. Decoded, it was short and to the point. Wire me everything known about man whose soubriquet is the Marquis. XXIII A New Theory It was exactly eleven oclock when Poirot presented himself at Van Aldins hotel. He found the millionaire alone. You are punctual, M. Poirot, he said, with a smile, as he rose to greet the detective. I am always punctual, said Poirot. The exactitudealways do I observe it. Without order and method He broke off. Ah, but it is possible that I have said these things to you before. Let us come at once to the object of my visit. Your little idea? Yes, my little idea. Poirot smiled. First of all, Monsieur, I should like to interview once more the maid, Ada Mason. She is here? Yes, shes here. Ah! Van Aldin looked at him curiously. He rang the bell, and a messenger was despatched to find Mason. Poirot greeted her with his usual politeness, which was never without effect on that particular class. Good afternoon, Mademoiselle, he said cheerfully. Be seated, will you not, if Monsieur permits. Yes, yes, sit down, my girl, said Van Aldin. Thank you, sir, said Mason primly, and she sat down on the extreme edge of a chair. She looked bonier and more acid than ever. I have come to ask you yet more questions, said Poirot. We must get to the bottom of this affair. Always I return to the question of the man in the train. You have been shown the Comte de la Roche. You say that it is possible he was the man, but you are not sure. As I told you, sir, I never saw the gentlemans face. That is what makes it so difficult. Poirot beamed and nodded. Precisely, exactly. I comprehend well the difficulty. Now, Mademoiselle, you have been in the service of Madame Kettering two months, you say. During that time, how often did you see your master? Mason reflected a minute or two, and then said Only twice, sir. And was that near to, or far away? Well once, sir, he came to Curzon Street. I was upstairs, and I looked over the banisters and saw him in the hall below. I was a bit curious like, you understand, knowing the way thingserwere. Mason finished up with her discreet cough. And the other time? I was in the Park, sir, with Annieone of the housemaids, sir, and she pointed out the master to me walking with a foreign lady. Again Poirot nodded. Now listen, Mason, this man whom you saw in the carriage talking to your mistress at the Gare de Lyon, how do you know it was not your master? The master, sir? Oh, I dont think it could have been. But you are not sure, Poirot persisted. WellI never thought of it, sir. Mason was clearly upset at the idea. You have heard that your master was also on the train. What more natural than that it should be he who came along the corridor? But the gentleman who was talking to the mistress must have come from outside, sir. He was dressed for the street. In an overcoat and soft hat. Just so, Mademoiselle, but reflect a minute. The train has just arrived at the Gare de Lyon. Many of the passengers promenade themselves upon the quay. Your mistress was about to do so, and for that purpose had doubtless put on her fur coat, eh? Yes, sir, agreed Mason. Your master, then, does the same. The train is heated, but outside in the station it is cold. He puts on his overcoat and his hat and he walks along beside the train, and looking up at the lighted windows he suddenly sees Madame Kettering. Until then he has had no idea that she was on the train. Naturally, he mounts the carriage and goes to her compartment. She gives an exclamation of surprise at seeing him and quickly shuts the door between the two compartments since it is possible that their conversation may be of a private nature. He leaned back in his chair and watched the suggestion slowly take effect. No one knew better than Hercule Poirot that the class to which Mason belongs cannot be hurried. He must give her time to get rid of her own preconceived ideas. At the end of three minutes she spoke Well, of course, sir, it might be so. I never thought of it that way. The master is tall and dark, and just about that build. It was seeing the hat and coat that made me say it was a gentleman from outside. Yes, it might have been the master. I would not like to say either way Im sure. Thank you very much, Mademoiselle. I shall not require you any further. Ah, just one thing more. He took from his pocket the cigarette case he had already shown to Katherine. Is that your mistresss case? he said to Mason. No, sir, it is not the mistresssat least She looked suddenly startled. An idea was clearly working its way to the forefront of her mind. Yes? said Poirot encouragingly. I think, sirI cant be sure, but I thinkit is a case that the mistress bought to give to the master. Ah, said Poirot in a noncommittal manner. But whether she ever did give it to him or not, I cant say, of course. Precisely, said Poirot, precisely. That is all, I think, Mademoiselle. I wish you good afternoon. Ada Mason retired discreetly, closing the door noiselessly behind her. Poirot looked across at Van Aldin, a faint smile upon his face. The millionaire looked thunderstruck. You thinkyou think it was Derek? he queried, buteverything points the other way. Why, the Count has actually been caught redhanded with the jewels on him. No. But you told me What did I tell you? That story about the jewels. You showed them to me. No. Van Aldin stared at him. You mean to say you didnt show them to me? No. Yesterdayat the tennis? No. Are you crazy, M. Poirot, or am I? Neither of us is crazy, said the detective. You ask me a question; I answer it. You say have I not shown you the jewels yesterday? I replyno. What I showed you, M. Van Aldin, was a firstclass imitation, hardly to be distinguished except by an expert from the real ones. XXIV Poirot Gives Advice It took the millionaire some few minutes to take the thing in. He stared at Poirot as though dumbfounded. The little Belgian nodded at him gently. Yes, he said, it alters the position, does it not? Imitation! He leaned forward. All along, M. Poirot, you have had this idea? All along this is what you have been driving at? You never believed that the Comte de la Roche was the murderer? I have had doubts, said Poirot quietly. I said as much to you. Robbery with violence and murderhe shook his head energeticallyno, it is difficult to picture. It does not harmonise with the personality of the Comte de la Roche. But you believe that he meant to steal the rubies? Certainly. There is no doubt as to that. See, I will recount to you the affair as I see it. The Comte knew of the rubies and he laid his plans accordingly. He made up a romantic story of a book he was writing, so as to induce your daughter to bring them with her. He provided himself with an exact duplicate. It is clear, is it not, that substitution is what he was after. Madame, your daughter, was not an expert on jewels. It would probably be a long time before she discovered what had occurred. When she did sowellI do not think she would prosecute the Comte. Too much would come out. He would have in his possession various letters of hers. Oh yes, a very safe scheme from the Comtes point of viewone that he has probably carried out before. It seems clear enough, yes, said Van Aldin musingly. It accords with the personality of the Comte de la Roche, said Poirot. Yes, but now Van Aldin looked searchingly at the other. What actually happened? Tell me that, M. Poirot. Poirot shrugged his shoulders. It is quite simple, he said; someone stepped in ahead of the Comte. There was a long pause. Van Aldin seemed to be turning things over in his mind. When he spoke it was without beating about the bush. How long have you suspected my soninlaw, M. Poirot? From the very first. He had the motive and the opportunity. Everyone took for granted that the man in Madames compartment in Paris was the Comte de la Roche. I thought so, too. Then you happened to mention that you had once mistaken the Comte for your soninlaw. That told me that they were of the same height and build, and alike in colouring. It put some curious ideas in my head. The maid had only been with your daughter a short time. It was unlikely that she would know Mr. Kettering well by sight, since he had not been living in Curzon Street; also the man was careful to keep his face turned away. You believe hemurdered her? said Van Aldin hoarsely. Poirot raised a hand quickly. No, no, I did not say thatbut it is a possibilitya very strong possibility. He was in a tight corner, a very tight corner, threatened with ruin. This was the one way out. But why take the jewels? To make the crime appear an ordinary one committed by train robbers. Otherwise suspicion might have fallen on him straight away. If that is so, what has he done with the rubies? That remains to be seen. There are several possibilities. There is a man in Nice who may be able to help, the man I pointed out at the tennis. He rose to his feet and Van Aldin rose also and laid his hand on the little mans shoulder. His voice when he spoke was harsh with emotion. Find Ruths murderer for me, he said, that is all I ask. Poirot drew himself up. Leave it in the hands of Hercule Poirot, he said superbly; have no fears. I will discover the truth. He brushed a speck of fluff from his hat, smiled reassuringly at the millionaire, and left the room. Nevertheless, as he went down the stairs some of the confidence faded from his face. It is all very well, he murmured to himself, but there are difficulties. Yes, there are great difficulties. As he was passing out of the hotel he came to a sudden halt. A car had drawn up in front of the door. In it was Katherine Grey, and Derek Kettering was standing beside it talking to her earnestly. A minute or two later the car drove off and Derek remained standing on the pavement looking after it. The expression on his face was an odd one. He gave a sudden impatient gesture of the shoulders, sighed deeply, and turned to find Hercule Poirot standing at his elbow. In spite of himself he started. The two men looked at each other. Poirot steadily and unwaveringly and Derek with a kind of lighthearted defiance. There was a sneer behind the easy mockery of his tone when he spoke, raising his eyebrows slightly as he did so. Rather a dear, isnt she? he asked easily. His manner was perfectly natural. Yes, said Poirot thoughtfully, that describes Mademoiselle Katherine very well. It is very English, that phrase there, and Mademoiselle Katherine, she also is very English. Derek remained perfectly still without answering. And yet she is sympathique, is it not so? Yes, said Derek; there are not many like her. He spoke softly, almost as though to himself. Poirot nodded significantly. Then he leant towards the other and spoke in a different tone, a quiet, grave tone that was new to Derek Kettering. You will pardon an old man, Monsieur, if he says to you something that you may consider impertinent. There is one of your English proverbs that I would quote to you. It says that it is well to be off with the old love, before being on with the new. Kettering turned on him angrily. What the devil do you mean? You enrage yourself at me, said Poirot placidly. I expected as much. As to what I meanI mean, Monsieur, that there is a second car with a lady in it. If you turn your head you will see her. Derek spun round. His face darkened with anger. Mirelle, damn her! he muttered. I will soon Poirot arrested the movement he was about to make. Is it wise what you are about to do there? he asked warningly. His eyes shone softly with a green light in them. But Derek was past noticing the warning signs. In his anger he was completely off his guard. I have broken with her utterly, and she knows it, cried Derek angrily. You have broken with her, yes, but has she broken with you? Derek gave a sudden harsh laugh. She wont break with two million pounds if she can help it, he murmured brutally; trust Mirelle for that. Poirot raised his eyebrows. You have the outlook cynical, he murmured. Have I? There was no mirth in his sudden wide smile. I have lived in the world long enough, M. Poirot, to know that all women are pretty much alike. His face softened suddenly. All save one. He met Poirots gaze defiantly. A look of alertness crept into his eyes, then faded again. That one, he said, and jerked his head in the direction of Cap Martin. Ah! said Poirot. This quiescence was well calculated to provoke the impetuous temperament of the other. I know what you are going to say, said Derek rapidly, the kind of life I have led, the fact that I am not worthy of her. You will say that I have no right to think even of such a thing. You will say that it is not a case of giving a dog a bad nameI know that it is not decent to be speaking like this with my wife dead only a few days, and murdered at that. He paused for breath, and Poirot took advantage of the pause to remark in his plaintive tone But, indeed, I have not said anything at all. But you will. Eh? said Poirot. You will say that I have no earthly chance of marrying Katherine. No, said Poirot, I would not say that. Your reputation is bad, yes, but with womennever does that deter them. If you were a man of excellent character, of strict morality who had done nothing that he should not do, andpossibly everything that he should doeh bien! then I should have grave doubts of your success. Moral worth, you understand, it is not romantic. It is appreciated, however, by widows. Derek Kettering stared at him, then he swung round on his heel and went up to the waiting car. Poirot looked after him with some interest. He saw the lovely vision lean out of the car and speak. Derek Kettering did not stop. He lifted his hat and passed straight on. a y est, said M. Hercule Poirot, it is time, I think, that I return chez moi. He found the imperturbable George pressing trousers. A pleasant day, Georges, somewhat fatiguing, but not without interest, he said. George received these remarks in his usual wooden fashion. Indeed, sir. The personality of a criminal, Georges, is an interesting matter. Many murderers are men of great personal charm. I always heard, sir, that Dr. Crippen was a pleasantspoken gentleman. And yet he cut up his wife like so much mincemeat. Your instances are always apt, Georges. The valet did not reply, and at that moment the telephone rang. Poirot took up the receiver. Alloalloyes, yes, it is Hercule Poirot who speaks. This is Knighton. Will you hold the line a minute, M. Poirot? Mr. Van Aldin would like to speak to you. There was a moments pause, then the millionaires voice came through. Is that you, M. Poirot? I just wanted to tell you that Mason came to me now of her own accord. She has been thinking it over, and she says that she is almost certain that the man at Paris was Derek Kettering. There was something familiar about him at the time, she says, but at the minute she could not place it. She seems pretty certain now. Ah, said Poirot, thank you, M. Van Aldin. That advances us. He replaced the receiver, and stood for a minute or two with a very curious smile on his face. George had to speak to him twice before obtaining an answer. Eh? said Poirot. What is that that you say to me? Are you lunching here, sir, or are you going out? Neither, said Poirot. I shall go to bed and take a tisane. The expected has happened, and when the expected happens, it always causes me emotion. XXV Defiance As Derek Kettering passed the car, Mirelle leant out. DereekI must speak to you for a moment But, lifting his hat, Derek passed straight on without stopping. When he got back to his hotel, the concierge detached himself from his wooden pen and accosted him. A gentleman is waiting to see you, Monsieur. Who is it? asked Derek. He did not give his name, Monsieur, but he said his business with you was important, and that he would wait. Where is he? In the little salon, Monsieur. He preferred it to the lounge, he said, as being more private. Derek nodded, and turned his steps in that direction. The small salon was empty except for the visitor, who rose and bowed with easy foreign grace as Derek entered. As it chanced, Derek had only seen the Comte de la Roche once, but found no difficulty in recognising that aristocratic nobleman, and he frowned angrily. Of all the consummate impertinence! The Comte de la Roche, is it not? he said. I am afraid you have wasted your time in coming here. I hope not, said the Comte agreeably. His white teeth glittered. The Comtes charm of manner was usually wasted on his own sex. All men, without exception, disliked him heartily. Derek Kettering was already conscious of a distinct longing to kick the Count bodily out of the room. It was only the realisation that scandal would be unfortunate just at present that restrained him. He marvelled anew that Ruth could have cared, as she certainly had, for this fellow. A bounder, and worse than a bounder. He looked with distaste at the Counts exquisitely manicured hands. I called, said the Comte, on a little matter of business. It would be advisable, I think, for you to listen to me. Again Derek felt strongly tempted to kick him out, but again he refrained. The hint of a threat was not lost upon him, but he interpreted it in his own way. There were various reasons why it would be better to hear what the Comte had to say. He sat down and drummed impatiently with his fingers on the table. Well, he said sharply, what is it? It was not the Comtes way to come out into the open at once. Allow me, Monsieur, to offer you my condolences on your recent bereavement. If I have any impertinence from you, said Derek quietly, you go out by that window. He nodded his head towards the window beside the Comte, and the latter moved uneasily. I will send my friends to you, Monsieur, if that is what you desire, he said haughtily. Derek laughed. A duel, eh? My dear Count, I dont take you seriously enough for that. But I should take a good deal of pleasure in kicking you down the Promenade des Anglais. The Comte was not at all anxious to take offence. He merely raised his eyebrows and murmured The English are barbarians. Well, said Derek, what is it you have to say to me? I will be frank, said the Comte, I will come immediately to the point. That will suit us both, will it not? Again he smiled in his agreeable fashion. Go on, said Derek curtly. The Comte looked at the ceiling, joined the tips of his fingers together, and murmured softly You have come into a lot of money, Monsieur. What the devil has that got to do with you? The Comte drew himself up. Monsieur, my name is tarnished! I am suspectedaccusedof foul crime. The accusation does not come from me, said Derek coldly; as an interested party I have not expressed any opinion. I am innocent, said the Comte.

I swear before heavenhe raised his hand to heaventhat I am innocent. M. Carrge is, I believe, the Juge dInstruction in charge of the case, hinted Derek politely. The Comte took no notice. Not only am I unjustly suspected of a crime that I did not commit, but I am also in serious need of money. He coughed softly and suggestively. Derek rose to his feet. I was waiting for that, he said softly; you blackmailing brute! I will not give you a penny. My wife is dead, and no scandal that you can make can touch her now. She wrote you foolish letters, I dare say. If I were to buy them from you for a round sum at this minute, I am pretty certain that you would manage to keep one or two back; and I will tell you this, M. de la Roche, blackmailing is an ugly word both in England and France. That is my answer to you. Good afternoon. One momentthe Comte stretched out a hand as Derek was turning to leave the room. You are mistaken, Monsieur. You are completely mistaken. I am, I hope, a gentleman. Derek laughed. Any letters that a lady might write to me I should hold sacred. He flung back his head with a beautiful air of nobility. The proposition that I was putting before you was of quite a different nature. I am, as I said, extremely short of money, and my conscience might impel me to go to the police with certain information. Derek came slowly back into the room. What do you mean? The Comtes agreeable smile flashed forth once more. Surely it is not necessary to go into details, he purred. Seek whom the crime benefits, they say, dont they? As I said just now, you have come into a lot of money lately. Derek laughed. If that is all he said contemptuously. But the Comte was shaking his head. But it is not all, my dear sir. I should not come to you unless I had much more precise and detailed information than that. It is not agreeable, Monsieur, to be arrested and tried for murder. Derek came close up to him. His face expressed such furious anger that involuntarily the Comte drew back a pace or two. Are you threatening me? the young man demanded angrily. You shall hear nothing more of the matter, the Comte assured him. Of all the colossal bluffs that I have ever struck The Comte raised a white hand. You are wrong. It is not a bluff. To convince you I will tell you this. My information was obtained from a certain lady. It is she who holds the irrefutable proof that you committed the murder. She? Who? Mademoiselle Mirelle. Derek drew back as though struck. Mirelle, he muttered. The Comte was quick to press what he took to be his advantage. A bagatelle of one hundred thousand francs, he said. I ask no more. Eh? said Derek absently. I was saying, Monsieur, that a bagatelle of one hundred thousand francs would satisfy myconscience. Derek seemed to recollect himself. He looked earnestly at the Comte. You would like my answer now? If you please, Monsieur. Then here it is. You can go to the devil. See? Leaving the Comte too astonished to speak, Derek turned on his heel and swung out of the room. Once out of the hotel he hailed a taxi and drove to Mirelles hotel. On inquiring, he learned that the dancer had just come in. Derek gave the concierge his card. Take this up to Mademoiselle and ask if she will see me. A very brief interval elapsed, and then Derek was bidden to follow a chasseur. A wave of exotic perfume assailed Dereks nostrils as he stepped over the threshold of the dancers apartments. The room was filled with carnations, orchids, and mimosa. Mirelle was standing by the window in a pegnoir of foamy lace. She came towards him, her hands outstretched. Dereekyou have come to me. I knew you would. He put aside the clinging arms and looked down on her sternly. Why did you send the Comte de la Roche to me? She looked at him in astonishment, which he took to be genuine. I? Send the Comte de la Roche to you? But for what? Apparentlyfor blackmail, said Derek grimly. Again she stared. Then suddenly she smiled and nodded her head. Of course. It was to be expected. It is what he would do, ce type l. I might have known it. No, indeed, Dereek, I did not send him. He looked at her piercingly, as though seeking to read her mind. I will tell you, said Mirelle. I am ashamed, but I will tell you. The other day, you comprehend, I was mad with rage, quite madshe made an eloquent gesture. My temperament, it is not a patient one. I want to be revenged on you, and so I go to the Comte de la Roche, and I tell him to go to the police and say soandso, and soandso. But have no fear, Dereek. Not completely did I lose my head; the proof rests with me alone. The police can do nothing without my word, you understand? And nownow? She nestled up close to him, looking at him with melting eyes. He thrust her roughly away from him. She stood there, her breast heaving, her eyes narrowing to catlike slits. Be careful, Dereek, be very careful. You have come back to me, have you not? I shall never come back to you, said Derek steadily. Ah! More than ever the dancer looked like a cat. Her eyelids flickered. So there is another woman? The one with whom you lunched that day. Eh! am I right? I intend to ask that lady to marry me. You might as well know. That prim Englishwoman! Do you think that I will support that for one moment? Ah, no. Her beautiful lithe body quivered. Listen, Dereek, do you remember that conversation we had in London? You said the only thing that could save you was the death of your wife. You regretted that she was so healthy. Then the idea of an accident came to your brain. And more than an accident. I suppose, said Derek contemptuously, that it was this conversation that you repeated to the Comte de la Roche. Mirelle laughed. Am I a fool? Could the police do anything with a vague story like that? SeeI will give you a last chance. You shall give up this Englishwoman. You shall return to me. And then, chri, never, never will I breathe Breathe what? She laughed softly. You thought no one saw you What do you mean? As I say, you thought no one saw youbut I saw you, Dereek, mon ami; I saw you coming out of the compartment of Madame your wife just before the train got into Lyons that night. And I know more than that. I know that when you came out of her compartment she was dead. He stared at her. Then, like a man in a dream, he turned very slowly and went out of the room, swaying slightly as he walked. XXVI A Warning And so it is, said Poirot, that we are the good friends and have no secrets from each other. Katherine turned her head to look at him. There was something in his voice, some undercurrent of seriousness, which she had not heard before. They were sitting in the gardens of Monte Carlo. Katherine had come over with her friends, and they had run into Knighton and Poirot almost immediately on arrival. Lady Tamplin had seized upon Knighton and had overwhelmed him with reminiscences, most of which Katherine had a faint suspicion were invented. They had moved away together, Lady Tamplin with her hand on the young mans arm. Knighton had thrown a couple of glances back over his shoulder, and Poirots eyes twinkled a little as he saw them. Of course we are friends, said Katherine. From the beginning we have been sympathetic to each other, mused Poirot. When you told me that a roman policier occurs in real life. And I was right, was I not? he challenged her, with an emphatic forefinger. Here we are, plunged in the middle of one. That is natural for meit is my mtierbut for you it is different. Yes, he added in a reflective tone, for you it is different. She looked sharply at him. It was as though he were warning her, pointing out to her some menace that she had not seen. Why do you say that I am in the middle of it? It is true that I had that conversation with Mrs. Kettering just before she died, but nownow all that is over. I am not connected with the case any more. Ah, Mademoiselle, Mademoiselle, can we ever say, I have finished with this or that? Katherine turned defiantly round to face him. What is it? she asked. You are trying to tell me somethingto convey it to me rather. But I am not clever at taking hints. I would much rather that you said anything you have to say straight out. Poirot looked at her sadly. Ah, mais cest anglais a, he murmured, everything in black and white, everything clear cut and well defined. But life, it is not like that, Mademoiselle. There are the things that are not yet, but which cast their shadow before. He dabbed his brow with a very large silk pockethandkerchief and murmured Ah, but it is that I become poetical. Let us, as you say, speak only of facts. And, speaking of facts, tell me what you think of Major Knighton. I like him very much indeed, said Katherine warmly; he is quite delightful. Poirot sighed. What is the matter? asked Katherine. You reply so heartily, said Poirot. If you had said in an indifferent voice, Oh, quite nice, eh bien, do you know I should have been better pleased. Katherine did not answer. She felt slightly uncomfortable. Poirot went on dreamily And yet, who knows? With les femmes, they have so many ways of concealing what they feeland heartiness is perhaps as good a way as any other. He sighed. I dont see began Katherine. He interrupted her. You do not see why I am being so impertinent, Mademoiselle? I am an old man, and now and thennot very oftenI come across someone whose welfare is dear to me. We are friends, Mademoiselle. You have said so yourself. And it is just thisI should like to see you happy. Katherine stared very straight in front of her. She had a cretonne sunshade with her, and with its point she traced little designs in the gravel at her feet. I have asked you a question about Major Knighton, now I will ask you another. Do you like Mr. Derek Kettering? I hardly know him, said Katherine. That is not an answer, that. I think it is. He looked at her, struck by something in her tone. Then he nodded his head gravely and slowly. Perhaps you are right, Mademoiselle. See you, I who speak to you have seen much of the world, and I know that there are two things which are true. A good man may be ruined by his love for a bad womanbut the other way holds good also. A bad man may equally be ruined by his love for a good woman. Katherine looked up sharply. When you say ruined I mean from his point of view. One must be wholehearted in crime as in everything else. You are trying to warn me, said Katherine in a low voice. Against whom? I cannot look into your heart, Mademoiselle; I do not think you would let me if I could. I will just say this. There are men who have a strange fascination for women. The Comte de la Roche, said Katherine, with a smile. There are othersmore dangerous than the Comte de la Roche. They have qualities that appealrecklessness, daring, audacity. You are fascinated, Mademoiselle; I see that, but I think that it is no more than that. I hope so. This man of whom I speak, the emotion he feels is genuine enough, but all the same Yes? He got up and stood looking down at her. Then he spoke in a low, distinct voice You could, perhaps, love a thief, Mademoiselle, but not a murderer. He wheeled sharply away on that and left her sitting there. He heard the little gasp she gave and paid no attention. He had said what he meant to say. He left her there to digest that last unmistakable phrase. Derek Kettering, coming out of the Casino into the sunshine, saw her sitting alone on the bench and joined her. I have been gambling, he said, with a light laugh, gambling unsuccessfully. I have lost everythingeverything, that is, that I have with me. Katherine looked at him with a troubled face. She was aware at once of something new in his manner, some hidden excitement that betrayed itself in a hundred different infinitesimal signs. I should think you were always a gambler. The spirit of gambling appeals to you. Every day and in every way a gambler? You are about right. Dont you find something stimulating in it? To risk all on one throwthere is nothing like it. Calm and stolid as she believed herself to be, Katherine felt a faint answering thrill. I want to talk to you, went on Derek, and who knows when I may have another opportunity? There is an idea going about that I murdered my wifeno, please dont interrupt. It is absurd, of course. He paused for a minute or two, then went on, speaking more deliberately. In dealing with the police and Local Authorities here I have had to pretend towella certain decency. I prefer not to pretend with you. I meant to marry money. I was on the lookout for money when I first met Ruth Van Aldin. She had the look of a slim Madonna about her, and IwellI made all sorts of good resolutionsand was bitterly disillusioned. My wife was in love with another man when she married me. She never cared for me in the least. Oh, I am not complaining; the thing was a perfectly respectable bargain. She wanted Leconbury and I wanted money. The trouble arose simply through Ruths American blood. Without caring a pin for me, she would have liked me to be continually dancing attendance. Time and again she as good as told me that she had bought me and that I belonged to her. The result was that I behaved abominably to her. My fatherinlaw will tell you that, and he is quite right. At the time of Ruths death, I was faced with absolute disaster. He laughed suddenly. One is faced with absolute disaster when one is up against a man like Rufus Van Aldin. And then? asked Katherine in a low voice. And then, Derek shrugged his shoulders, Ruth was murderedvery providentially. He laughed, and the sound of his laugh hurt Katherine. She winced. Yes, said Derek, that wasnt in very good taste. But it is quite true. Now I am going to tell you something more. From the very first moment I saw you I knew you were the only woman in the world for me. I wasafraid of you. I thought you might bring me bad luck. Bad luck? said Katherine sharply. He stared at her. Why do you repeat it like that? What have you got in your mind? I was thinking of things that people have said to me. Derek grinned suddenly. They will say a lot to you about me, my dear, and most of it will be true. Yes, and worse things toothings that I shall never tell you. I have been a gambler alwaysand I have taken some long odds. I shant confess to you now or at any other time. The past is done with. There is one thing I do wish you to believe. I swear to you solemnly that I did not kill my wife. He said the words earnestly enough, yet there was somehow a theatrical touch about them. He met her troubled gaze and went on I know. I lied the other day. It was my wifes compartment I went into. Ah, said Katherine. Its difficult to explain just why I went in, but Ill try. I did it on an impulse. You see, I was more or less spying on my wife. I kept out of sight on the train. Mirelle had told me that my wife was meeting the Comte de la Roche in Paris. Well, as far as I had seen, that was not so. I felt ashamed, and I thought suddenly that it would be a good thing to have it out with her once and for all, so I pushed open the door and went in. He paused. Yes, said Katherine gently. Ruth was lying on the bunk asleepher face was turned away from meI could only see the back of her head. I could have woken her up, of course. But suddenly I felt a reaction. What, after all, was there to say that we hadnt both of us said a hundred times before? She looked so peaceful lying there. I left the compartment as quietly as I could. Why lie about it to the police? asked Katherine. Because Im not a complete fool. Ive realised from the beginning that, from the point of view of motive, Im the ideal murderer. If I once admitted that I had been in her compartment just before she was murdered, Id do for myself once and for all. I see. Did she see? She could not have told herself. She was feeling the magnetic attraction of Dereks personality, but there was something in her that resisted, that held back Katherine I You know that I care for you. Dodo you care for me? II dont know. Weakness there. Either she knew or she did not know. Ifif only She cast a look round desperately as though seeking something that would help her. A soft colour rose in her cheeks as a tall fair man with a limp came hurrying along the path towards themMajor Knighton. There was relief and an unexpected warmth in her voice as she greeted him. Derek stood up, scowling, his face black as a thundercloud. Lady Tamplin having a flutter? he said easily. I must join her and give her the benefit of my system. He swung round on his heel and left them together. Katherine sat down again. Her heart was beating rapidly and unevenly, but as she sat there, talking commonplaces to the quiet, rather shy man beside her, her selfcommand came back. Then she realised with a shock that Knighton also was laying bare his heart, much as Derek had done, but in a very different manner. He was shy and stammering. The words came haltingly with no eloquence to back them. From the first moment I saw youII ought not to have spoken so soonbut Mr. Van Aldin may leave here any day, and I might not have another chance. I know you cant care for me so soonthat is impossible. I dare say it is presumption anyway on my part. I have private means, but not very muchno, please dont answer now. I know what your answer would be. But in case I went away suddenly I just wanted you to knowthat I care. She was shakentouched. His manner was so gentle and appealing. Theres one thing more. I just wanted to say that ifif you are ever in trouble, anything that I can do He took her hand in his, held it tightly for a minute, then dropped it and walked rapidly away towards the Casino without looking back. Katherine sat perfectly still, looking after him. Derek KetteringRichard Knightontwo men so differentso very different. There was something kind about Knighton, kind and trustworthy. As to Derek Then suddenly Katherine had a very curious sensation. She felt that she was no longer sitting alone on the seat in the Casino gardens, but that someone was standing beside her, and that that someone was the dead woman, Ruth Kettering. She had a further impression that Ruth wantedbadlyto tell her something. The impression was so curious, so vivid, that it could not be driven away. She felt absolutely certain that the spirit of Ruth Kettering was trying to convey something of vital importance to her. The impression faded. Katherine got up, trembling a little. What was it that Ruth Kettering had wanted so badly to say? XXVII Interview with Mirelle When Knighton left Katherine he went in search of Hercule Poirot, whom he found in the Rooms, jauntily placing the minimum stake on the even numbers. As Knighton joined him, the number thirtythree turned up, and Poirots stake was swept away. Bad luck! said Knighton; are you going to stake again? Poirot shook his head. Not at present. Do you feel the fascination of gambling? asked Knighton curiously. Not at roulette. Knighton shot a swift glance at him. His own face became troubled. He spoke haltingly, with a touch of deference. I wonder, are you busy, M. Poirot? There is something I would like to ask you about. I am at your disposal. Shall we go outside? It is pleasant in the sunshine. They strolled out together, and Knighton drew a deep breath. I love the Riviera, he said. I came here first twelve years ago, during the War, when I was sent to Lady Tamplins Hospital. It was like Paradise, coming from Flanders to this. It must have been, said Poirot. How long ago the War seems now! mused Knighton. They walked on in silence for some little way. You have something on your mind? said Poirot. Knighton looked at him in some surprise. You are quite right, he confessed. I dont know how you knew it, though. It showed itself only too plainly, said Poirot drily. I did not know that I was so transparent. It is my business to observe the physiognomy, the little man explained, with dignity. I will tell you, M. Poirot. You have heard of this dancer womanMirelle? She who is the chre amie of M. Derek Kettering? Yes, that is the one; and, knowing this, you will understand that Mr. Van Aldin is naturally prejudiced against her. She wrote to him, asking for an interview. He told me to dictate a curt refusal, which of course I did. This morning she came to the hotel and sent up her card, saying that it was urgent and vital that she should see Mr. Van Aldin at once. You interest me, said Poirot. Mr. Van Aldin was furious. He told me what message to send down to her. I ventured to disagree with him. It seemed to me both likely and probable that this woman Mirelle might give us valuable information. We know that she was on the Blue Train, and she may have seen or heard something that it might be vital for us to know. Dont you agree with me, M. Poirot? I do, said Poirot drily. M. Van Aldin, if I may say so, behaved exceedingly foolishly. I am glad you take that view of the matter, said the secretary. Now I am going to tell you something, M. Poirot. So strongly did I feel the unwisdom of Mr. Van Aldins attitude that I went down privately and had an interview with the lady. Eh bien? The difficulty was that she insisted on seeing Mr. Van Aldin himself. I softened his message as much as I possibly could. In factto be candidI gave it in a very different form. I said that Mr. Van Aldin was too busy to see her at present, but that she might make any communication she wished to me. That, however, she could not bring herself to do, and she left without saying anything further. But I have a strong impression, M. Poirot, that that woman knows something. This is serious, said Poirot quietly. You know where she is staying? Yes. Knighton mentioned the name of the hotel. Good, said Poirot; we will go there immediately. The secretary looked doubtful. And Mr. Van Aldin? he queried doubtfully. M. Van Aldin is an obstinate man, said Poirot drily. I do not argue with obstinate men. I act in spite of them. We will go and see the lady immediately. I will tell her that you are empowered by M. Van Aldin to act for him, and you will guard yourself well from contradicting me. Knighton still looked slightly doubtful, but Poirot took no notice of his hesitation. At the hotel, they were told that Mademoiselle was in, and Poirot sent up both his and Knightons cards, with From Mr. Van Aldin pencilled upon them. Word came down that Mademoiselle Mirelle would receive them. When they were ushered into the dancers apartments, Poirot immediately took the lead. Mademoiselle, he murmured, bowing very low, we are here on behalf of M. Van Aldin. Ah! And why did he not come himself? He is indisposed, said Poirot mendaciously; the Riviera throat, it has him in its grip, but me I am empowered to act for him, as is Major Knighton, his secretary. Unless, of course, Mademoiselle would prefer to wait a fortnight or so. If there was one thing of which Poirot was tolerably certain, it was that to a temperament such as Mirelles the mere word wait was anathema. Eh bien, I will speak, Messieurs, she cried. I have been patient. I have held my hand. And for what? That I should be insulted! Yes, insulted! Ah! Does he think to treat Mirelle like that? To throw her off like an old glove. I tell you never has a man tired of me. Always it is I who tire of them. She paced up and down the room, her slender body trembling with rage. A small table impeded her free passage, and she flung it from her into a corner, where it splintered against the wall. That is what I will do to him, she cried, and that! Picking up a glass bowl filled with lilies she flung it into the grate, where it smashed into a hundred pieces. Knighton was looking at her with cold British disapproval. He felt embarrassed and ill at ease. Poirot, on the other hand, with twinkling eyes was thoroughly enjoying the scene. Ah, it is magnificent! he cried. It can be seenMadame has a temperament. I am an artist, said Mirelle; every artist has a temperament. I told Dereek to beware, and he would not listen. She whirled round on Poirot suddenly. It is true, is it not, that he wants to marry that English miss? Poirot coughed. On ma dit, he murmured, that he adores her passionately. Mirelle came towards them. He murdered his wife, she screamed. Therenow you have it! He told me beforehand that he meant to do it. He had got to an impassezut! he took the easiest way out. You say that M. Kettering murdered his wife. Yes, yes, yes. Have I not told you so? The police, murmured Poirot, will need proof of thaterstatement. I tell you I saw him come out of her compartment that night on the train. When? asked Poirot sharply. Just before the train reached Lyons. You will swear to that, Mademoiselle? It was a different Poirot who spoke now, sharp and decisive. Yes. There was a moments silence. Mirelle was panting, and her eyes, half defiant, half frightened, went from the face of one man to the other. This is a serious matter, Mademoiselle, said the detective. You realise how serious? Certainly I do. That is well, said Poirot. Then you understand, Mademoiselle, that no time must be lost. You will, perhaps, accompany us immediately to the office of the Examining Magistrate. Mirelle was taken aback. She hesitated, but, as Poirot had foreseen, she had no loophole for escape. Very well, she muttered. I will fetch a coat. Left alone together, Poirot and Knighton exchanged glances. It is necessary to act whilehow do you say it?the iron is hot, murmured Poirot. She is temperamental; in an hours time, maybe, she will repent, and she will wish to draw back. We must prevent that at all costs. Mirelle reappeared, wrapped in a sandcoloured velvet wrap trimmed with leopard skin. She looked not altogether unlike a leopardess, tawny and dangerous. Her eyes still flashed with anger and determination. They found M. Caux and the Examining Magistrate together. A few brief introductory words from Poirot, and Mademoiselle Mirelle was courteously entreated to tell her tale. This she did in much the same words as she had done to Knighton and Poirot, though with far more soberness of manner. This is an extraordinary story, Mademoiselle, said M. Carrge slowly. He leant back in his chair, adjusted his pincenez, and looked keenly and searchingly at the dancer through them. You wish us to believe M. Kettering actually boasted of the crime to you beforehand? Yes, yes. She was too healthy, he said. If she were to die it must be an accidenthe would arrange it all. You are aware, Mademoiselle, said M. Carrge sternly, that you are making yourself out to be an accessory before the fact? Me? But not the least in the world, Monsieur. Not for a moment did I take that statement seriously. Ah no indeed! I know men, Monsieur; they say many wild things. It would be an odd state of affairs if one were to take all they said au pied de la lettre. The Examining Magistrate raised his eyebrows. We are to take it, then, that you regarded M. Ketterings threats as mere idle words? May I ask, Mademoiselle, what made you throw up your engagements in London and come out to the Riviera? Mirelle looked at him with melting black eyes. I wished to be with the man I loved, she said simply. Was it so unnatural? Poirot interpolated a question gently. Was it, then, at M. Ketterings wish that you accompanied him to Nice? Mirelle seemed to find a little difficulty in answering this. She hesitated perceptibly before she spoke. When she did, it was with a haughty indifference of manner. In such matters I please myself, Monsieur, she said. That the answer was not an answer at all was noted by all three men. They said nothing. When were you first convinced that M. Kettering had murdered his wife? As I tell you, Monsieur, I saw M. Kettering come out of his wifes compartment just before the train drew in to Lyons. There was a look on his faceah! at the moment I could not understand ita look haunted and terrible. I shall never forget it. Her voice rose shrilly, and she flung out her arms in an extravagant gesture. Quite so, said M. Carrge. Afterwards, when I found that Madame Kettering was dead when the train left Lyons, thenthen I knew! And stillyou did not go to the police, Mademoiselle, said the Commissary mildly. Mirelle glanced at him superbly; she was clearly enjoying herself in the role she was playing. Shall I betray my lover? she asked. Ah no; do not ask a woman to do that. Yet now hinted M. Caux. Now it is different. He has betrayed me! Shall I suffer that in silence? The Examining Magistrate checked her. Quite so, quite so, he murmured soothingly. And now, Mademoiselle, perhaps you will read over the statement of what you have told us, see that it is correct, and sign it. Mirelle wasted no time on the document. Yes, yes, she said, it is correct. She rose to her feet. You require me no longer, Messieurs? At present, no, Mademoiselle. And Dereek will be arrested? At once, Mademoiselle. Mirelle laughed cruelly and drew her fur draperies closer about her. He should have thought of this before he insulted me, she cried. There is one little matterPoirot coughed apologeticallyjust a matter of detail. Yes? What makes you think that Madame Kettering was dead when the train left Lyons? Mirelle stared. But she was dead. Was she? Yes, of course. I She came to an abrupt stop. Poirot was regarding her intently, and he saw the wary look that came into her eyes. I have been told so. Everybody says so. Oh, said Poirot, I was not aware that the fact had been mentioned outside the Examining Magistrates office. Mirelle appeared somewhat discomposed. One hears those things, she said vaguely; they get about. Somebody told me. I cant remember who it was. She moved to the door. M. Caux sprang forward to open it for her, and as he did so, Poirots voice rose gently once more. And the jewels? Pardon, Mademoiselle. Can you tell me anything about those? The jewels? What jewels? The rubies of Catherine the Great. Since you hear so much, you must have heard of them. I know nothing about any jewels, said Mirelle sharply. She went out, closing the door behind her. M. Caux came back to his chair; the Examining Magistrate sighed. What a fury! he said, but diablement chic. I wonder if she is telling the truth? I think so. There is some truth in her story, certainly, said Poirot. We have confirmation of it from Miss Grey. She was looking down the corridor a short time before the train reached Lyons, and she saw M. Kettering go into his wifes compartment. The case against him seems quite clear, said the Commissary, sighing. It is a thousand pities, he murmured. How do you mean? asked Poirot. It has been the ambition of my life to lay the Comte de la Roche by the heels. This time, ma foi, I thought we had got him. This otherit is not nearly so satisfactory. M. Carrge rubbed his nose. If anything goes wrong, he observed cautiously, it will be most awkward. M. Kettering is of the aristocracy. It will get into the newspapers. If we have made a mistake He shrugged his shoulders forebodingly. The jewels now, said the Commissary, what do you think he has done with them? He took them for a plant, of course, said M. Carrge; they must have been a great inconvenience to him and very awkward to dispose of. Poirot smiled. I have an idea of my own about the jewels. Tell me, Messieurs, what do you know of a man called the Marquis? The Commissary leant forward excitedly. The Marquis, he said, the Marquis? Do you think he is mixed up in this affair, M. Poirot? I ask you what you know of him. The Commissary made an expressive grimace. Not as much as we should like to, he observed ruefully. He works behind the scenes, you understand. He has underlings who do his dirty work for him. But he is someone high up. That we are sure of. He does not come from the criminal classes. A Frenchman? Yes. At least we believe so. But we are not sure. He has worked in France, in England, in America.

There was a series of robberies in Switzerland last autumn which were laid at his door. By all accounts he is a grand seigneur, speaking French and English with equal perfection, and his origin is a mystery. Poirot nodded and rose to take his departure. Can you tell us nothing more, M. Poirot? urged the Commissary. At present, no, said Poirot, but I may have news awaiting me at my hotel. M. Carrge looked uncomfortable. If the Marquis is concerned in this he began, and then stopped. It upsets our ideas, complained M. Caux. It does not upset mine, said Poirot. On the contrary, I think it agrees with them very well. Au revoir, Messieurs; if news of any importance comes to me I will communicate it to you immediately. He walked back to his hotel with a grave face. In his absence, a telegram had come for him. Taking a papercutter from his pocket, he slit it open. It was a long telegram, and he read it over twice before slowly putting it in his pocket. Upstairs, George was awaiting his master. I am fatigued, Georges, much fatigued. Will you order for me a small pot of chocolate? The chocolate was duly ordered and brought, and George set it at the little table at his masters elbow. As he was preparing to retire, Poirot spoke I believe, Georges, that you have a good knowledge of the English aristocracy? murmured Poirot. George smiled apologetically. I think that I might say that I have, sir, he replied. I suppose that it is your opinion, Georges, that criminals are invariably drawn from the lower orders? Not always, sir. There was great trouble with one of the Duke of Devizes younger sons. He left Eton under a cloud, and after that he caused great anxiety on several occasions. The police would not accept the view that it was kleptomania. A very clever young gentleman, sir, but vicious through and through, if you take my meaning. His Grace shipped him to Australia, and I hear he was convicted out there under another name. Very odd, sir, but there it is. The young gentleman, I need hardly say, was not in want financially. Poirot nodded his head slowly. Love of excitement, he murmured, and a little kink in the brain somewhere. I wonder now He drew out the telegram from his pocket and read it again. Then there was Lady Mary Foxs daughter, continued the valet in a mood of reminiscence. Swindled tradespeople something shocking, she did. Very worrying to the best families, if I may say so, and there are many other queer cases I could mention. You have a wide experience, Georges, murmured Poirot. I often wonder having lived so exclusively with titled families that you demean yourself by coming as a valet to me. I put it down to love of excitement on your part. Not exactly, sir, said George. I happened to see in Society Snippets that you had been received at Buckingham Palace. That was just when I was looking for a new situation. His Majesty, so it said, had been most gracious and friendly and thought very highly of your abilities. Ah, said Poirot, one always likes to know the reason for things. He remained in thought for a few moments and then said You rang up Mademoiselle Papopolous? Yes, sir; she and her father will be pleased to dine with you tonight. Ah, said Poirot thoughtfully. He drank off his chocolate, set the cup and saucer neatly in the middle of the tray, and spoke gently, more to himself than to the valet. The squirrel, my good Georges, collects nuts. He stores them up in the autumn so that they may be of advantage to him later. To make a success of humanity, Georges, we must profit by the lessons of those below us in the animal kingdom. I have always done so. I have been the cat, watching the mouse hole. I have been the good dog following up the scent, and not taking my nose from the trail. And also, my good Georges, I have been the squirrel. I have stored away the little fact here, the little fact there. I go now to my store and I take out one particular nut, a nut that I stored awaylet me see, seventeen years ago. You follow me, Georges? I should hardly have thought, sir, said George, that nuts would have kept so long as that, though I know one can do wonders with preserving bottles. Poirot looked at him and smiled. XXVIII Poirot Plays the Squirrel Poirot started to keep his dinner appointment with a margin of threequarters of an hour to spare. He had an object in this. The car took him, not straight to Monte Carlo, but to Lady Tamplins house at Cap Martin, where he asked for Miss Grey. The ladies were dressing and Poirot was shown into a small salon to wait, and here, after a lapse of three or four minutes, Lenox Tamplin came to him. Katherine is not quite ready yet, she said. Can I give her a message, or would you rather wait until she comes down? Poirot looked at her thoughtfully. He was a minute or two in replying, as though something of great weight hung upon his decision. Apparently the answer to such a simple question mattered. No, he said at last, no, I do not think it is necessary that I should wait to see Mademoiselle Katherine. I think, perhaps, that it is better that I should not. These things are sometimes difficult. Lenox waited politely, her eyebrows slightly raised. I have a piece of news, continued Poirot. You will, perhaps, tell your friend. M. Kettering was arrested tonight for the murder of his wife. You want me to tell Katherine that? asked Lenox. She breathed rather hard, as though she had been running; her face, Poirot thought, looked white and strainedrather noticeably so. If you please, Mademoiselle. Why? said Lenox. Do you think Katherine will be upset? Do you think she cares? I dont know, Mademoiselle, said Poirot. See, I admit it frankly. As a rule I know everything, but in this case, Iwell, I do not. You, perhaps, know better than I do. Yes, said Lenox, I knowbut I am not going to tell you all the same. She paused for a minute or two, her dark brows drawn together in a frown. You believe he did it? she said abruptly. Poirot shrugged his shoulders. The police say so. Ah, said Lenox, hedging, are you? So there is something to hedge about. Again she was silent, frowning. Poirot said gently You have known Derek Kettering a long time, have you not? Off and on ever since I was a kid, said Lenox gruffly. Poirot nodded his head several times without speaking. With one of her brusque movements Lenox drew forward a chair and sat down on it, her elbows on the table and her face supported by her hands. Sitting thus, she looked directly across the table at Poirot. What have they got to go on? she demanded. Motive, I suppose. Probably came into money at her death. He came into two million. And if she had not died he would have been ruined? Yes. But there must have been more than that, persisted Lenox. He travelled by the same train, I know, butthat would not be enough to go on by itself. A cigarette case with the letter K on it which did not belong to Mrs. Kettering was found in her carriage, and he was seen by two people entering and leaving the compartment just before the train got into Lyons. What two people? Your friend Miss Grey was one of them. The other was Mademoiselle Mirelle, the dancer. And he, Derek, what has he got to say about it? demanded Lenox sharply. He denies having entered his wifes compartment at all, said Poirot. Fool! said Lenox crisply, frowning. Just before Lyons, you say? Does nobody know whenwhen she died? The doctors evidence necessarily cannot be very definite, said Poirot; they are inclined to think that death was unlikely to have occurred after leaving Lyons. And we know this much, that a few moments after leaving Lyons Mrs. Kettering was dead. How do you know that? Poirot was smiling rather oddly to himself. Someone else went into her compartment and found her dead. And they did not rouse the train? No. Why was that? Doubtless they had their reasons. Lenox looked at him sharply. Do you know the reason? I think soyes. Lenox sat still turning things over in her mind. Poirot watched her in silence. At last she looked up. A soft colour had come into her cheeks and her eyes were shining. You think someone on the train must have killed her, but that need not be so at all. What is to stop anyone swinging themselves on to the train when it stopped at Lyons? They could go straight to her compartment, strangle her, and take the rubies and drop off the train again without anyone being the wiser. She may have been actually killed while the train was in Lyons station. Then she would have been alive when Derek went in, and dead when the other person found her. Poirot leant back in his chair. He drew a deep breath. He looked across at the girl and nodded his head three times, then he heaved a sigh. Mademoiselle, he said, what you have said there is very justvery true. I was struggling in the darkness, and you have shown me a light. There was a point that puzzled me and you have made it plain. He got up. And Derek? said Lenox. Who knows? said Poirot, with a shrug of his shoulders. But I will tell you this, Mademoiselle. I am not satisfied; no, I, Hercule Poirot, am not yet satisfied. It may be that this very night I shall learn something more. At least, I go to try. You are meeting someone? Yes. Someone who knows something? Someone who might know something. In these matters one must leave no stone unturned. Au revoir, Mademoiselle. Lenox accompanied him to the door. Have Ihelped? she asked. Poirots face softened as he looked up at her standing on the doorstep above him. Yes, Mademoiselle, you have helped. If things are very dark, always remember that. When the car had driven off he relapsed into a frowning absorption, but in his eyes was that faint green light which was always the precursor of the triumph to be. He was a few minutes late at the rendezvous, and found that M. Papopolous and his daughter had arrived before him. His apologies were abject, and he outdid himself in politeness and small attentions. The Greek was looking particularly benign and noble this evening, a sorrowful patriarch of blameless life. Zia was looking handsome and good humoured. The dinner was a pleasant one. Poirot was his best and most sparkling self. He told anecdotes, he made jokes, he paid graceful compliments to Zia Papopolous, and he told many interesting incidents of his career. The menu was a carefully selected one, and the wine was excellent. At the close of dinner M. Papopolous inquired politely And the tip I gave you? You have had your little flutter on the horse? I am in communication withermy bookmaker, replied Poirot. The eyes of the two men met. A wellknown horse, eh? No, said Poirot; it is what our friends, the English, call a dark horse. Ah! said M. Papopolous thoughtfully. Now we must step across to the Casino and have our little flutter at the roulette table, cried Poirot gaily. At the Casino the party separated, Poirot devoting himself solely to Zia, whilst Papopolous himself drifted away. Poirot was not fortunate, but Zia had a run of good luck, and had soon won a few thousand francs. It would be as well, she observed drily to Poirot, if I stopped now. Poirots eyes twinkled. Superb! he exclaimed. You are the daughter of your father, Mademoiselle Zia. To know when to stop. Ah! that is the art. He looked round the rooms. I cannot see your father anywhere about, he remarked carelessly. I will fetch your cloak for you, Mademoiselle, and we will go out in the gardens. He did not, however, go straight to the cloakroom. His sharp eyes had seen but a little while before the departure of M. Papopolous. He was anxious to know what had become of the wily Greek. He ran him to earth unexpectedly in the big entrance hall. He was standing by one of the pillars, talking to a lady who had just arrived. The lady was Mirelle. Poirot sidled unostentatiously round the room. He arrived at the other side of the pillar, and unnoticed by the two who were talking together in an animated fashionor rather, that is to say, the dancer was talking, Papopolous contributing an occasional monosyllable and a good many expressive gestures. I tell you I must have time, the dancer was saying. If you give me time I will get the money. To waitthe Greek shrugged his shouldersit is awkward. Only a very little while, pleaded the other. Ah! but you must! A weekten daysthat is all I ask. You can be sure of your affair. The money will be forthcoming. Papopolous shifted a little and looked round him uneasilyto find Poirot almost at his elbow with a beaming innocent face. Ah! vous voil, M. Papopolous. I have been looking for you. It is permitted that I take Mademoiselle Zia for a little turn in the gardens? Good evening, Mademoiselle. He bowed very low to Mirelle. A thousand pardons that I did not see you immediately. The dancer accepted his greetings rather impatiently. She was clearly annoyed at the interruption of her ttette. Poirot was quick to take the hint. Papopolous had already murmured Certainlybut certainly, and Poirot withdrew forthwith. He fetched Zias cloak, and together they strolled out into the gardens. This is where the suicides take place, said Zia. Poirot shrugged his shoulders. So it is said. Men are foolish, are they not, Mademoiselle? To eat, to drink, to breathe the good air, it is a very pleasant thing, Mademoiselle. One is foolish to leave all that simply because one has no moneyor because the heart aches. Lamour, it causes many fatalities, does it not? Zia laughed. You should not laugh at love, Mademoiselle, said Poirot, shaking an energetic forefinger at her. You who are young and beautiful. Hardly that, said Zia; you forget that I am thirtythree, M. Poirot. I am frank with you, because it is no good being otherwise. As you told my father it is exactly seventeen years since you aided us in Paris that time. When I look at you, it seems much less, said Poirot gallantly. You were then very much as you are now, Mademoiselle, a little thinner, a little paler, a little more serious. Sixteen years old and fresh from your pension. Not quite the petite pensionnaire, not quite a woman. You were very delicious, very charming, Mademoiselle Zia; others thought so too, without doubt. At sixteen, said Zia, one is simple and a little fool. That may be, said Poirot; yes, that well may be. At sixteen one is credulous, is one not? One believes what one is told. If he saw the quick sideways glance that the girl shot at him, he pretended not to have done so. He continued dreamily It was a curious affair that, altogether. Your father, Mademoiselle, has never understood the true inwardness of it. No? When he asked me for details, for explanations, I said to him thus Without scandal, I have got back for you that which was lost. You must ask no questions. Do you know, Mademoiselle, why I said these things? I have no idea, said the girl coldly. It was because I had a soft spot in my heart for a little pensionnaire, so pale, so thin, so serious. I dont understand what you are talking about, cried Zia angrily. Do you not, Mademoiselle? Have you forgotten Antonio Pirezzio? He heard the quick intake of her breathalmost a gasp. He came to work as an assistant in the shop, but not thus could he have got hold of what he wanted. An assistant can lift his eyes to his masters daughter, can he not? If he is young and handsome with a glib tongue. And since they cannot make love all the time, they must occasionally talk of things that interest them bothsuch as that very interesting thing which was temporarily in M. Papopolous possession. And since, as you say, Mademoiselle, the young are foolish and credulous, it was easy to believe him and to give him a sight of that particular thing, to show him where it was kept. And afterwards when it is gonewhen the unbelievable catastrophe has happened. Alas! the poor little pensionnaire. What a terrible position she is in. She is frightened, the poor little one. To speak or not to speak? And then there comes along that excellent fellow, Hercule Poirot. Almost a miracle it must have been, the way things arranged themselves. The priceless heirlooms are restored and there are no awkward questions. Zia turned on him fiercely. You have known all the time? Who told you? Was itwas it Antonio? Poirot shook his head. No one told me, he said quietly. I guessed. It was a good guess, was it not, Mademoiselle? You see, unless you are good at guessing, it is not much use being a detective. The girl walked along beside him for some minutes in silence. Then she said in a hard voice Well, what are you going to do about it? Are you going to tell my father? No, said Poirot sharply. Certainly not. She looked at him curiously. You want something from me? I want your help, Mademoiselle. What makes you think that I can help you? I do not think so. I only hope so. And if I do not help you, thenyou will tell my father? But no, but no! Debarrass yourself of that idea, Mademoiselle. I am not a blackmailer. I do not hold your secret over your head and threaten you with it. If I refuse to help you began the girl slowly. Then you refuse, and that is that. Then why she stopped. Listen, and I will tell you why. Women, Mademoiselle, are generous. If they can render a service to one who has rendered a service to them, they will do it. I was generous once to you, Mademoiselle. When I might have spoken, I held my tongue. There was another silence; then the girl said, My father gave you a hint the other day. It was very kind of him. I do not think, said Zia slowly, that there is anything that I can add to that. If Poirot was disappointed he did not show it. Not a muscle of his face changed. Eh bien! he said cheerfully, then we must talk of other things. And he proceeded to chat gaily. The girl was distraite, however, and her answers were mechanical and not always to the point. It was when they were approaching the Casino once more that she seemed to come to a decision. M. Poirot? Yes, Mademoiselle? II should like to help you if I could. You are very amiable, Mademoisellevery amiable. Again there was a pause. Poirot did not press her. He was quite content to wait and let her take her own time. Ah bah, said Zia, after all, why should I not tell you? My father is cautiousalways cautious in everything he says. But I know that with you it is not necessary. You have told us it is only the murderer you seek, and that you are not concerned over the jewels. I believe you. You were quite right when you guessed that we were in Nice because of the rubies. They have been handed over here according to plan. My father has them now. He gave you a hint the other day as to who our mysterious client was. The Marquis? murmured Poirot softly. Yes, the Marquis. Have you ever seen the Marquis, Mademoiselle Zia? Once, said the girl. But not very well, she added. It was through a keyhole. That always presents difficulties, said Poirot sympathetically, but all the same you saw him. You would know him again? Zia shook her head. He wore a mask, she explained. Young or old? He had white hair. It may have been a wig, it may not. It fitted very well. But I do not think he was old. His walk was young, and so was his voice. His voice? said Poirot thoughtfully. Ah, his voice! Would you know it again, Mademoiselle Zia? I might, said the girl. You were interested in him, eh? It was that that took you to the keyhole. Zia nodded. Yes, yes. I was curious. One had heard so muchhe is not the ordinary thiefhe is more like a figure of history or romance. Yes, said Poirot thoughtfully; yes, perhaps so. But it is not this that I meant to tell you, said Zia. It was just one other little fact that I thought might bewelluseful to you. Yes? said Poirot encouragingly. The rubies, as I say, were handed over to my father here at Nice. I did not see the person who handed them over, but Yes? I know one thing. It was a woman. XXIX A Letter from Home Dear KatherineLiving among grand friends as you are doing now, I dont suppose you will care to hear any of our news; but as I always thought you were a sensible girl, perhaps you are a trifle less swollenheaded than I suppose. Everything goes on much the same here. There was great trouble about the new curate, who is scandalously high. In my view, he is neither more nor less than a Roman. Everybody has spoken to the Vicar about it, but you know what the Vicar isall Christian charity and no proper spirit. I have had a lot of trouble with maids lately. That girl Annie was no goodskirts up to her knees and wouldnt wear sensible woollen stockings. Not one of them can bear being spoken to. I have had a lot of pain with my rheumatism one way and another, and Dr. Harris persuaded me to go and see a London specialista waste of three guineas and a railway fare, as I told him; but by waiting until Wednesday I managed to get a cheap return. The London doctor pulled a long face and talked all round about and never straight out, until I said to him, Im a plain woman, Doctor, and I like things to be plainly stated. Is it cancer, or is it not? And then, of course, he had to say it was. They say a year with care, and not too much pain, though Im sure I can bear pain as well as any other Christian woman. Life seems rather lonely at times, with most of my friends dead or gone before. I wish you were in St. Mary Mead, my dear, and that is a fact. If you hadnt come into this money and gone off into grand society, I would have offered you double the salary poor Jane gave you to come and look after me; but theretheres no good wanting what we cant get. However, if things should go ill with youand that is always possible. I have heard no end of tales of bogus noblemen marrying girls and getting hold of their money and then leaving them at the church door. I dare say you are too sensible for anything of the kind to happen to you, but one never knows; and never having had much attention of any kind it might easily go to your head now. So just in case, my dear, remember there is always a home for you here; and though a plainspoken woman I am a warmhearted one too.Your affectionate old friend, Amelia Viner. P.S.I saw a mention of you in the paper with your cousin, Viscountess Tamplin, and I cut it out and put it with my cuttings. I prayed for you on Sunday that you might be kept from pride and vainglory. Katherine read this characteristic epistle through twice, then she laid it down and stared out of her bedroom window across the blue waters of the Mediterranean. She felt a curious lump in her throat. A sudden wave of longing for St. Mary Mead swept over her. So full of familiar, everyday, stupid little thingsand yethome. She felt very inclined to lay her head down on her arms and indulge in a real good cry. Lenox, coming in at the moment, saved her. Hello, Katherine, said Lenox. I saywhat is the matter? Nothing, said Katherine, grabbing up Miss Viners letter and thrusting it into her handbag. You looked rather queer, said Lenox. I sayI hope you dont mindI rang up your detective friend, M. Poirot, and asked him to lunch with us in Nice. I said you wanted to see him, as I thought he might not come for me. Did you want to see him then? asked Katherine. Yes, said Lenox. I have rather lost my heart to him. I never met a man before whose eyes were really green like a cats. All right, said Katherine. She spoke listlessly. The last few days had been trying. Derek Ketterings arrest had been the topic of the hour, and the Blue Train Mystery had been thrashed out from every conceivable standpoint. I have ordered the car, said Lenox, and I have told Mother some lie or otherunfortunately I cant remember exactly what; but it wont matter, as she never remembers. If she knew where we were going, she would want to come too, to pump M. Poirot. The two girls arrived at the Negresco to find Poirot waiting. He was full of Gallic politeness, and showered so many compliments upon the two girls that they were soon helpless with laughter; yet for all that the meal was not a gay one. Katherine was dreamy and distracted, and Lenox made bursts of conversation, interspersed by silences. As they were sitting on the terrace sipping their coffee she suddenly attacked Poirot bluntly. How are things going? You know what I mean? Poirot shrugged his shoulders. They take their course, he said. And you are just letting them take their course? He looked at Lenox a little sadly. You are young, Mademoiselle, but there are three things that cannot be hurriedle bon Dieu, Nature, and old people. Nonsense! said Lenox. You are not old. Ah, it is pretty, what you say there. Here is Major Knighton, said Lenox. Katherine looked round quickly and then turned back again. He is with Mr. Van Aldin, continued Lenox. There is something I want to ask Major Knighton about. I wont be a minute. Left alone together, Poirot bent forward and murmured to Katherine You are distraite, Mademoiselle; your thoughts, they are far away, are they not? Just as far as England, no farther. Guided by a sudden impulse, she took the letter she had received that morning and handed it across to him to read. That is the first word that has come to me from my old life; somehow or otherit hurts. He read it through and then handed it back to her. So you are going back to St. Mary Mead? he said. No, I am not, said Katherine; why should I? Ah, said Poirot, it is my mistake. You will excuse me one little minute. He strolled across to where Lenox Tamplin was talking to Van Aldin and Knighton. The American looked old and haggard. He greeted Poirot with a curt nod but without any other sign of animation. As he turned to reply to some observation made by Lenox, Poirot drew Knighton aside. M. Van Aldin looks ill, he said. Do you wonder? asked Knighton. The scandal of Derek Ketterings arrest has about put the lid on things, as far as he is concerned. He is even regretting that he asked you to find out the truth. He should go back to England, said Poirot. We are going the day after tomorrow. That is good news, said Poirot. He hesitated, and looked across the terrace to where Katherine was sitting. I wish, he murmured, that you could tell Miss Grey that. Tell her what? That youI mean that M. Van Aldin is returning to England. Knighton looked a little puzzled, but he readily crossed the terrace and joined Katherine. Poirot saw him go with a satisfied nod of the head, and then joined Lenox and the American. After a minute or two they joined the others. Conversation was general for a few minutes, then the millionaire and his secretary departed. Poirot also prepared to take his departure. A thousand thanks for your hospitality, Mesdemoiselles, he cried; it has been a most charming luncheon. Ma foi, I needed it! He swelled out his chest and thumped it. I am now a liona giant. Ah, Mademoiselle Katherine, you have not seen me as I can be. You have seen the gentle, the calm Hercule Poirot; but there is another Hercule Poirot. I go now to bully, to threaten, to strike terror into the hearts of those who listen to me. He looked at them in a selfsatisfied way, and they both appeared to be duly impressed, though Lenox was biting her underlip, and the corners of Katherines mouth had a suspicious twitch. And I shall do it, he said gravely. Oh yes, I shall succeed. He had gone but a few steps when Katherines voice made him turn. M. Poirot, II want to tell you. I think you were quite right in what you said. I am going back to England almost immediately. Poirot stared at her very hard, and under the directness of his scrutiny she blushed. I see, he said gravely. I dont believe you do, said Katherine. I know more than you think, Mademoiselle, he said quietly. He left her, with an odd little smile upon his lips. Entering a waiting car, he drove to Antibes. Hipolyte, the Comte de la Roches woodenfaced manservant, was busy at the Villa Marina polishing his masters beautiful cut table glass. The Comte de la Roche himself had gone to Monte Carlo for the day. Chancing to look out of the window, Hipolyte espied a visitor walking briskly up to the hall door, a visitor of so uncommon a type that Hipolyte, experienced as he was, had some difficulty in placing him. Calling to his wife, Marie, who was busy in the kitchen, he drew her attention to what he called ce type l. It is not the police again? said Marie anxiously. Look for yourself, said Hipolyte. Marie looked. Certainly not the police, she declared. I am glad. They have not really worried us much, said Hipolyte. In fact, but for Monsieur le Comtes warning, I should never have guessed that stranger at the wineshop to be what he was. The hall bell pealed and Hipolyte, in a grave and decorous manner, went to open the door. M. le Comte, I regret to say, is not at home. The little man with the large moustaches beamed placidly. I know that, he replied. You are Hipolyte Flavelle, are you not? Yes, Monsieur, that is my name. And you have a wife, Marie Flavelle? Yes, Monsieur, but I desire to see you both, said the stranger, and he stepped nimbly past Hipolyte into the hall. Your wife is doubtless in the kitchen, he said. I will go there. Before Hipolyte could recover his breath, the other had selected the right door at the back of the hall and passed along the passage and into the kitchen, where Marie paused openmouthed to stare at him. Voil, said the stranger, and sank into a wooden armchair; I am Hercule Poirot. Yes, Monsieur? You do not know the name? I have never heard it, said Hipolyte. Permit me to say that you have been badly educated. It is the name of one of the great ones of this world. He sighed and folded his hands across his chest. Hipolyte and Marie were staring at him uneasily. They were at a loss what to make of this unexpected and extremely strange visitor. Monsieur desires murmured Hipolyte mechanically. I desire to know why you have lied to the police. Monsieur! cried Hipolyte; Ilied to the police? Never have I done such a thing. M. Poirot shook his head. You are wrong, he said; you have done it on several occasions. Let me see. He took a small notebook from his pocket and consulted it. Ah, yes; on seven occasions at least. I will recite them to you. In a gentle unemotional voice he proceeded to outline the seven occasions. Hipolyte was taken aback. But it is not of these past lapses that I wish to speak, continued Poirot, only, my dear friend, do not get into the habit of thinking yourself too clever. I come now to the particular lie in which I am concernedyour statement that the Comte de la Roche arrived at this villa on the morning of fourteenth January. But that was no lie, Monsieur; that was the truth. Monsieur le Comte arrived here on the morning of Tuesday, the fourteenth. That is so, Marie, is it not? Marie assented eagerly. Ah, yes, that is quite right. I remember it perfectly. Ah, said Poirot, and what did you give your good master for djeuner that day? I Marie paused, trying to collect herself. Odd, said Poirot, how one remembers some thingsand forgets others. He leant forward and struck the table a blow with his fist; his eyes flashed with anger. Yes, yes, it is as I say. You tell your lies and you think nobody knows. But there are two people who know. Yestwo people. One is le bon Dieu He raised a hand to heaven, and then settling himself back in his chair and shutting his eyelids, he murmured comfortably And the other is Hercule Poirot. I assure you, Monsieur, you are completely mistaken. Monsieur le Comte left Paris on Monday night True, said Poirotby the Rapide. I do not know where he broke his journey. Perhaps you do not know that. What I do know is that he arrived here on Wednesday morning, and not on Tuesday morning. Monsieur is mistaken, said Marie stolidly. Poirot rose to his feet. Then the law must take its course, he murmured. A pity. What do you mean, Monsieur? asked Marie, with a shade of uneasiness. You will be arrested and held as accomplices concerned in the murder of Mrs. Kettering, the English lady who was killed.

Murder! The mans face had gone chalk white, his knees knocked together. Marie dropped the rollingpin and began to weep. But it is impossibleimpossible. I thought Since you stick to your story, there is nothing to be said. I think you are both foolish. He was turning towards the door when an agitated voice arrested him. Monsieur, Monsieur, just a little moment. II had no idea that it was anything of this kind. II thought it was just a matter concerning a lady. There have been little awkwardnesses with the police over ladies before. But murderthat is very different. I have no patience with you, cried Poirot. He turned round on them and angrily shook his fist in Hipolytes face. Am I to stop here all day, arguing with a couple of imbeciles thus? It is the truth I want. If you will not give it to me, that is your lookout. For the last time, when did Monsieur le Comte arrive at the Villa MarinaTuesday morning or Wednesday morning? Wednesday, gasped the man, and behind him Marie nodded confirmation. Poirot regarded them for a minute or two, then inclined his head gravely. You are wise, my children, he said quietly. Very nearly you were in serious trouble. He left the Villa Marina, smiling to himself. One guess confirmed, he murmured to himself. Shall I take a chance on the other? It was six oclock when the card of Monsieur Hercule Poirot was brought up to Mirelle. She stared at it for a moment or two, and then nodded. When Poirot entered, he found her walking up and down the room feverishly. She turned on him furiously. Well? she cried. Well? What is it now? Have you not tortured me enough, all of you? Have you not made me betray my poor Dereek? What more do you want? Just one little question, Mademoiselle. After the train left Lyons, when you entered Mrs. Ketterings compartment What is that? Poirot looked at her with an air of mild reproach and began again. I say when you entered Mrs. Ketterings compartment I never did. And found her I never did. Ah, sacr! He turned on her in a rage and shouted at her, so that she cowered back before him. Will you lie to me? I tell you I know what happened as well as though I had been there. You went into her compartment and you found her dead. I tell you I know it. To lie to me is dangerous. Be careful, Mademoiselle Mirelle. Her eyes wavered beneath his gaze and fell. II didnt she began uncertainly and stopped. There is only one thing about which I wonder, said PoirotI wonder, Mademoiselle, if you found what you were looking for or whether Whether what? Or whether someone else had been before you. I will answer no more questions, screamed the dancer. She tore herself away from Poirots restraining hand, and flinging herself down on the floor in a frenzy, she screamed and sobbed. A frightened maid came rushing in. Hercule Poirot shrugged his shoulders, raised his eyebrows, and quietly left the room. But he seemed satisfied. XXX Miss Viner Gives Judgment Katherine looked out of Miss Viners bedroom window. It was raining, not violently, but with a quiet, wellbred persistence. The window looked out on a strip of front garden with a path down to the gate and neat little flowerbeds on either side, where later roses and pinks and blue hyacinths would bloom. Miss Viner was lying in a large Victorian bedstead. A tray with the remains of breakfast had been pushed to one side and she was busy opening her correspondence and making various caustic comments upon it. Katherine had an open letter in her hand and was reading it through for the second time. It was dated from the Ritz Hotel, Paris. Chre Mademoiselle Katherine (it began)I trust that you are in good health and that the return to the English winter has not proved too depressing. Me, I prosecute my inquiries with the utmost diligence. Do not think that it is the holiday that I take here. Very shortly I shall be in England, and I hope then to have the pleasure of meeting you once more. It shall be so, shall it not? On arrival in London I shall write to you. You remember that we are the colleagues in this affair? But indeed I think you know that very well. Be assured, Mademoiselle, of my most respectful and devoted sentiments. Hercule Poirot. Katherine frowned slightly. It was as though something in the letter puzzled and intrigued her. A choirboys picnic indeed, came from Miss Viner. Tommy Saunders and Albert Dykes ought to be left behind, and I shant subscribe to it unless they are. What those two boys think they are doing in church on Sundays I dont know. Tommy sang, O God, make speed to save us, and never opened his lips again, and if Albert Dykes wasnt sucking a mint humbug, my nose is not what it is and always has been. I know, they are awful, agreed Katherine. She opened her second letter, and a sudden flush came to her cheeks. Miss Viners voice in the room seemed to recede into the far distance. When she came back to a sense of her surroundings Miss Viner was bringing a long speech to a triumphant termination. And I said to her, Not at all. As it happens, Miss Grey is Lady Tamplins own cousin. What do you think of that? Were you fighting my battles for me? That was very sweet of you. You can put it that way if you like. There is nothing to me in a title. Vicars wife or no vicars wife, that woman is a cat. Hinting you had bought your way into Society. Perhaps she was not so very far wrong. And look at you, continued Miss Viner. Have you come back a stuckup fine lady, as well you might have done? No, there you are, as sensible as ever you were, with a pair of good Balbriggan stockings on and sensible shoes. I spoke to Ellen about it only yesterday. Ellen, I said, you look at Miss Grey. She has been hobnobbing with some of the greatest in the land, and does she go about as you do with skirts up to her knees and silk stockings that ladder when you look at them, and the most ridiculous shoes that ever I set eyes on? Katherine smiled a little to herself; it had apparently been worth while to conform to Miss Viners prejudices. The old lady went on with increasing gusto. It has been a great relief to me that you have not had your head turned. Only the other day I was looking for my cuttings. I have several about Lady Tamplin and her War Hospital and whatnot, but I cannot lay my hand upon them. I wish you would look, my dear; your eyesight is better than mine. They are all in a box in the bureau drawer. Katherine glanced down at the letter in her hand and was about to speak, but checked herself, and going over to the bureau found the box of cuttings and began to look over them. Since her return to St. Mary Mead, her heart had gone out to Miss Viner in admiration of the old womans stoicism and pluck. She felt that there was little she could do for her old friend, but she knew from experience how much those seemingly small trifles meant to old people. Here is one, she said presently. Viscountess Tamplin, who is running her villa at Nice as an Officers Hospital, has just been the victim of a sensational robbery, her jewels having been stolen. Amongst them were some very famous emeralds, heirlooms of the Tamplin family. Probably paste, said Miss Viner; a lot of these Society womens jewels are. Here is another, said Katherine. A picture of her. A charming camera study of Viscountess Tamplin with her little daughter Lenox. Let me look, said Miss Viner. You cant see much of the childs face, can you? But I dare say that is just as well. Things go by contraries in this world and beautiful mothers have hideous children. I dare say the photographer realised that to take the back of the childs head was the best thing he could do for her. Katherine laughed. One of the smartest hostesses on the Riviera this season is Viscountess Tamplin, who has a villa at Cap Martin. Her cousin, Miss Grey, who recently inherited a vast fortune in a most romantic manner, is staying with her there. That is the one I wanted, said Miss Viner. I expect there has been a picture of you in one of the papers that I have missed; you know the kind of thing. Mrs. Somebody or other JonesWilliams, at the something or other PointtoPoint, usually carrying a shootingstick and having one foot lifted up in the air. It must be a trial to some of them to see what they look like. Katherine did not answer. She was smoothing out the cutting with her finger, and her face had a puzzled, worried look. Then she drew the second letter out of its envelope and mastered its contents once more. She turned to her friend. Miss Viner? I wonderthere is a friend of mine, someone I met on the Riviera, who wants very much to come down and see me here. A man? said Miss Viner. Yes. Who is he? He is secretary to Mr. Van Aldin, the American millionaire. What is his name? Knighton. Major Knighton. Hmsecretary to a millionaire. And wants to come down here. Now, Katherine, I am going to say something to you for your own good. You are a nice girl and a sensible girl, and though you have your head screwed on the right way about most things, every woman makes a fool of herself once in her life. Ten to one what this man is after is your money. With a gesture she arrested Katherines reply. I have been waiting for something of this kind. What is a secretary to a millionaire? Nine times out of ten it is a young man who likes living soft. A young man with nice manners and a taste for luxury and no brains and no enterprise, and if there is anything that is a softer job than being secretary to a millionaire it is marrying a rich woman for her money. I am not saying that you might not be some mans fancy. But you are not young, and though you have a very good complexion you are not a beauty, and what I say to you is, dont make a fool of yourself; but if you are determined to do so, do see that your money is properly tied up on yourself. There, now I have finished. What have you got to say? Nothing, said Katherine; but would you mind if he did come down to see me? I wash my hands of it, said Miss Viner. I have done my duty, and whatever happens now is on your own head. Would you like him to lunch or to dinner? I dare say Ellen could manage dinnerthat is, if she didnt lose her head. Lunch would be very nice, said Katherine. It is awfully kind of you, Miss Viner. He asked me to ring him up, so I will do so and say that we shall be pleased if he will lunch with us. He will motor down from town. Ellen does a steak with grilled tomatoes pretty fairly, said Miss Viner. She doesnt do it well, but she does it better than anything else. It is no good having a tart because she is heavyhanded with pastry; but her little castle puddings are not bad, and I dare say you could find a nice piece of Stilton at Abbots. I have always heard that gentlemen like a nice piece of Stilton, and there is a good deal of fathers wine left, a bottle of sparkling Moselle, perhaps. Oh no, Miss Viner; that is really not necessary. Nonsense, my child. No gentleman is happy unless he drinks something with his meal. There is some good prewar whisky if you think he would prefer that. Now do as I say and dont argue. The key of the winecellar is in the third drawer down in the dressingtable, in the second pair of stockings on the lefthand side. Katherine went obediently to the spot indicated. The second pair, now mind, said Miss Viner. The first pair has my diamond earrings and my filigree brooch in it. Oh, said Katherine, rather taken aback, wouldnt you like them put in your jewelcase? Miss Viner gave vent to a terrific and prolonged snort. No, indeed! I have much too much sense for that sort of thing, thank you. Dear, dear, I well remember how my poor father had a safe built in downstairs. Pleased as Punch he was with it, and he said to my mother, Now, Mary, you bring me your jewels in their case every night and I will lock them away for you. My mother was a very tactful woman, and she knew that gentlemen like having their own way, and she brought him the jewelcase locked up just as he said. And one night burglars broke in, and of coursenaturallythe first thing they went for was the safe! It would be, with my father talking up and down the village and bragging about it until you might have thought he kept all King Solomons diamonds there. They made a clean sweep, got the tankards, the silver cups, and the presentation gold plate that my father had had presented to him, and the jewelcase. She sighed reminiscently. My father was in a great state over my mothers jewels. There was the Venetian set and some very fine cameos, and some pale pink corals, and two diamond rings with quite large stones in them. And then, of course, she had to tell him that, being a sensible woman, she had kept her jewellery rolled up in a pair of corsets, and there it was still as safe as anything. And the jewelcase had been quite empty? Oh no, dear, said Miss Viner, it would have been too light a weight then. My mother was a very intelligent woman; she saw to that. She kept her buttons in the jewelcase, and a very handy place it was. Boot buttons in the top tray, trouser buttons in the second tray, and assorted buttons below. Curiously enough, my father was quite annoyed with her. He said he didnt like deceit. But I mustnt go chattering on; you want to go and ring up your friend, and mind you choose a nice piece of steak, and tell Ellen she is not to have holes in her stockings when she waits at lunch. Is her name Ellen or Helen, Miss Viner? I thought Miss Viner closed her eyes. I can sound my hs, dear, as well as anyone, but Helen is not a suitable name for a servant. I dont know what the mothers in the lower classes are coming to nowadays. The rain had cleared away when Knighton arrived at the cottage. The pale fitful sunshine shone down on it and burnished Katherines head as she stood in the doorway to welcome him. He came up to her quickly, almost boyishly. I say, I hope you dont mind. I simply had to see you again soon. I hope the friend you are staying with does not mind. Come in and make friends with her, said Katherine. She can be most alarming, but you will soon find that she has the softest heart in the world. Miss Viner was enthroned majestically in the drawingroom, wearing a complete set of the cameos which had been so providentially preserved in the family. She greeted Knighton with dignity and an austere politeness which would have damped many men. Knighton, however, had a charm of manner which was not easily set aside, and after about ten minutes Miss Viner thawed perceptibly. Luncheon was a merry meal, and Ellen, or Helen, in a new pair of silk stockings devoid of ladders, performed prodigies of waiting. Afterwards, Katherine and Knighton went for a walk, and they came back to have tea ttette, since Miss Viner had gone to lie down. When the car had finally driven off Katherine went slowly upstairs. A voice called her and she went in to Miss Viners bedroom. Friend gone? Yes. Thank you so much for letting me ask him down. No need to thank me. Do you think I am the sort of old curmudgeon who never will do anything for anybody? I think you are a dear, said Katherine affectionately. Humph, said Miss Viner, mollified. As Katherine was leaving the room she called her back. Katherine? Yes. I was wrong about that young man of yours. A man when he is making up to anybody can be cordial and gallant and full of little attentions and altogether charming. But when a man is really in love he cant help looking like a sheep. Now, whenever that young man looked at you he looked like a sheep. I take back all I said this morning. It is genuine. XXXI Mr. Aarons Lunches Ah! said Mr. Joseph Aarons appreciatively. He took a long draught from his tankard, set it down with a sigh, wiped the froth from his lips, and beamed across the table at his host, Monsieur Hercule Poirot. Give me, said Mr. Aarons, a good Porterhouse steak and a tankard of something worth drinking, and anyone can have your French fallals and whatnots, your ordoovres and your omelettes and your little bits of quail. Give me, he reiterated, a Porterhouse steak. Poirot, who had just complied with this request, smiled sympathetically. Not that there is much wrong with a steak and kidney pudding, continued Mr. Aarons. Apple tart? Yes, I will take apple tart, thank you, Miss, and a jug of cream. The meal proceeded. Finally, with a long sigh, Mr. Aarons laid down his spoon and fork preparatory to toying with some cheese before turning his mind to other matters. There was a little matter of business I think you said, Monsieur Poirot, he remarked. Anything I can do to help you I am sure I shall be most happy. That is very kind of you, said Poirot. I said to myself, If you want to know anything about the dramatic profession there is one person who knows all that is to be known and that is my old friend, Mr. Joseph Aarons. And you dont say far wrong, said Mr. Aarons complacently; whether it is past, present, or future, Joe Aarons is the man to come to. Prcisment. Now I want to ask you, Monsieur Aarons, what you know about a young woman called Kidd. Kidd? Kitty Kidd? Kitty Kidd. Pretty smart, she was. Male impersonator, song and a danceThat one? That is the one. Very smart, she was. Made a good income. Never out of an engagement. Male impersonation mostly, but, as a matter of fact, you could not touch her as a character actress. So I have heard, said Poirot; but she has not been appearing lately, has she? No. Dropped right out of things. Went over to France and took up with some swell nobleman there. She quitted the stage then for good and all, I guess. How long ago was that? Let me see. Three years ago. And she has been a losslet me tell you that. She was clever? Clever as a cartload of monkeys. You dont know the name of the man she became friends with in Paris? He was a swell, I know that. A Countor was it a Marquis? Now I come to think of it, I believe it was a Marquis. And you know nothing about her since? Nothing. Never even run across her accidentally like. I bet she is tooling it round some of these foreign resorts. Being a Marquise to the life. You couldnt put one over on Kitty. She would give as good as she got any day. I see, said Poirot thoughtfully. I am sorry I cant tell you more, Monsieur Poirot, said the other. I would like to be of use to you if I could. You did me a good turn once. Ah, but we are quits on that; you, too, did me a good turn. One good turn deserves another. Ha, ha! said Mr. Aarons. Your profession must be a very interesting one, said Poirot. Soso, said Mr. Aarons noncommittally. Taking the rough with the smooth, it is all right. I dont do so badly at it, all things considered, but you have to keep your eyes skinned. Never know what the public will jump for next. Dancing has come very much to the fore in the last few years, murmured Poirot reflectively. I never saw anything in this Russian ballet, but people like it. Too highbrow for me. I met one dancer out on the RivieraMademoiselle Mirelle. Mirelle? She is hot stuff, by all accounts. There is always money going to back herthough, so far as that goes, the girl can dance; I have seen her, and I know what I am talking about. I never had much to do with her myself, but I hear she is a terror to deal with. Tempers and tantrums all the time. Yes, said Poirot thoughtfully; yes, so I should imagine. Temperament! said Mr. Aarons, temperament! That is what they call it themselves. My missus was a dancer before she married me, but I am thankful to say she never had any temperament. You dont want temperament in the home, Monsieur Poirot. I agree with you, my friend; it is out of place there. A woman should be calm and sympathetic, and a good cook, said Mr. Aarons. Mirelle has not been long before the public, has she? asked Poirot. About two and a half years, that is all, said Mr. Aarons. Some French duke started her. I hear now that she has taken up with the exPrime Minister of Greece. These are the chaps who manage to put money away quietly. That is news to me, said Poirot. Oh, shes not one to let the grass grow under her feet. They say that young Kettering murdered his wife on her account. I dont know, I am sure. Anyway, he is in prison, and she had to look round for herself, and pretty smart she has been about it. They say she is wearing a ruby the size of a pigeons eggnot that I have ever seen a pigeons egg myself, but that is what they always call it in works of fiction. A ruby the size of a pigeons egg! said Poirot. His eyes were green and catlike. How interesting! I had it from a friend of mine, said Mr. Aarons. But for all I know, it may be coloured glass. They are all the same, these womenthey never stop telling tall stories about their jewels. Mirelle goes about bragging that it has got a curse on it. Heart of Fire, I think she calls it. But if I remember rightly, said Poirot, the ruby that is named Heart of Fire is the centre stone in a necklace. There you are! Didnt I tell you there is no end to the lies women will tell about their jewellery? This is a single stone, hung on a platinum chain round her neck; but, as I said before, ten to one it is a bit of coloured glass. No, said Poirot gently; nosomehow I do not think it is coloured glass. XXXII Katherine and Poirot Compare Notes You have changed, Mademoiselle, said Poirot suddenly. He and Katherine were seated opposite each other at a small table at the Savoy. Yes, you have changed, he continued. In what way? Mademoiselle, these nuances are difficult to express. I am older. Yes, you are older. And by that I do not mean that the wrinkles and the crows feet are coming. When I first saw you, Mademoiselle, you were a lookeron at life. You had the quiet, amused look of one who sits back in the stalls and watches the play. And now? Now you no longer watch. It is an absurd thing, perhaps, that I say here, but you have the wary look of a fighter who is playing a difficult game. My old lady is difficult sometimes, said Katherine, with a smile; but I can assure you that I dont engage in deadly contests with her. You must go down and see her some day, Monsieur Poirot. I think you are one of the people who would appreciate her pluck and her spirit. There was a silence while the waiter deftly served them with chicken en casserole. When he had departed, Poirot said You have heard me speak of my friend Hastings?he who said that I was a human oyster. Eh bien, Mademoiselle, I have met my match in you. You, far more than I, play a lone hand. Nonsense, said Katherine lightly. Never does Hercule Poirot talk nonsense. It is as I say. Again there was a silence. Poirot broke it by inquiring Have you seen any of our Riviera friends since you have been back, Mademoiselle? I have seen something of Major Knighton. Aha. Is that so? Something in Poirots twinkling eyes made Katherine lower hers. So Mr. Van Aldin remains in London? Yes. I must try to see him tomorrow or the next day. You have news for him? What makes you think that? Iwondered, that is all. Poirot looked across at her with twinkling eyes. And now, Mademoiselle, there is much that you wish to ask me, I can see that. And why not? Is not the affair of the Blue Train our own roman policier? Yes, there are things I should like to ask you. Eh bien? Katherine looked up with a sudden air of resolution. What were you doing in Paris, Monsieur Poirot? Poirot smiled slightly. I made a call at the Russian Embassy. Oh. I see that that tells you nothing. But I will not be a human oyster. No, I will lay my cards on the table, which is assuredly a thing that oysters do not do. You suspect, do you not, that I am not satisfied with the case against Derek Kettering? That is what I have been wondering. I thought, in Nice, that you had finished with the case. You do not say all that you mean, Mademoiselle. But I admit everything. It was Imy researcheswhich placed Derek Kettering where he now is. But for me the Examining Magistrate would still be vainly trying to fasten the crime on the Comte de la Roche. Eh bien, Mademoiselle, what I have done I do not regret. I have only one dutyto discover the truth, and that way led straight to Mr. Kettering. But did it end there? The police say yes, but I, Hercule Poirot, am not satisfied. He broke off suddenly. Tell me, Mademoiselle, have you heard from Mademoiselle Lenox lately? One very short, scrappy letter. She is, I think, annoyed with me for coming back to England. Poirot nodded. I had an interview with her the night that Monsieur Kettering was arrested. It was an interesting interview in more ways than one. Again he fell silent, and Katherine did not interrupt his train of thought. Mademoiselle, he said at last, I am now on delicate ground, yet I will say this to you. There is, I think, someone who loves Monsieur Ketteringcorrect me if I am wrongand for her sakewellfor her sake I hope that I am right and the police are wrong. You know who that someone is? There was a pause, then Katherine said YesI think I know. Poirot leant across the table towards her. I am not satisfied, Mademoiselle; no, I am not satisfied. The facts, the main facts, led straight to Monsieur Kettering. But there is one thing that has been left out of account. And what is that? The disfigured face of the victim. I have asked myself, Mademoiselle, a hundred times, Was Derek Kettering the kind of man who would deal that smashing blow after having committed the murder? What end would it serve? What purpose would it accomplish? Was it a likely action for one of Monsieur Ketterings temperament? And, Mademoiselle, the answer to these questions is profoundly unsatisfactory. Again and again I go back to that one pointwhy? And the only things I have to help me to a solution of the problem are these. He whipped out his pocketbook and extracted something from it which he held between his finger and thumb. Do you remember, Mademoiselle? You saw me take these hairs from the rug in the railway carriage. Katherine leant forward, scrutinising the hairs keenly. Poirot nodded his head slowly several times. They suggest nothing to you, I see that, Mademoiselle. And yetI think somehow that you see a good deal. I have had ideas, said Katherine slowly, curious ideas. That is why I ask you what you were doing in Paris, Monsieur Poirot. When I wrote to you From the Ritz? A curious smile came over Poirots face. Yes, as you say, from the Ritz. I am a luxurious person sometimeswhen a millionaire pays. The Russian Embassy, said Katherine, frowning. No, I dont see where that comes in. It does not come in directly, Mademoiselle. I went there to get certain information. I saw a particular personage and I threatened himyes, Mademoiselle, I, Hercule Poirot, threatened him. With the police? No, said Poirot drily, with the Pressa much more deadly weapon. He looked at Katherine and she smiled at him, just shaking her head. Are you not just turning back into an oyster again, Monsieur Poirot? No, no; I do not wish to make mysteries. See, I will tell you everything. I suspect this man of being the active party in the sale of the jewels of Monsieur Van Aldin. I tax him with it, and in the end I get the whole story out of him. I learn where the jewels were handed over, and I learn, too, of the man who paced up and down outside in the streeta man with a venerable head of white hair, but who walked with the light, springy step of a young manand I give that man a name in my own mindthe name of Monsieur le Marquis. And now you have come to London to see Mr. Van Aldin? Not entirely for that reason. I had other work to do. Since I have been in London I have seen two more peoplea theatrical agent and a Harley Street doctor. From each of them I have got certain information. Put these things together, Mademoiselle, and see if you can make of them the same as I do. I? Yes, you. I will tell you one thing, Mademoiselle. There has been a doubt all along in my mind as to whether the robbery and the murder were done by the same person. For a long time I was not sure And now? And now I know. There was a silence. Then Katherine lifted her head. Her eyes were shining. I am not clever like you, Monsieur Poirot. Half the things that you have been telling me dont seem to me to point anywhere at all. The ideas that came to me came from such an entirely different angle Ah, but that is always so, said Poirot quietly. A mirror shows the truth, but everyone stands in a different place for looking into the mirror. My ideas may be absurdthey may be entirely different from yours, but Yes? Tell me, does this help you at all? He took a newspaper cutting from her outstretched hand. He read it and, looking up, he nodded gravely. As I told you, Mademoiselle, one stands at a different angle for looking into the mirror, but it is the same mirror and the same things are reflected there. Katherine got up. I must rush, she said. I have only just time to catch my train. Monsieur Poirot Yes, Mademoiselle. Itit mustnt be much longer, you understand. II cant go on much longer. There was a break in her voice. He patted her hand reassuringly. Courage, Mademoiselle, you must not fail now; the end is very near. XXXIII A New Theory Monsieur Poirot wants to see you, sir. Damn the fellow! said Van Aldin. Knighton remained sympathetically silent. Van Aldin got up from his chair and paced up and down. I suppose you have seen the cursed newspapers this morning? I have glanced at them, sir. Still at it hammer and tongs? I am afraid so, sir. The millionaire sat down again and pressed his hand to his forehead. If I had had an idea of this, he groaned. I wish to God I had never got that little Belgian to ferret out the truth. Find Ruths murdererthat was all I thought about. You wouldnt have liked your soninlaw to go scot free? Van Aldin sighed. I would have preferred to take the law into my own hands. I dont think that would have been a very wise proceeding, sir. All the sameare you sure the fellow wants to see me? Yes, Mr. Van Aldin. He is very urgent about it. Then I suppose he will have to. He can come along this morning if he likes. It was a very fresh and debonair Poirot who was ushered in. He did not seem to see any lack of cordiality in the millionaires manner, and chatted pleasantly about various trifles. He was in London, he explained, to see his doctor. He mentioned the name of an eminent surgeon. No, no, pas la guerrea memory of my days in the police force, a bullet of a rascally apache. He touched his left shoulder and winced realistically. I always consider you a lucky man, Monsieur Van Aldin; you are not like our popular idea of American millionaires, martyrs to the dyspepsia. I am pretty tough, said Van Aldin. I lead a very simple life, you know; plain fare and not too much of it. You have seen something of Miss Grey, have you not? inquired Poirot, innocently turning to the secretary. Iyes; once or twice, said Knighton. He blushed slightly and Van Aldin exclaimed in surprise Funny you never mentioned to me that you had seen her, Knighton. I didnt think you would be interested, sir. I like that girl very much, said Van Aldin. It is a thousand pities that she should have buried herself once more in St. Mary Mead, said Poirot. It is very fine of her, said Knighton hotly. There are very few people who would bury themselves down there to look after a cantankerous old woman who has no earthly claim on her. I am silent, said Poirot, his eyes twinkling a little; but all the same I say it is a pity. And now, Messieurs, let us come to business. Both the other men looked at him in some surprise. You must not be shocked or alarmed at what I am about to say. Supposing, Monsieur Van Aldin, that, after all, Monsieur Derek Kettering did not murder his wife? What? Both men stared at him in blank surprise. Supposing, I say, that Monsieur Kettering did not murder his wife? Are you mad, Monsieur Poirot? It was Van Aldin who spoke. No, said Poirot, I am not mad.

I am eccentric, perhapsat least certain people say so; but as regards my profession, I am very much, as one says, all there. I ask you, Monsieur Van Aldin, whether you would be glad or sorry if what I tell you should be the case? Van Aldin stared at him. Naturally I should be glad, he said at last. Is this an exercise in suppositions, Monsieur Poirot, or are there any facts behind it? Poirot looked at the ceiling. There is an offchance, he said quietly, that it might be the Comte de la Roche after all. At least I have succeeded in upsetting his alibi. How did you manage that? Poirot shrugged his shoulders modestly. I have my own methods. The exercise of a little tact, a little clevernessand the thing is done. But the rubies, said Van Aldin, these rubies that the Count had in his possession were false. And clearly he would not have committed the crime except for the rubies. But you are overlooking one point, Monsieur Van Aldin. Where the rubies were concerned, someone might have been before him. But this is an entirely new theory, cried Knighton. Do you really believe all this rigmarole, Monsieur Poirot? demanded the millionaire. The thing is not proved, said Poirot quietly. It is as yet only a theory, but I tell you this, Monsieur Van Aldin, the facts are worth investigating. You must come out with me to the south of France and go into the case on the spot. You really think this is necessarythat I should go, I mean? I thought it would be what you yourself would wish, said Poirot. There was a hint of reproach in his tone which was not lost upon the other. Yes, yes, of course, he said. When do you wish to start, Monsieur Poirot? You are very busy at present, sir, murmured Knighton. But the millionaire had now made up his mind, and he waved the others objections aside. I guess this business comes first, he said. All right, Monsieur Poirot, tomorrow. What train? We will go, I think, by the Blue Train, said Poirot, and he smiled. XXXIV The Blue Train Again The Millionaires Train, as it is sometimes called, swung round a curve of line at what seemed a dangerous speed. Van Aldin, Knighton, and Poirot sat together in silence. Knighton and Van Aldin had two compartments connecting with each other, as Ruth Kettering and her maid had had on the fateful journey. Poirots own compartment was farther along the coach. The journey was a painful one for Van Aldin, recalling as it did the most agonising memories. Poirot and Knighton conversed occasionally in low tones without disturbing him. When, however, the train had completed its slow journey round the ceinture and reached the Gare de Lyon, Poirot became suddenly galvanised into activity. Van Aldin realised that part of his object in travelling by the train had been to attempt to reconstruct the crime. Poirot himself acted every part. He was in turn the maid, hurriedly shut into her own compartment, Mrs. Kettering, recognising her husband with surprise and a trace of anxiety, and Derek Kettering discovering that his wife was travelling on the train. He tested various possibilities, such as the best way for a person to conceal himself in the second compartment. Then suddenly an idea seemed to strike him. He clutched at Van Aldins arm. Mon Dieu, but that is something I have not thought of! We must break our journey in Paris. Quick, quick, let us alight at once. Seizing suitcases he hurried from the train. Van Aldin and Knighton, bewildered but obedient, followed him. Van Aldin having once more formed his opinion of Poirots ability was slow to depart from it. At the barrier they were held up. Their tickets were in the charge of the conductor of the train, a fact which all three of them had forgotten. Poirots explanations were rapid, fluent, and impassioned, but they produced no effect upon the stolidfaced official. Let us get quit of this, said Van Aldin abruptly. I gather you are in a hurry, Monsieur Poirot. For Gods sake pay the fares from Calais and let us get right on with whatever you have got on your mind. But Poirots flood of language had suddenly stopped dead, and he had the appearance of a man turned to stone. His arm, still outflung in an impassioned gesture, remained there as though stricken with paralysis. I have been an imbecile, he said simply. Ma foi, I lose my head nowadays. Let us return and continue our journey quietly. With reasonable luck the train will not have gone. They were only just in time, the train moving off as Knighton, the last of the three, swung himself and his suitcase on board. The conductor remonstrated with them feelingly, and assisted them to carry their luggage back to their compartments. Van Aldin said nothing, but he was clearly disgusted at Poirots extraordinary conduct. Alone with Knighton for a moment or two, he remarked This is a wildgoose chase. The man has lost his grip on things. He has got brains up to a point, but any man who loses his head and scuttles round like a frightened rabbit is no earthly darned good. Poirot came to them in a moment or two, full of abject apologies and clearly so crestfallen that harsh words would have been superfluous. Van Aldin received his apologies gravely, but managed to restrain himself from making acid comments. They had dinner on the train, and afterwards, somewhat to the surprise of the other two, Poirot suggested that they should all three sit up in Van Aldins compartment. The millionaire looked at him curiously. Is there anything that you are keeping back from us, Monsieur Poirot? I? Poirot opened his eyes in innocent surprise. But what an idea. Van Aldin did not answer, but he was not satisfied. The conductor was told that he need not make up the beds. Any surprise he might have felt was obliterated by the largeness of the tip which Van Aldin handed to him. The three men sat in silence. Poirot fidgeted and seemed restless. Presently he turned to the secretary. Major Knighton, is the door of your compartment bolted? The door into the corridor, I mean. Yes; I bolted it myself just now. Are you sure? said Poirot. I will go and make sure, if you like, said Knighton, smiling. No, no, do not derange yourself. I will see for myself. He passed through the connecting door and returned in a second or two, nodding his head. Yes, yes, it is as you said. You must pardon an old mans fussy ways. He closed the connecting door and resumed his place in the righthand corner. The hours passed. The three men dozed fitfully, waking with uncomfortable starts. Probably never before had three people booked berths on the most luxurious train available, then declined to avail themselves of the accommodation they had paid for. Every now and then Poirot glanced at his watch, and then nodded his head and composed himself to slumber once more. On one occasion he rose from his seat and opened the connecting door, peered sharply into the adjoining compartment, and then returned to his seat, shaking his head. What is the matter? whispered Knighton. You are expecting something to happen, arent you? I have the nerves, confessed Poirot. I am like the cat upon the hot tiles. Every little noise it makes me jump. Knighton yawned. Of all the darned uncomfortable journeys, he murmured. I suppose you know what you are playing at, Monsieur Poirot. He composed himself to sleep as best he could. Both he and Van Aldin had succumbed to slumber, when Poirot, glancing for the fourteenth time at his watch, leant across and tapped the millionaire on the shoulder. Eh? What is it? In five or ten minutes, Monsieur, we shall arrive at Lyons. My God! Van Aldins face looked white and haggard in the dim light. Then it must have been about this time that poor Ruth was killed. He sat staring straight in front of him. His lips twitched a little, his mind reverting back to the terrible tragedy that had saddened his life. There was the usual long screaming sigh of the brake, and the train slackened speed and drew into Lyons. Van Aldin let down the window and leant out. If it wasnt Derekif your new theory is correct, it is here that the man left the train? he asked over his shoulder. Rather to his surprise Poirot shook his head. No, he said thoughtfully, no man left the train, but I thinkyes, I think, a woman may have done so. Knighton gave a gasp. A woman? demanded Van Aldin sharply. Yes, a woman, said Poirot, nodding his head. You may not remember, Monsieur Van Aldin, but Miss Grey in her evidence mentioned that a youth in a cap and overcoat descended on to the platform ostensibly to stretch his legs. Me, I think that that youth was most probably a woman. But who was she? Van Aldins face expressed incredulity, but Poirot replied seriously and categorically Her nameor the name under which she was known, for many yearsis Kitty Kidd, but you, Monsieur Van Aldin, knew her by another namethat of Ada Mason. Knighton sprang to his feet. What? he cried. Poirot swung round to him. Ah!before I forget it. He whipped something from a pocket and held it out. Permit me to offer you a cigaretteout of your own cigarettecase. It was careless of you to drop it when you boarded the train on the ceinture at Paris. Knighton stood staring at him as though stupefied. Then he made a movement, but Poirot flung up his hand in a warning gesture. No, dont move, he said in a silky voice; the door into the next compartment is open, and you are being covered from there this minute. I unbolted the door into the corridor when we left Paris, and our friends the police were told to take their places there. As I expect you know, the French police want you rather urgently, Major Knightonor shall we sayMonsieur le Marquis? XXXV Explanations Explanations? Poirot smiled. He was sitting opposite the millionaire at a luncheon table in the latters private suite at the Negresco. Facing him was a relieved but very puzzled man. Poirot leant back in his chair, lit one of his tiny cigarettes, and stared reflectively at the ceiling. Yes, I will give you explanations. It began with the one point that puzzled me. You know what that point was? The disfigured face. It is not an uncommon thing to find when investigating a crime and it rouses an immediate question, the question of identity. That naturally was the first thing that occurred to me. Was the dead woman really Mrs. Kettering? But that line led me nowhere, for Miss Greys evidence was positive and very reliable, so I put that idea aside. The dead woman was Ruth Kettering. When did you first begin to suspect the maid? Not for some time, but one peculiar little point drew my attention to her. The cigarettecase found in the railway carriage and which she told us was one which Mrs. Kettering had given to her husband. Now that was, on the face of it, most improbable, seeing the terms they were on. It awakened a doubt in my mind as to the general veracity of Ada Masons statements. There was the rather suspicious fact to be taken into consideration, that she had only been with her mistress for two months. Certainly it did not seem as if she could have had anything to do with the crime since she had been left behind in Paris and Mrs. Kettering had been seen alive by several people afterwards, but Poirot leant forward. He raised an emphatic forefinger and wagged it with intense emphasis at Van Aldin. But I am a good detective. I suspect. There is nobody and nothing that I do not suspect. I believe nothing that I am told. I say to myself how do we know that Ada Mason was left behind in Paris? And at first the answer to that question seemed completely satisfactory. There was the evidence of your secretary, Major Knighton, a complete outsider, whose testimony might be supposed to be entirely impartial, and there were the dead womans own words to the conductor of the train. But I put the latter point aside for the moment, because a very curious ideaan idea perhaps fantastic and impossiblewas growing up in my mind. If by any outside chance it happened to be true, that particular piece of testimony was worthless. I concentrated on the chief stumblingblock to my theory, Major Knightons statement that he saw Ada Mason at the Ritz after the Blue Train had left Paris. That seemed conclusive enough, but yet, on examining the facts carefully, I noted two things. First, that by a curious coincidence he, too, had been exactly two months in your service. Secondly, his initial letter was the sameK. Supposingjust supposingthat it was his cigarettecase which had been found in the carriage. Then, if Ada Mason and he were working together, and she recognised it when we showed it to her, would she not act precisely as she had done? At first, taken aback, she quickly evolved a plausible theory that would agree with Mr. Ketterings guilt. Bien entendu, that was not the original idea. The Comte de la Roche was to be the scapegoat, though Ada Mason would not make her recognition of him too certain, in case he should be able to prove an alibi. Now, if you will cast your mind back to that time, you will remember a significant thing that happened. I suggested to Ada Mason that the man she had seen was not the Comte de la Roche, but Derek Kettering. She seemed uncertain at the time, but after I had got back to my hotel you rang me up and told me that she had come to you and said that, on thinking it over, she was now quite convinced that the man in question was Mr. Kettering. I had been expecting something of the kind. There could be but one explanation of this sudden certainty on her part. After my leaving your hotel, she had had time to consult with somebody, and had received instructions which she acted upon. Who had given her these instructions? Major Knighton. And there was another very small point, which might mean nothing or might mean a great deal. In casual conversation Knighton had talked of a jewel robbery in Yorkshire in a house where he was staying. Perhaps a mere coincidenceperhaps another small link in the chain. But there is one thing I do not understand, Monsieur Poirot. I guess I must be dense or I would have seen it before now. Who was the man in the train at Paris? Derek Kettering or the Comte de la Roche? That is the simplicity of the whole thing. There was no man. Ahmille tonnerres!do you not see the cleverness of it all? Whose word have we for it that there ever was a man there? Only Ada Masons. And we believe in Ada Mason because of Knightons evidence that she was left behind in Paris. But Ruth herself told the conductor that she had left her maid behind there, demurred Van Aldin. Ah! I am coming to that. We have Mrs. Ketterings own evidence there, but, on the other hand, we have not really got her evidence, because, Monsieur Van Aldin, a dead woman cannot give evidence. It is not her evidence, but the evidence of the conductor of the traina very different affair altogether. So you think the man was lying? No, no, not at all. He spoke what he thought to be the truth. But the woman who told him that she had left her maid in Paris was not Mrs. Kettering. Van Aldin stared at him. Monsieur Van Aldin, Ruth Kettering was dead before the train arrived at the Gare de Lyon. It was Ada Mason, dressed in her mistresss very distinctive clothing, who purchased a dinner basket and who made that very necessary statement to the conductor. Impossible! No, no, Monsieur Van Aldin; not impossible. Les femmes, they look so much alike nowadays that one identifies them more by their clothing than by their faces. Ada Mason was the same height as your daughter. Dressed in that very sumptuous fur coat and the little red lacquer hat jammed down over her eyes, with just a bunch of auburn curls showing over each ear, it was no wonder that the conductor was deceived. He had not previously spoken to Mrs. Kettering, you remember. True, he had seen the maid just for a moment when she handed him the tickets, but his impression had been merely that of a gaunt, blackclad female. If he had been an unusually intelligent man, he might have gone so far as to say that mistress and maid were not unlike, but it is extremely unlikely that he would even think that. And remember, Ada Mason, or Kitty Kidd, was an actress, able to change her appearance and tone of voice at a moments notice. No, no; there was no danger of his recognising the maid in the mistresss clothing, but there was the danger that when he came to discover the body he might realise it was not the woman he had talked to the night before. And now we see the reason for the disfigured face. The chief danger that Ada Mason ran was that Katherine Grey might visit her compartment after the train left Paris, and she provided against that difficulty by ordering a dinner basket and by locking herself in her compartment. But who killed Ruthand when? First, bear it in mind that the crime was planned and undertaken by the two of themKnighton and Ada Mason, working together. Knighton was in Paris that day on your business. He boarded the train somewhere on its way round the ceinture. Mrs. Kettering would be surprised, but she would be quite unsuspicious. Perhaps he draws her attention to something out of the window, and as she turns to look he slips the cord round her neckand the whole thing is over in a second or two. The door of the compartment is locked, and he and Ada Mason set to work. They strip off the dead womans outer clothes. Mason and Knighton roll the body up in a rug and put it on the seat in the adjoining compartment amongst the bags and suitcases. Knighton drops off the train, taking the jewelcase containing the rubies with him. Since the crime is not supposed to have been committed until nearly twelve hours later he is perfectly safe, and his evidence and the supposed Mrs. Ketterings words to the conductor will provide a perfect alibi for his accomplice. At the Gare de Lyon Ada Mason gets a dinner basket, and, shutting herself into the toilet compartment, she quickly changes into her mistresss clothes, adjusts two false bunches of auburn curls, and generally makes up to resemble her as closely as possible. When the conductor comes to make up the bed, she tells him the prepared story about having left her maid behind in Paris; and whilst he is making up the berth, she stands looking out of the window, so that her back is towards the corridor and people passing along there. That was a wise precaution, because, as we know, Miss Grey was one of those passing, and she, among others, was willing to swear that Mrs. Kettering was still alive at that hour. Go on, said Van Aldin. Before getting to Lyons, Ada Mason arranged her mistresss body in the bunk, folded up the dead womans clothes neatly on the end of it, and herself changed into a mans clothes and prepared to leave the train. When Derek Kettering entered his wifes compartment, and, as he thought, saw her asleep in her berth, the scene had been set, and Ada Mason was hidden in the next compartment waiting for the moment to leave the train unobserved. As soon as the conductor had swung himself down on to the platform at Lyons, she follows, slouching along as though just taking a breath of air. At a moment when she is unobserved, she hurriedly crosses to the other platform, and takes the first train back to Paris and the Ritz Hotel. Her name has been registered there as taking a room the night before by one of Knightons female accomplices. She has nothing to do but wait there placidly for your arrival. The jewels are not, and never have been, in her possession. No suspicion attaches to him, and, as your secretary, he brings them to Nice without the least fear of discovery. Their delivery there to Monsieur Papopolous is already arranged for, and they are entrusted to Mason at the last moment to hand over to the Greek. Altogether a very neatly planned coup, as one would expect from a master of the game such as the Marquis. And you honestly mean that Richard Knighton is a wellknown criminal, who has been at this business for years? Poirot nodded. One of the chief assets of the gentleman called the Marquis was his plausible, ingratiating manner. You fell a victim to his charm, Monsieur Van Aldin, when you engaged him as a secretary on such a slight acquaintanceship. I could have sworn that he never angled for the post, cried the millionaire. It was very astutely doneso astutely done that it deceived a man whose knowledge of other men is as great as yours is. I looked up his antecedents too. The fellows record was excellent. Yes, yes; that was part of the game. As Richard Knighton his life was quite free from reproach. He was well born, well connected, did honourable service in the War, and seemed altogether above suspicion; but when I came to glean information about the mysterious Marquis, I found many points of similarity. Knighton spoke French like a Frenchman, he had been in America, France, and England at much the same time as the Marquis was operating. The Marquis was last heard of as engineering various jewel robberies in Switzerland, and it was in Switzerland that you had come across Major Knighton; and it was at precisely that time that the first rumours were going round of your being in treaty for the famous rubies. But why murder? murmured Van Aldin brokenly. Surely a clever thief could have stolen the jewels without running his head into a noose. Poirot shook his head. This is not the first murder that lies to the Marquiss charge. He is a killer by instinct; he believes, too, in leaving no evidence behind him. Dead men and women tell no tales. The Marquis had an intense passion for famous and historical jewels. He laid his plans far beforehand by installing himself as your secretary and getting his accomplice to obtain the situation of maid with your daughter, for whom he guessed the jewels were destined. And, though this was his matured and carefully thoughtout plan, he did not scruple to attempt a shortcut by hiring a couple of apaches to waylay you in Paris on the night you bought the jewels. The plan failed, which hardly surprised him, I think. This plan was, so he thought, completely safe. No possible suspicion could attach to Richard Knighton. But like all great menand the Marquis was a great manhe had his weaknesses. He fell genuinely in love with Miss Grey, and suspecting her liking for Derek Kettering, he could not resist the temptation to saddle him with the crime when the opportunity presented itself. And now, Monsieur Van Aldin, I am going to tell you something very curious. Miss Grey is not a fanciful woman by any means, yet she firmly believes that she felt your daughters presence beside her one day in the Casino Gardens at Monte Carlo, just after she had been having a long talk with Knighton. She was convinced, she says, that the dead woman was urgently trying to tell her something, and it suddenly came to her that what the dead woman was trying to say was that Knighton was her murderer! The idea seemed so fantastic at the time that Miss Grey spoke of it to no one. But she was so convinced of its truth that she acted on itwild as it seemed. She did not discourage Knightons advances, and she pretended to him that she was convinced of Derek Ketterings guilt. Extraordinary, said Van Aldin. Yes, it is very strange. One cannot explain these things. Oh, by the way, there is one little point that baffled me considerably. Your secretary has a decided limpthe result of a wound that he received in the War. Now the Marquis most decidedly did not limp. That was a stumbling block. But Miss Lenox Tamplin happened to mention one day that Knightons limp had been a surprise to the surgeon who had been in charge of the case in her mothers hospital. That suggested camouflage. When I was in London I went to the surgeon in question, and I got several technical details from him which confirmed me in that belief. I mentioned the name of that surgeon in Knightons hearing the day before yesterday. The natural thing would have been for Knighton to mention that he had been attended by him during the War, but he said nothingand that little point, if nothing else, gave me the last final assurance that my theory of the crime was correct. Miss Grey, too, provided me with a cutting, showing that there had been a robbery at Lady Tamplins hospital during the time that Knighton had been there. She realised that I was on the same track as herself when I wrote to her from the Ritz in Paris. I had some trouble in my inquiries there, but I got what I wantedevidence that Ada Mason arrived on the morning after the crime and not on the evening of the day before. There was a long silence, then the millionaire stretched out a hand to Poirot across the table. I guess you know what this means to me, Monsieur Poirot, he said huskily. I am sending you round a cheque in the morning, but no cheque in the world will express what I feel about what you have done for me. You are the goods, Monsieur Poirot. Every time, you are the goods. Poirot rose to his feet; his chest swelled. I am only Hercule Poirot, he said modestly, yet, as you say, in my own way I am a big man, even as you also are a big man. I am glad and happy to have been of service to you. Now I go to repair the damages caused by travel. Alas! my excellent Georges is not with me. In the lounge of the hotel he encountered a friendthe venerable Monsieur Papopolous, his daughter Zia beside him. I thought you had left Nice, Monsieur Poirot, murmured the Greek as he took the detectives affectionately proffered hand. Business compelled me to return, my dear Monsieur Papopolous. Business? Yes, business. And talking of business, I hope your health is better, my dear friend? Much better. In fact, we are returning to Paris tomorrow. I am enchanted to hear such good news. You have not completely ruined the Greek exMinister, I hope. I? I understand you sold him a very wonderful ruby whichstrictly entre nousis being worn by Mademoiselle Mirelle, the dancer? Yes, murmured Monsieur Papopolous; yes, that is so. A ruby not unlike the famous Heart of Fire. It has points of resemblance, certainly, said the Greek casually. You have a wonderful hand with jewels, Monsieur Papopolous. I congratulate you. Mademoiselle Zia, I am desolate that you are returning to Paris so speedily. I had hoped to see some more of you now that my business is accomplished. Would one be indiscreet if one asked what that business was? asked Monsieur Papopolous. Not at all, not at all. I have just succeeded in laying the Marquis by the heels. A faraway look came over Monsieur Papopolous noble countenance. The Marquis? he murmured; now why does that seem familiar to me? NoI cannot recall it. You would not, I am sure, said Poirot. I refer to a very notable criminal and jewel robber. He has just been arrested for the murder of the English lady, Madame Kettering. Indeed? How interesting these things are! A polite exchange of farewells followed, and when Poirot was out of earshot, Monsieur Papopolous turned to his daughter. Zia, he said, with feeling, that man is the devil! I like him. I like him myself, admitted Monsieur Papopolous. But he is the devil, all the same. XXXVI By the Sea The mimosa was nearly over. The scent of it in the air was faintly unpleasant. There were pink geraniums twining along the balustrade of Lady Tamplins villa, and masses of carnations below sent up a sweet, heavy perfume. The Mediterranean was at its bluest. Poirot sat on the terrace with Lenox Tamplin. He had just finished telling her the same story that he had told to Van Aldin two days before. Lenox had listened to him with absorbed attention, her brows knitted and her eyes sombre. When he had finished she said simply And Derek? He was released yesterday. And he has gonewhere? He left Nice last night. For St. Mary Mead? Yes, for St. Mary Mead. There was a pause. I was wrong about Katherine, said Lenox. I thought she did not care. She is very reserved. She trusts no one. She might have trusted me, said Lenox, with a shade of bitterness. Yes, said Poirot gravely, she might have trusted you. But Mademoiselle Katherine has spent a great deal of her life listening, and those who have listened do not find it easy to talk; they keep their sorrows and joys to themselves and tell no one. I was a fool, said Lenox; I thought she really cared for Knighton. I ought to have known better. I suppose I thought so becausewell, I hoped so. Poirot took her hand and gave it a little friendly squeeze. Courage, Mademoiselle, he said gently. Lenox looked very straight out across the sea, and her face, in its ugly rigidity, had for the moment a tragic beauty. Oh, well, she said at last, it would not have done. I am too young for Derek; he is like a kid that has never grown up. He wants the Madonna touch. There was a long silence, then Lenox turned to him quickly and impulsively. But I did help, Monsieur Poirotat any rate I did help. Yes, Mademoiselle. It was you who gave me the first inkling of the truth when you said that the person who committed the crime need not have been on the train at all. Before that, I could not see how the thing had been done. Lenox drew a deep breath. I am glad, she said; at any ratethat is something. From far behind them there came a longdrawnout scream of an engines whistle. That is that damned Blue Train, said Lenox. Trains are relentless things, arent they, Monsieur Poirot? People are murdered and die, but they go on just the same. I am talking nonsense, but you know what I mean. Yes, yes, I know. Life is like a train, Mademoiselle. It goes on. And it is a good thing that that is so. Why? Because the train gets to its journeys end at last, and there is a proverb about that in your language, Mademoiselle. Journeys end in lovers meeting. Lenox laughed. That is not going to be true for me. Yesyes, it is true. You are young, younger than you yourself know. Trust the train, Mademoiselle, for it is le bon Dieu who drives it. The whistle of the engine came again. Trust the train, Mademoiselle, murmured Poirot again. And trust Hercule PoirotHe knows. Colophon The Mystery of the Blue Train was published in 1928 by Agatha Christie. This ebook was transcribed and produced for Standard Ebooks by Brian Raiter, and is based on digital scans from the Internet Archive. The cover page is adapted from Ausfahrender Zug, a painting completed in 1902 by Hermann Pleuer. The cover and title pages feature the League Spartan and Sorts Mill Goudy typefaces created in 2014 and 2009 by The League of Moveable Type. This edition was released on November 13, 2024, 732 p.m. and is based on revision f48f58f. The first edition of this ebook was released on January 1, 2024, 531 p.m. You can check for updates to this ebook, view its revision history, or download it for different ereading systems at standardebooks.orgebooksagathachristiethemysteryofthebluetrain. The volunteerdriven Standard Ebooks project relies on readers like you to submit typos, corrections, and other improvements. Anyone can contribute at standardebooks.org. Dedicated to two distinguished members of the O.F.D. Carlotta and Peter The Mystery of the Blue Train Imprint This ebook is the product of many hours of hard work by volunteers for Standard Ebooks, and builds on the hard work of other literature lovers made possible by the public domain. This particular ebook is based on digital scans from the Internet Archive. The source text and artwork in this ebook are believed to be in the United States public domain; that is, they are believed to be free of copyright restrictions in the United States. They may still be copyrighted in other countries, so users located outside of the United States must check their local laws before using this ebook. The creators of, and contributors to, this ebook dedicate their contributions to the worldwide public domain via the terms in the CC0 1.0 Universal Public Domain Dedication. For full license information, see the Uncopyright at the end of this ebook.

Standard Ebooks is a volunteerdriven project that produces ebook editions of public domain literature using modern typography, technology, and editorial standards, and distributes them free of cost. You can download this and other ebooks carefully produced for true book lovers at standardebooks.org. The Mystery of the Blue Train By Agatha Christie. Uncopyright May you do good and not evil. May you find forgiveness for yourself and forgive others. May you share freely, never taking more than you give. Copyright pages exist to tell you that you cant do something. Unlike them, this Uncopyright page exists to tell you that the writing and artwork in this ebook are believed to be in the United States public domain; that is, they are believed to be free of copyright restrictions in the United States. The United States public domain represents our collective cultural heritage, and items in it are free for anyone in the United States to do almost anything at all with, without having to get permission. Copyright laws are different all over the world, and the source text or artwork in this ebook may still be copyrighted in other countries. If youre not located in the United States, you must check your local laws before using this ebook. Standard Ebooks makes no representations regarding the copyright status of the source text or artwork in this ebook in any country other than the United States. Nonauthorship activities performed on items that are in the public domainsocalled sweat of the brow workdont create a new copyright. That means that nobody can claim a new copyright on an item that is in the public domain for, among other things, work like digitization, markup, or typography. Regardless, the contributors to this ebook release their contributions under the terms in the CC0 1.0 Universal Public Domain Dedication, thus dedicating to the worldwide public domain all of the work theyve done on this ebook, including but not limited to metadata, the titlepage, imprint, colophon, this Uncopyright, and any changes or enhancements to, or markup on, the original text and artwork. This dedication doesnt change the copyright status of the source text or artwork. We make this dedication in the interest of enriching our global cultural heritage, to promote free and libre culture around the world, and to give back to the unrestricted culture that has given all of us so much. Table of Contents Titlepage Imprint Dedication The Mystery of the Blue Train I The Man with the White Hair II M. le Marquis III Heart of Fire IV In Curzon Street V A Useful Gentleman VI Mirelle VII Letters VIII Lady Tamplin Writes a Letter IX An Offer Refused X On the Blue Train XI Murder XII At the Villa Marguerite XIII Van Aldin Gets a Telegram XIV Ada Masons Story XV The Comte de la Roche XVI Poirot Discusses the Case XVII An Aristocratic Gentleman XVIII Derek Lunches XIX An Unexpected Visitor XX Katherine Makes a Friend XXI At the Tennis XXII M. Papopolous Breakfasts XXIII A New Theory XXIV Poirot Gives Advice XXV Defiance XXVI A Warning XXVII Interview with Mirelle XXVIII Poirot Plays the Squirrel XXIX A Letter from Home XXX Miss Viner Gives Judgment XXXI Mr. Aarons Lunches XXXII Katherine and Poirot Compare Notes XXXIII A New Theory XXXIV The Blue Train Again XXXV Explanations XXXVI By the Sea Colophon Uncopyright Landmarks The Mystery of the Blue Train

CARMILLA BY SHERIDAN LE FANU 1871 Carmilla By Sheridan Le Fanu. This edition was created and published by Global Grey GlobalGrey 2018 globalgreyebooks.com Contents Prologue 1. An Early Fright 2. A Guest 3. We Compare Notes 4. Her HabitsA Saunter 5. A Wonderful Likeness 6. A Very Strange Agony 7. Descending 8. Search 9. The Doctor 10. Bereaved 11. The Story 12. A Petition 13. The Woodman 14. The Meeting 15. Ordeal And Execution 16. Conclusion Prologue Upon a paper attached to the Narrative which follows, Doctor Hesselius has written a rather elaborate note, which he accompanies with a reference to his Essay on the strange subject which the MS. illuminates. This mysterious subject he treats, in that Essay, with his usual learning and acumen, and with remarkable directness and condensation. It will form but one volume of the series of that extraordinary man's collected papers. As I publish the case, in this volume, simply to interest the "laity," I shall forestall the intelligent lady, who relates it, in nothing; and after due consideration, I have determined, therefore, to abstain from presenting any prcis of the learned Doctor's reasoning, or extract from his statement on a subject which he describes as "involving, not improbably, some of the profoundest arcana of our dual existence, and its intermediates." I was anxious on discovering this paper, to reopen the correspondence commenced by Doctor Hesselius, so many years before, with a person so clever and careful as his informant seems to have been. Much to my regret, however, I found that she had died in the interval. She, probably, could have added little to the Narrative which she communicates in the following pages, with, so far as I can pronounce, such conscientious particularity. 1. An Early Fright In Styria, we, though by no means magnificent people, inhabit a castle, or schloss. A small income, in that part of the world, goes a great way. Eight or nine hundred a year does wonders. Scantily enough ours would have answered among wealthy people at home. My father is English, and I bear an English name, although I never saw England. But here, in this lonely and primitive place, where everything is so marvelously cheap, I really don't see how ever so much more money would at all materially add to our comforts, or even luxuries. My father was in the Austrian service, and retired upon a pension and his patrimony, and purchased this feudal residence, and the small estate on which it stands, a bargain. Nothing can be more picturesque or solitary. It stands on a slight eminence in a forest. The road, very old and narrow, passes in front of its drawbridge, never raised in my time, and its moat, stocked with perch, and sailed over by many swans, and floating on its surface white fleets of water lilies. Over all this the schloss shows its manywindowed front; its towers, and its Gothic chapel. The forest opens in an irregular and very picturesque glade before its gate, and at the right a steep Gothic bridge carries the road over a stream that winds in deep shadow through the wood. I have said that this is a very lonely place. Judge whether I say truth. Looking from the hall door towards the road, the forest in which our castle stands extends fifteen miles to the right, and twelve to the left. The nearest inhabited village is about seven of your English miles to the left. The nearest inhabited schloss of any historic associations, is that of old General Spielsdorf, nearly twenty miles away to the right. I have said "the nearest inhabited village," because there is, only three miles westward, that is to say in the direction of General Spielsdorf's schloss, a ruined village, with its quaint little church, now roofless, in the aisle of which are the moldering tombs of the proud family of Karnstein, now extinct, who once owned the equally desolate chateau which, in the thick of the forest, overlooks the silent ruins of the town. Respecting the cause of the desertion of this striking and melancholy spot, there is a legend which I shall relate to you another time. I must tell you now, how very small is the party who constitute the inhabitants of our castle. I don't include servants, or those dependents who occupy rooms in the buildings attached to the schloss. Listen, and wonder! My father, who is the kindest man on earth, but growing old; and I, at the date of my story, only nineteen. Eight years have passed since then. I and my father constituted the family at the schloss. My mother, a Styrian lady, died in my infancy, but I had a goodnatured governess, who had been with me from, I might almost say, my infancy. I could not remember the time when her fat, benignant face was not a familiar picture in my memory. This was Madame Perrodon, a native of Berne, whose care and good nature now in part supplied to me the loss of my mother, whom I do not even remember, so early I lost her. She made a third at our little dinner party. There was a fourth, Mademoiselle De Lafontaine, a lady such as you term, I believe, a "finishing governess." She spoke French and German, Madame Perrodon French and broken English, to which my father and I added English, which, partly to prevent its becoming a lost language among us, and partly from patriotic motives, we spoke every day. The consequence was a Babel, at which strangers used to laugh, and which I shall make no attempt to reproduce in this narrative. And there were two or three young lady friends besides, pretty nearly of my own age, who were occasional visitors, for longer or shorter terms; and these visits I sometimes returned. These were our regular social resources; but of course there were chance visits from "neighbors" of only five or six leagues distance. My life was, notwithstanding, rather a solitary one, I can assure you. My gouvernantes had just so much control over me as you might conjecture such sage persons would have in the case of a rather spoiled girl, whose only parent allowed her pretty nearly her own way in everything. The first occurrence in my existence, which produced a terrible impression upon my mind, which, in fact, never has been effaced, was one of the very earliest incidents of my life which I can recollect. Some people will think it so trifling that it should not be recorded here. You will see, however, byandby, why I mention it. The nursery, as it was called, though I had it all to myself, was a large room in the upper story of the castle, with a steep oak roof. I can't have been more than six years old, when one night I awoke, and looking round the room from my bed, failed to see the nursery maid. Neither was my nurse there; and I thought myself alone. I was not frightened, for I was one of those happy children who are studiously kept in ignorance of ghost stories, of fairy tales, and of all such lore as makes us cover up our heads when the door cracks suddenly, or the flicker of an expiring candle makes the shadow of a bedpost dance upon the wall, nearer to our faces. I was vexed and insulted at finding myself, as I conceived, neglected, and I began to whimper, preparatory to a hearty bout of roaring; when to my surprise, I saw a solemn, but very pretty face looking at me from the side of the bed. It was that of a young lady who was kneeling, with her hands under the coverlet. I looked at her with a kind of pleased wonder, and ceased whimpering. She caressed me with her hands, and lay down beside me on the bed, and drew me towards her, smiling; I felt immediately delightfully soothed, and fell asleep again. I was wakened by a sensation as if two needles ran into my breast very deep at the same moment, and I cried loudly. The lady started back, with her eyes fixed on me, and then slipped down upon the floor, and, as I thought, hid herself under the bed. I was now for the first time frightened, and I yelled with all my might and main. Nurse, nursery maid, housekeeper, all came running in, and hearing my story, they made light of it, soothing me all they could meanwhile. But, child as I was, I could perceive that their faces were pale with an unwonted look of anxiety, and I saw them look under the bed, and about the room, and peep under tables and pluck open cupboards; and the housekeeper whispered to the nurse "Lay your hand along that hollow in the bed; someone did lie there, so sure as you did not; the place is still warm." I remember the nursery maid petting me, and all three examining my chest, where I told them I felt the puncture, and pronouncing that there was no sign visible that any such thing had happened to me. The housekeeper and the two other servants who were in charge of the nursery, remained sitting up all night; and from that time a servant always sat up in the nursery until I was about fourteen. I was very nervous for a long time after this. A doctor was called in, he was pallid and elderly. How well I remember his long saturnine face, slightly pitted with smallpox, and his chestnut wig. For a good while, every second day, he came and gave me medicine, which of course I hated. The morning after I saw this apparition I was in a state of terror, and could not bear to be left alone, daylight though it was, for a moment. I remember my father coming up and standing at the bedside, and talking cheerfully, and asking the nurse a number of questions, and laughing very heartily at one of the answers; and patting me on the shoulder, and kissing me, and telling me not to be frightened, that it was nothing but a dream and could not hurt me. But I was not comforted, for I knew the visit of the strange woman was not a dream; and I was awfully frightened. I was a little consoled by the nursery maid's assuring me that it was she who had come and looked at me, and lain down beside me in the bed, and that I must have been halfdreaming not to have known her face. But this, though supported by the nurse, did not quite satisfy me. I remembered, in the course of that day, a venerable old man, in a black cassock, coming into the room with the nurse and housekeeper, and talking a little to them, and very kindly to me; his face was very sweet and gentle, and he told me they were going to pray, and joined my hands together, and desired me to say, softly, while they were praying, "Lord hear all good prayers for us, for Jesus' sake." I think these were the very words, for I often repeated them to myself, and my nurse used for years to make me say them in my prayers. I remembered so well the thoughtful sweet face of that whitehaired old man, in his black cassock, as he stood in that rude, lofty, brown room, with the clumsy furniture of a fashion three hundred years old about him, and the scanty light entering its shadowy atmosphere through the small lattice. He kneeled, and the three women with him, and he prayed aloud with an earnest quavering voice for, what appeared to me, a long time. I forget all my life preceding that event, and for some time after it is all obscure also, but the scenes I have just described stand out vivid as the isolated pictures of the phantasmagoria surrounded by darkness. 2. A Guest I am now going to tell you something so strange that it will require all your faith in my veracity to believe my story. It is not only true, nevertheless, but truth of which I have been an eyewitness. It was a sweet summer evening, and my father asked me, as he sometimes did, to take a little ramble with him along that beautiful forest vista which I have mentioned as lying in front of the schloss. "General Spielsdorf cannot come to us so soon as I had hoped," said my father, as we pursued our walk. He was to have paid us a visit of some weeks, and we had expected his arrival next day. He was to have brought with him a young lady, his niece and ward, Mademoiselle Rheinfeldt, whom I had never seen, but whom I had heard described as a very charming girl, and in whose society I had promised myself many happy days. I was more disappointed than a young lady living in a town, or a bustling neighborhood can possibly imagine. This visit, and the new acquaintance it promised, had furnished my day dream for many weeks. "And how soon does he come?" I asked. "Not till autumn. Not for two months, I dare say," he answered. "And I am very glad now, dear, that you never knew Mademoiselle Rheinfeldt." "And why?" I asked, both mortified and curious. "Because the poor young lady is dead," he replied. "I quite forgot I had not told you, but you were not in the room when I received the General's letter this evening." I was very much shocked. General Spielsdorf had mentioned in his first letter, six or seven weeks before, that she was not so well as he would wish her, but there was nothing to suggest the remotest suspicion of danger. "Here is the General's letter," he said, handing it to me. "I am afraid he is in great affliction; the letter appears to me to have been written very nearly in distraction." We sat down on a rude bench, under a group of magnificent lime trees. The sun was setting with all its melancholy splendor behind the sylvan horizon, and the stream that flows beside our home, and passes under the steep old bridge I have mentioned, wound through many a group of noble trees, almost at our feet, reflecting in its current the fading crimson of the sky. General Spielsdorf's letter was so extraordinary, so vehement, and in some places so selfcontradictory, that I read it twice overthe second time aloud to my fatherand was still unable to account for it, except by supposing that grief had unsettled his mind. It said "I have lost my darling daughter, for as such I loved her. During the last days of dear Bertha's illness I was not able to write to you. Before then I had no idea of her danger. I have lost her, and now learn all, too late. She died in the peace of innocence, and in the glorious hope of a blessed futurity. The fiend who betrayed our infatuated hospitality has done it all. I thought I was receiving into my house innocence, gaiety, a charming companion for my lost Bertha. Heavens! what a fool have I been! I thank God my child died without a suspicion of the cause of her sufferings. She is gone without so much as conjecturing the nature of her illness, and the accursed passion of the agent of all this misery. I devote my remaining days to tracking and extinguishing a monster. I am told I may hope to accomplish my righteous and merciful purpose. At present there is scarcely a gleam of light to guide me. I curse my conceited incredulity, my despicable affectation of superiority, my blindness, my obstinacyalltoo late. I cannot write or talk collectedly now. I am distracted. So soon as I shall have a little recovered, I mean to devote myself for a time to enquiry, which may possibly lead me as far as Vienna. Some time in the autumn, two months hence, or earlier if I live, I will see youthat is, if you permit me; I will then tell you all that I scarce dare put upon paper now. Farewell. Pray for me, dear friend." In these terms ended this strange letter. Though I had never seen Bertha Rheinfeldt my eyes filled with tears at the sudden intelligence; I was startled, as well as profoundly disappointed. The sun had now set, and it was twilight by the time I had returned the General's letter to my father. It was a soft clear evening, and we loitered, speculating upon the possible meanings of the violent and incoherent sentences which I had just been reading. We had nearly a mile to walk before reaching the road that passes the schloss in front, and by that time the moon was shining brilliantly. At the drawbridge we met Madame Perrodon and Mademoiselle De Lafontaine, who had come out, without their bonnets, to enjoy the exquisite moonlight. We heard their voices gabbling in animated dialogue as we approached. We joined them at the drawbridge, and turned about to admire with them the beautiful scene. The glade through which we had just walked lay before us. At our left the narrow road wound away under clumps of lordly trees, and was lost to sight amid the thickening forest. At the right the same road crosses the steep and picturesque bridge, near which stands a ruined tower which once guarded that pass; and beyond the bridge an abrupt eminence rises, covered with trees, and showing in the shadows some grey ivyclustered rocks. Over the sward and low grounds a thin film of mist was stealing like smoke, marking the distances with a transparent veil; and here and there we could see the river faintly flashing in the moonlight. No softer, sweeter scene could be imagined. The news I had just heard made it melancholy; but nothing could disturb its character of profound serenity, and the enchanted glory and vagueness of the prospect. My father, who enjoyed the picturesque, and I, stood looking in silence over the expanse beneath us. The two good governesses, standing a little way behind us, discoursed upon the scene, and were eloquent upon the moon. Madame Perrodon was fat, middleaged, and romantic, and talked and sighed poetically. Mademoiselle De Lafontainein right of her father who was a German, assumed to be psychological, metaphysical, and something of a mysticnow declared that when the moon shone with a light so intense it was well known that it indicated a special spiritual activity. The effect of the full moon in such a state of brilliancy was manifold. It acted on dreams, it acted on lunacy, it acted on nervous people, it had marvelous physical influences connected with life. Mademoiselle related that her cousin, who was mate of a merchant ship, having taken a nap on deck on such a night, lying on his back, with his face full in the light on the moon, had wakened, after a dream of an old woman clawing him by the cheek, with his features horribly drawn to one side; and his countenance had never quite recovered its equilibrium. "The moon, this night," she said, "is full of idyllic and magnetic influenceand see, when you look behind you at the front of the schloss how all its windows flash and twinkle with that silvery splendor, as if unseen hands had lighted up the rooms to receive fairy guests." There are indolent styles of the spirits in which, indisposed to talk ourselves, the talk of others is pleasant to our listless ears; and I gazed on, pleased with the tinkle of the ladies' conversation. "I have got into one of my moping moods tonight," said my father, after a silence, and quoting Shakespeare, whom, by way of keeping up our English, he used to read aloud, he said "'In truth I know not why I am so sad.It wearies me you say it wearies you;But how I got itcame by it.' "I forget the rest. But I feel as if some great misfortune were hanging over us. I suppose the poor General's afflicted letter has had something to do with it." At this moment the unwonted sound of carriage wheels and many hoofs upon the road, arrested our attention. They seemed to be approaching from the high ground overlooking the bridge, and very soon the equipage emerged from that point. Two horsemen first crossed the bridge, then came a carriage drawn by four horses, and two men rode behind. It seemed to be the traveling carriage of a person of rank; and we were all immediately absorbed in watching that very unusual spectacle. It became, in a few moments, greatly more interesting, for just as the carriage had passed the summit of the steep bridge, one of the leaders, taking fright, communicated his panic to the rest, and after a plunge or two, the whole team broke into a wild gallop together, and dashing between the horsemen who rode in front, came thundering along the road towards us with the speed of a hurricane. The excitement of the scene was made more painful by the clear, longdrawn screams of a female voice from the carriage window. We all advanced in curiosity and horror; me rather in silence, the rest with various ejaculations of terror. Our suspense did not last long. Just before you reach the castle drawbridge, on the route they were coming, there stands by the roadside a magnificent lime tree, on the other stands an ancient stone cross, at sight of which the horses, now going at a pace that was perfectly frightful, swerved so as to bring the wheel over the projecting roots of the tree. I knew what was coming. I covered my eyes, unable to see it out, and turned my head away; at the same moment I heard a cry from my lady friends, who had gone on a little. Curiosity opened my eyes, and I saw a scene of utter confusion. Two of the horses were on the ground, the carriage lay upon its side with two wheels in the air; the men were busy removing the traces, and a lady with a commanding air and figure had got out, and stood with clasped hands, raising the handkerchief that was in them every now and then to her eyes. Through the carriage door was now lifted a young lady, who appeared to be lifeless. My dear old father was already beside the elder lady, with his hat in his hand, evidently tendering his aid and the resources of his schloss. The lady did not appear to hear him, or to have eyes for anything but the slender girl who was being placed against the slope of the bank. I approached; the young lady was apparently stunned, but she was certainly not dead. My father, who piqued himself on being something of a physician, had just had his fingers on her wrist and assured the lady, who declared herself her mother, that her pulse, though faint and irregular, was undoubtedly still distinguishable. The lady clasped her hands and looked upward, as if in a momentary transport of gratitude; but immediately she broke out again in that theatrical way which is, I believe, natural to some people. She was what is called a fine looking woman for her time of life, and must have been handsome; she was tall, but not thin, and dressed in black velvet, and looked rather pale, but with a proud and commanding countenance, though now agitated strangely. "Who was ever being so born to calamity?" I heard her say, with clasped hands, as I came up. "Here am I, on a journey of life and death, in prosecuting which to lose an hour is possibly to lose all. My child will not have recovered sufficiently to resume her route for who can say how long. I must leave her I cannot, dare not, delay. How far on, sir, can you tell, is the nearest village? I must leave her there; and shall not see my darling, or even hear of her till my return, three months hence." I plucked my father by the coat, and whispered earnestly in his ear "Oh! papa, pray ask her to let her stay with usit would be so delightful. Do, pray." "If Madame will entrust her child to the care of my daughter, and of her good gouvernante, Madame Perrodon, and permit her to remain as our guest, under my charge, until her return, it will confer a distinction and an obligation upon us, and we shall treat her with all the care and devotion which so sacred a trust deserves." "I cannot do that, sir, it would be to task your kindness and chivalry too cruelly," said the lady, distractedly. "It would, on the contrary, be to confer on us a very great kindness at the moment when we most need it. My daughter has just been disappointed by a cruel misfortune, in a visit from which she had long anticipated a great deal of happiness. If you confide this young lady to our care it will be her best consolation. The nearest village on your route is distant, and affords no such inn as you could think of placing your daughter at; you cannot allow her to continue her journey for any considerable distance without danger. If, as you say, you cannot suspend your journey, you must part with her tonight, and nowhere could you do so with more honest assurances of care and tenderness than here." There was something in this lady's air and appearance so distinguished and even imposing, and in her manner so engaging, as to impress one, quite apart from the dignity of her equipage, with a conviction that she was a person of consequence. By this time the carriage was replaced in its upright position, and the horses, quite tractable, in the traces again. The lady threw on her daughter a glance which I fancied was not quite so affectionate as one might have anticipated from the beginning of the scene; then she beckoned slightly to my father, and withdrew two or three steps with him out of hearing; and talked to him with a fixed and stern countenance, not at all like that with which she had hitherto spoken. I was filled with wonder that my father did not seem to perceive the change, and also unspeakably curious to learn what it could be that she was speaking, almost in his ear, with so much earnestness and rapidity. Two or three minutes at most I think she remained thus employed, then she turned, and a few steps brought her to where her daughter lay, supported by Madame Perrodon. She kneeled beside her for a moment and whispered, as Madame supposed, a little benediction in her ear; then hastily kissing her she stepped into her carriage, the door was closed, the footmen in stately liveries jumped up behind, the outriders spurred on, the postilions cracked their whips, the horses plunged and broke suddenly into a furious canter that threatened soon again to become a gallop, and the carriage whirled away, followed at the same rapid pace by the two horsemen in the rear. 3. We Compare Notes We followed the cortege with our eyes until it was swiftly lost to sight in the misty wood; and the very sound of the hoofs and the wheels died away in the silent night air. Nothing remained to assure us that the adventure had not been an illusion of a moment but the young lady, who just at that moment opened her eyes. I could not see, for her face was turned from me, but she raised her head, evidently looking about her, and I heard a very sweet voice ask complainingly, "Where is mamma?" Our good Madame Perrodon answered tenderly, and added some comfortable assurances. I then heard her ask "Where am I? What is this place?" and after that she said, "I don't see the carriage; and Matska, where is she?" Madame answered all her questions in so far as she understood them; and gradually the young lady remembered how the misadventure came about, and was glad to hear that no one in, or in attendance on, the carriage was hurt; and on learning that her mamma had left her here, till her return in about three months, she wept. I was going to add my consolations to those of Madame Perrodon when Mademoiselle De Lafontaine placed her hand upon my arm, saying "Don't approach, one at a time is as much as she can at present converse with; a very little excitement would possibly overpower her now." As soon as she is comfortably in bed, I thought, I will run up to her room and see her. My father in the meantime had sent a servant on horseback for the physician, who lived about two leagues away; and a bedroom was being prepared for the young lady's reception. The stranger now rose, and leaning on Madame's arm, walked slowly over the drawbridge and into the castle gate. In the hall, servants waited to receive her, and she was conducted forthwith to her room. The room we usually sat in as our drawing room is long, having four windows, that looked over the moat and drawbridge, upon the forest scene I have just described. It is furnished in old carved oak, with large carved cabinets, and the chairs are cushioned with crimson Utrecht velvet. The walls are covered with tapestry, and surrounded with great gold frames, the figures being as large as life, in ancient and very curious costume, and the subjects represented are hunting, hawking, and generally festive. It is not too stately to be extremely comfortable; and here we had our tea, for with his usual patriotic leanings he insisted that the national beverage should make its appearance regularly with our coffee and chocolate. We sat here this night, and with candles lighted, were talking over the adventure of the evening. Madame Perrodon and Mademoiselle De Lafontaine were both of our party. The young stranger had hardly lain down in her bed when she sank into a deep sleep; and those ladies had left her in the care of a servant. "How do you like our guest?" I asked, as soon as Madame entered. "Tell me all about her?" "I like her extremely," answered Madame, "she is, I almost think, the prettiest creature I ever saw; about your age, and so gentle and nice." "She is absolutely beautiful," threw in Mademoiselle, who had peeped for a moment into the stranger's room. "And such a sweet voice!" added Madame Perrodon. "Did you remark a woman in the carriage, after it was set up again, who did not get out," inquired Mademoiselle, "but only looked from the window?" "No, we had not seen her." Then she described a hideous black woman, with a sort of colored turban on her head, and who was gazing all the time from the carriage window, nodding and grinning derisively towards the ladies, with gleaming eyes and large white eyeballs, and her teeth set as if in fury. "Did you remark what an illlooking pack of men the servants were?" asked Madame. "Yes," said my father, who had just come in, "ugly, hangdog looking fellows as ever I beheld in my life. I hope they mayn't rob the poor lady in the forest. They are clever rogues, however; they got everything to rights in a minute." "I dare say they are worn out with too long traveling," said Madame. "Besides looking wicked, their faces were so strangely lean, and dark, and sullen. I am very curious, I own; but I dare say the young lady will tell you all about it tomorrow, if she is sufficiently recovered." "I don't think she will," said my father, with a mysterious smile, and a little nod of his head, as if he knew more about it than he cared to tell us. This made us all the more inquisitive as to what had passed between him and the lady in the black velvet, in the brief but earnest interview that had immediately preceded her departure. We were scarcely alone, when I entreated him to tell me. He did not need much pressing. "There is no particular reason why I should not tell you. She expressed a reluctance to trouble us with the care of her daughter, saying she was in delicate health, and nervous, but not subject to any kind of seizureshe volunteered thatnor to any illusion; being, in fact, perfectly sane." "How very odd to say all that!" I interpolated. "It was so unnecessary." "At all events it was said," he laughed, "and as you wish to know all that passed, which was indeed very little, I tell you. She then said, 'I am making a long journey of vital importanceshe emphasized the wordrapid and secret; I shall return for my child in three months; in the meantime, she will be silent as to who we are, whence we come, and whither we are traveling.' That is all she said. She spoke very pure French. When she said the word 'secret,' she paused for a few seconds, looking sternly, her eyes fixed on mine. I fancy she makes a great point of that. You saw how quickly she was gone. I hope I have not done a very foolish thing, in taking charge of the young lady." For my part, I was delighted. I was longing to see and talk to her; and only waiting till the doctor should give me leave. You, who live in towns, can have no idea how great an event the introduction of a new friend is, in such a solitude as surrounded us. The doctor did not arrive till nearly one o'clock; but I could no more have gone to my bed and slept, than I could have overtaken, on foot, the carriage in which the princess in black velvet had driven away. When the physician came down to the drawing room, it was to report very favorably upon his patient. She was now sitting up, her pulse quite regular, apparently perfectly well. She had sustained no injury, and the little shock to her nerves had passed away quite harmlessly. There could be no harm certainly in my seeing her, if we both wished it; and, with this permission I sent, forthwith, to know whether she would allow me to visit her for a few minutes in her room.

The servant returned immediately to say that she desired nothing more. You may be sure I was not long in availing myself of this permission. Our visitor lay in one of the handsomest rooms in the schloss. It was, perhaps, a little stately. There was a somber piece of tapestry opposite the foot of the bed, representing Cleopatra with the asps to her bosom; and other solemn classic scenes were displayed, a little faded, upon the other walls. But there was gold carving, and rich and varied color enough in the other decorations of the room, to more than redeem the gloom of the old tapestry. There were candles at the bedside. She was sitting up; her slender pretty figure enveloped in the soft silk dressing gown, embroidered with flowers, and lined with thick quilted silk, which her mother had thrown over her feet as she lay upon the ground. What was it that, as I reached the bedside and had just begun my little greeting, struck me dumb in a moment, and made me recoil a step or two from before her? I will tell you. I saw the very face which had visited me in my childhood at night, which remained so fixed in my memory, and on which I had for so many years so often ruminated with horror, when no one suspected of what I was thinking. It was pretty, even beautiful; and when I first beheld it, wore the same melancholy expression. But this almost instantly lighted into a strange fixed smile of recognition. There was a silence of fully a minute, and then at length she spoke; I could not. "How wonderful!" she exclaimed. "Twelve years ago, I saw your face in a dream, and it has haunted me ever since." "Wonderful indeed!" I repeated, overcoming with an effort the horror that had for a time suspended my utterances. "Twelve years ago, in vision or reality, I certainly saw you. I could not forget your face. It has remained before my eyes ever since." Her smile had softened. Whatever I had fancied strange in it, was gone, and it and her dimpling cheeks were now delightfully pretty and intelligent. I felt reassured, and continued more in the vein which hospitality indicated, to bid her welcome, and to tell her how much pleasure her accidental arrival had given us all, and especially what a happiness it was to me. I took her hand as I spoke. I was a little shy, as lonely people are, but the situation made me eloquent, and even bold. She pressed my hand, she laid hers upon it, and her eyes glowed, as, looking hastily into mine, she smiled again, and blushed. She answered my welcome very prettily. I sat down beside her, still wondering; and she said "I must tell you my vision about you; it is so very strange that you and I should have had, each of the other so vivid a dream, that each should have seen, I you and you me, looking as we do now, when of course we both were mere children. I was a child, about six years old, and I awoke from a confused and troubled dream, and found myself in a room, unlike my nursery, wainscoted clumsily in some dark wood, and with cupboards and bedsteads, and chairs, and benches placed about it. The beds were, I thought, all empty, and the room itself without anyone but myself in it; and I, after looking about me for some time, and admiring especially an iron candlestick with two branches, which I should certainly know again, crept under one of the beds to reach the window; but as I got from under the bed, I heard someone crying; and looking up, while I was still upon my knees, I saw youmost assuredly youas I see you now; a beautiful young lady, with golden hair and large blue eyes, and lipsyour lipsyou as you are here. "Your looks won me; I climbed on the bed and put my arms about you, and I think we both fell asleep. I was aroused by a scream; you were sitting up screaming. I was frightened, and slipped down upon the ground, and, it seemed to me, lost consciousness for a moment; and when I came to myself, I was again in my nursery at home. Your face I have never forgotten since. I could not be misled by mere resemblance. You are the lady whom I saw then." It was now my turn to relate my corresponding vision, which I did, to the undisguised wonder of my new acquaintance. "I don't know which should be most afraid of the other," she said, again smiling"If you were less pretty I think I should be very much afraid of you, but being as you are, and you and I both so young, I feel only that I have made your acquaintance twelve years ago, and have already a right to your intimacy; at all events it does seem as if we were destined, from our earliest childhood, to be friends. I wonder whether you feel as strangely drawn towards me as I do to you; I have never had a friendshall I find one now?" She sighed, and her fine dark eyes gazed passionately on me. Now the truth is, I felt rather unaccountably towards the beautiful stranger. I did feel, as she said, "drawn towards her," but there was also something of repulsion. In this ambiguous feeling, however, the sense of attraction immensely prevailed. She interested and won me; she was so beautiful and so indescribably engaging. I perceived now something of languor and exhaustion stealing over her, and hastened to bid her good night. "The doctor thinks," I added, "that you ought to have a maid to sit up with you tonight; one of ours is waiting, and you will find her a very useful and quiet creature." "How kind of you, but I could not sleep, I never could with an attendant in the room. I shan't require any assistanceand, shall I confess my weakness, I am haunted with a terror of robbers. Our house was robbed once, and two servants murdered, so I always lock my door. It has become a habitand you look so kind I know you will forgive me. I see there is a key in the lock." She held me close in her pretty arms for a moment and whispered in my ear, "Good night, darling, it is very hard to part with you, but good night; tomorrow, but not early, I shall see you again." She sank back on the pillow with a sigh, and her fine eyes followed me with a fond and melancholy gaze, and she murmured again "Good night, dear friend." Young people like, and even love, on impulse. I was flattered by the evident, though as yet undeserved, fondness she showed me. I liked the confidence with which she at once received me. She was determined that we should be very near friends. Next day came and we met again. I was delighted with my companion; that is to say, in many respects. Her looks lost nothing in daylightshe was certainly the most beautiful creature I had ever seen, and the unpleasant remembrance of the face presented in my early dream, had lost the effect of the first unexpected recognition. She confessed that she had experienced a similar shock on seeing me, and precisely the same faint antipathy that had mingled with my admiration of her. We now laughed together over our momentary horrors. 4. Her HabitsA Saunter I told you that I was charmed with her in most particulars. There were some that did not please me so well. She was above the middle height of women. I shall begin by describing her. She was slender, and wonderfully graceful. Except that her movements were languidvery languidindeed, there was nothing in her appearance to indicate an invalid. Her complexion was rich and brilliant; her features were small and beautifully formed; her eyes large, dark, and lustrous; her hair was quite wonderful, I never saw hair so magnificently thick and long when it was down about her shoulders; I have often placed my hands under it, and laughed with wonder at its weight. It was exquisitely fine and soft, and in color a rich very dark brown, with something of gold. I loved to let it down, tumbling with its own weight, as, in her room, she lay back in her chair talking in her sweet low voice, I used to fold and braid it, and spread it out and play with it. Heavens! If I had but known all! I said there were particulars which did not please me. I have told you that her confidence won me the first night I saw her; but I found that she exercised with respect to herself, her mother, her history, everything in fact connected with her life, plans, and people, an ever wakeful reserve. I dare say I was unreasonable, perhaps I was wrong; I dare say I ought to have respected the solemn injunction laid upon my father by the stately lady in black velvet. But curiosity is a restless and unscrupulous passion, and no one girl can endure, with patience, that hers should be baffled by another. What harm could it do anyone to tell me what I so ardently desired to know? Had she no trust in my good sense or honor? Why would she not believe me when I assured her, so solemnly, that I would not divulge one syllable of what she told me to any mortal breathing. There was a coldness, it seemed to me, beyond her years, in her smiling melancholy persistent refusal to afford me the least ray of light. I cannot say we quarreled upon this point, for she would not quarrel upon any. It was, of course, very unfair of me to press her, very illbred, but I really could not help it; and I might just as well have let it alone. What she did tell me amounted, in my unconscionable estimationto nothing. It was all summed up in three very vague disclosures FirstHer name was Carmilla. SecondHer family was very ancient and noble. ThirdHer home lay in the direction of the west. She would not tell me the name of her family, nor their armorial bearings, nor the name of their estate, nor even that of the country they lived in. You are not to suppose that I worried her incessantly on these subjects. I watched opportunity, and rather insinuated than urged my inquiries. Once or twice, indeed, I did attack her more directly. But no matter what my tactics, utter failure was invariably the result. Reproaches and caresses were all lost upon her. But I must add this, that her evasion was conducted with so pretty a melancholy and deprecation, with so many, and even passionate declarations of her liking for me, and trust in my honor, and with so many promises that I should at last know all, that I could not find it in my heart long to be offended with her. She used to place her pretty arms about my neck, draw me to her, and laying her cheek to mine, murmur with her lips near my ear, "Dearest, your little heart is wounded; think me not cruel because I obey the irresistible law of my strength and weakness; if your dear heart is wounded, my wild heart bleeds with yours. In the rapture of my enormous humiliation I live in your warm life, and you shall diedie, sweetly dieinto mine. I cannot help it; as I draw near to you, you, in your turn, will draw near to others, and learn the rapture of that cruelty, which yet is love; so, for a while, seek to know no more of me and mine, but trust me with all your loving spirit." And when she had spoken such a rhapsody, she would press me more closely in her trembling embrace, and her lips in soft kisses gently glow upon my cheek. Her agitations and her language were unintelligible to me. From these foolish embraces, which were not of very frequent occurrence, I must allow, I used to wish to extricate myself; but my energies seemed to fail me. Her murmured words sounded like a lullaby in my ear, and soothed my resistance into a trance, from which I only seemed to recover myself when she withdrew her arms. In these mysterious moods I did not like her. I experienced a strange tumultuous excitement that was pleasurable, ever and anon, mingled with a vague sense of fear and disgust. I had no distinct thoughts about her while such scenes lasted, but I was conscious of a love growing into adoration, and also of abhorrence. This I know is paradox, but I can make no other attempt to explain the feeling. I now write, after an interval of more than ten years, with a trembling hand, with a confused and horrible recollection of certain occurrences and situations, in the ordeal through which I was unconsciously passing; though with a vivid and very sharp remembrance of the main current of my story. But, I suspect, in all lives there are certain emotional scenes, those in which our passions have been most wildly and terribly roused, that are of all others the most vaguely and dimly remembered. Sometimes after an hour of apathy, my strange and beautiful companion would take my hand and hold it with a fond pressure, renewed again and again; blushing softly, gazing in my face with languid and burning eyes, and breathing so fast that her dress rose and fell with the tumultuous respiration. It was like the ardor of a lover; it embarrassed me; it was hateful and yet overpowering; and with gloating eyes she drew me to her, and her hot lips traveled along my cheek in kisses; and she would whisper, almost in sobs, "You are mine, you shall be mine, you and I are one for ever." Then she had thrown herself back in her chair, with her small hands over her eyes, leaving me trembling. "Are we related," I used to ask; "what can you mean by all this? I remind you perhaps of someone whom you love; but you must not, I hate it; I don't know youI don't know myself when you look so and talk so." She used to sigh at my vehemence, then turn away and drop my hand. Respecting these very extraordinary manifestations I strove in vain to form any satisfactory theoryI could not refer them to affectation or trick. It was unmistakably the momentary breaking out of suppressed instinct and emotion. Was she, notwithstanding her mother's volunteered denial, subject to brief visitations of insanity; or was there here a disguise and a romance? I had read in old storybooks of such things. What if a boyish lover had found his way into the house, and sought to prosecute his suit in masquerade, with the assistance of a clever old adventuress. But there were many things against this hypothesis, highly interesting as it was to my vanity. I could boast of no little attentions such as masculine gallantry delights to offer. Between these passionate moments there were long intervals of commonplace, of gaiety, of brooding melancholy, during which, except that I detected her eyes so full of melancholy fire, following me, at times I might have been as nothing to her. Except in these brief periods of mysterious excitement her ways were girlish; and there was always a languor about her, quite incompatible with a masculine system in a state of health. In some respects her habits were odd. Perhaps not so singular in the opinion of a town lady like you, as they appeared to us rustic people. She used to come down very late, generally not till one o'clock, she would then take a cup of chocolate, but eat nothing; we then went out for a walk, which was a mere saunter, and she seemed, almost immediately, exhausted, and either returned to the schloss or sat on one of the benches that were placed, here and there, among the trees. This was a bodily languor in which her mind did not sympathize. She was always an animated talker, and very intelligent. She sometimes alluded for a moment to her own home, or mentioned an adventure or situation, or an early recollection, which indicated a people of strange manners, and described customs of which we knew nothing. I gathered from these chance hints that her native country was much more remote than I had at first fancied. As we sat thus one afternoon under the trees a funeral passed us by. It was that of a pretty young girl, whom I had often seen, the daughter of one of the rangers of the forest. The poor man was walking behind the coffin of his darling; she was his only child, and he looked quite heartbroken. Peasants walking twoandtwo came behind, they were singing a funeral hymn. I rose to mark my respect as they passed, and joined in the hymn they were very sweetly singing. My companion shook me a little roughly, and I turned surprised. She said brusquely, "Don't you perceive how discordant that is?" "I think it very sweet, on the contrary," I answered, vexed at the interruption, and very uncomfortable, lest the people who composed the little procession should observe and resent what was passing. I resumed, therefore, instantly, and was again interrupted. "You pierce my ears," said Carmilla, almost angrily, and stopping her ears with her tiny fingers. "Besides, how can you tell that your religion and mine are the same; your forms wound me, and I hate funerals. What a fuss! Why you must dieeveryone must die; and all are happier when they do. Come home." "My father has gone on with the clergyman to the churchyard. I thought you knew she was to be buried today." "She? I don't trouble my head about peasants. I don't know who she is," answered Carmilla, with a flash from her fine eyes. "She is the poor girl who fancied she saw a ghost a fortnight ago, and has been dying ever since, till yesterday, when she expired." "Tell me nothing about ghosts. I shan't sleep tonight if you do." "I hope there is no plague or fever coming; all this looks very like it," I continued. "The swineherd's young wife died only a week ago, and she thought something seized her by the throat as she lay in her bed, and nearly strangled her. Papa says such horrible fancies do accompany some forms of fever. She was quite well the day before. She sank afterwards, and died before a week." "Well, her funeral is over, I hope, and her hymn sung; and our ears shan't be tortured with that discord and jargon. It has made me nervous. Sit down here, beside me; sit close; hold my hand; press it hardhardharder." We had moved a little back, and had come to another seat. She sat down. Her face underwent a change that alarmed and even terrified me for a moment. It darkened, and became horribly livid; her teeth and hands were clenched, and she frowned and compressed her lips, while she stared down upon the ground at her feet, and trembled all over with a continued shudder as irrepressible as ague. All her energies seemed strained to suppress a fit, with which she was then breathlessly tugging; and at length a low convulsive cry of suffering broke from her, and gradually the hysteria subsided. "There! That comes of strangling people with hymns!" she said at last. "Hold me, hold me still. It is passing away." And so gradually it did; and perhaps to dissipate the somber impression which the spectacle had left upon me, she became unusually animated and chatty; and so we got home. This was the first time I had seen her exhibit any definable symptoms of that delicacy of health which her mother had spoken of. It was the first time, also, I had seen her exhibit anything like temper. Both passed away like a summer cloud; and never but once afterwards did I witness on her part a momentary sign of anger. I will tell you how it happened. She and I were looking out of one of the long drawing room windows, when there entered the courtyard, over the drawbridge, a figure of a wanderer whom I knew very well. He used to visit the schloss generally twice a year. It was the figure of a hunchback, with the sharp lean features that generally accompany deformity. He wore a pointed black beard, and he was smiling from ear to ear, showing his white fangs. He was dressed in buff, black, and scarlet, and crossed with more straps and belts than I could count, from which hung all manner of things. Behind, he carried a magic lantern, and two boxes, which I well knew, in one of which was a salamander, and in the other a mandrake. These monsters used to make my father laugh. They were compounded of parts of monkeys, parrots, squirrels, fish, and hedgehogs, dried and stitched together with great neatness and startling effect. He had a fiddle, a box of conjuring apparatus, a pair of foils and masks attached to his belt, several other mysterious cases dangling about him, and a black staff with copper ferrules in his hand. His companion was a rough spare dog, that followed at his heels, but stopped short, suspiciously at the drawbridge, and in a little while began to howl dismally. In the meantime, the mountebank, standing in the midst of the courtyard, raised his grotesque hat, and made us a very ceremonious bow, paying his compliments very volubly in execrable French, and German not much better. Then, disengaging his fiddle, he began to scrape a lively air to which he sang with a merry discord, dancing with ludicrous airs and activity, that made me laugh, in spite of the dog's howling. Then he advanced to the window with many smiles and salutations, and his hat in his left hand, his fiddle under his arm, and with a fluency that never took breath, he gabbled a long advertisement of all his accomplishments, and the resources of the various arts which he placed at our service, and the curiosities and entertainments which it was in his power, at our bidding, to display. "Will your ladyships be pleased to buy an amulet against the oupire, which is going like the wolf, I hear, through these woods," he said dropping his hat on the pavement. "They are dying of it right and left and here is a charm that never fails; only pinned to the pillow, and you may laugh in his face." These charms consisted of oblong slips of vellum, with cabalistic ciphers and diagrams upon them. Carmilla instantly purchased one, and so did I. He was looking up, and we were smiling down upon him, amused; at least, I can answer for myself. His piercing black eye, as he looked up in our faces, seemed to detect something that fixed for a moment his curiosity, In an instant he unrolled a leather case, full of all manner of odd little steel instruments. "See here, my lady," he said, displaying it, and addressing me, "I profess, among other things less useful, the art of dentistry. Plague take the dog!" he interpolated. "Silence, beast! He howls so that your ladyships can scarcely hear a word. Your noble friend, the young lady at your right, has the sharpest tooth,long, thin, pointed, like an awl, like a needle; ha, ha! With my sharp and long sight, as I look up, I have seen it distinctly; now if it happens to hurt the young lady, and I think it must, here am I, here are my file, my punch, my nippers; I will make it round and blunt, if her ladyship pleases; no longer the tooth of a fish, but of a beautiful young lady as she is. Hey? Is the young lady displeased? Have I been too bold? Have I offended her?" The young lady, indeed, looked very angry as she drew back from the window. "How dares that mountebank insult us so? Where is your father? I shall demand redress from him. My father would have had the wretch tied up to the pump, and flogged with a cart whip, and burnt to the bones with the cattle brand!" She retired from the window a step or two, and sat down, and had hardly lost sight of the offender, when her wrath subsided as suddenly as it had risen, and she gradually recovered her usual tone, and seemed to forget the little hunchback and his follies. My father was out of spirits that evening. On coming in he told us that there had been another case very similar to the two fatal ones which had lately occurred. The sister of a young peasant on his estate, only a mile away, was very ill, had been, as she described it, attacked very nearly in the same way, and was now slowly but steadily sinking. "All this," said my father, "is strictly referable to natural causes. These poor people infect one another with their superstitions, and so repeat in imagination the images of terror that have infested their neighbors." "But that very circumstance frightens one horribly," said Carmilla. "How so?" inquired my father. "I am so afraid of fancying I see such things; I think it would be as bad as reality." "We are in God's hands nothing can happen without his permission, and all will end well for those who love him. He is our faithful creator; He has made us all, and will take care of us." "Creator! Nature!" said the young lady in answer to my gentle father. "And this disease that invades the country is natural. Nature. All things proceed from Naturedon't they? All things in the heaven, in the earth, and under the earth, act and live as Nature ordains? I think so." "The doctor said he would come here today," said my father, after a silence. "I want to know what he thinks about it, and what he thinks we had better do." "Doctors never did me any good," said Carmilla. "Then you have been ill?" I asked. "More ill than ever you were," she answered. "Long ago?" "Yes, a long time. I suffered from this very illness; but I forget all but my pain and weakness, and they were not so bad as are suffered in other diseases." "You were very young then?" "I dare say, let us talk no more of it. You would not wound a friend?" She looked languidly in my eyes, and passed her arm round my waist lovingly, and led me out of the room. My father was busy over some papers near the window. "Why does your papa like to frighten us?" said the pretty girl with a sigh and a little shudder. "He doesn't, dear Carmilla, it is the very furthest thing from his mind." "Are you afraid, dearest?" "I should be very much if I fancied there was any real danger of my being attacked as those poor people were." "You are afraid to die?" "Yes, every one is." "But to die as lovers mayto die together, so that they may live together. Girls are caterpillars while they live in the world, to be finally butterflies when the summer comes; but in the meantime there are grubs and larvae, don't you seeeach with their peculiar propensities, necessities and structure. So says Monsieur Buffon, in his big book, in the next room." Later in the day the doctor came, and was closeted with papa for some time. He was a skilful man, of sixty and upwards, he wore powder, and shaved his pale face as smooth as a pumpkin. He and papa emerged from the room together, and I heard papa laugh, and say as they came out "Well, I do wonder at a wise man like you. What do you say to hippogriffs and dragons?" The doctor was smiling, and made answer, shaking his head "Nevertheless life and death are mysterious states, and we know little of the resources of either." And so they walked on, and I heard no more. I did not then know what the doctor had been broaching, but I think I guess it now. 5. A Wonderful Likeness This evening there arrived from Gratz the grave, darkfaced son of the picture cleaner, with a horse and cart laden with two large packing cases, having many pictures in each. It was a journey of ten leagues, and whenever a messenger arrived at the schloss from our little capital of Gratz, we used to crowd about him in the hall, to hear the news. This arrival created in our secluded quarters quite a sensation. The cases remained in the hall, and the messenger was taken charge of by the servants till he had eaten his supper. Then with assistants, and armed with hammer, ripping chisel, and turnscrew, he met us in the hall, where we had assembled to witness the unpacking of the cases. Carmilla sat looking listlessly on, while one after the other the old pictures, nearly all portraits, which had undergone the process of renovation, were brought to light. My mother was of an old Hungarian family, and most of these pictures, which were about to be restored to their places, had come to us through her. My father had a list in his hand, from which he read, as the artist rummaged out the corresponding numbers. I don't know that the pictures were very good, but they were, undoubtedly, very old, and some of them very curious also. They had, for the most part, the merit of being now seen by me, I may say, for the first time; for the smoke and dust of time had all but obliterated them. "There is a picture that I have not seen yet," said my father. "In one corner, at the top of it, is the name, as well as I could read, 'Marcia Karnstein,' and the date '1698'; and I am curious to see how it has turned out." I remembered it; it was a small picture, about a foot and a half high, and nearly square, without a frame; but it was so blackened by age that I could not make it out. The artist now produced it, with evident pride. It was quite beautiful; it was startling; it seemed to live. It was the effigy of Carmilla! "Carmilla, dear, here is an absolute miracle. Here you are, living, smiling, ready to speak, in this picture. Isn't it beautiful, Papa? And see, even the little mole on her throat." My father laughed, and said "Certainly it is a wonderful likeness," but he looked away, and to my surprise seemed but little struck by it, and went on talking to the picture cleaner, who was also something of an artist, and discoursed with intelligence about the portraits or other works, which his art had just brought into light and color, while I was more and more lost in wonder the more I looked at the picture. "Will you let me hang this picture in my room, papa?" I asked. "Certainly, dear," said he, smiling, "I'm very glad you think it so like. It must be prettier even than I thought it, if it is." The young lady did not acknowledge this pretty speech, did not seem to hear it. She was leaning back in her seat, her fine eyes under their long lashes gazing on me in contemplation, and she smiled in a kind of rapture. "And now you can read quite plainly the name that is written in the corner. It is not Marcia; it looks as if it was done in gold. The name is Mircalla, Countess Karnstein, and this is a little coronet over and underneath A.D. 1698. I am descended from the Karnsteins; that is, mamma was." "Ah!" said the lady, languidly, "so am I, I think, a very long descent, very ancient. Are there any Karnsteins living now?" "None who bear the name, I believe. The family were ruined, I believe, in some civil wars, long ago, but the ruins of the castle are only about three miles away." "How interesting!" she said, languidly. "But see what beautiful moonlight!" She glanced through the hall door, which stood a little open. "Suppose you take a little ramble round the court, and look down at the road and river." "It is so like the night you came to us," I said. She sighed; smiling. She rose, and each with her arm about the other's waist, we walked out upon the pavement. In silence, slowly we walked down to the drawbridge, where the beautiful landscape opened before us. "And so you were thinking of the night I came here?" she almost whispered. "Are you glad I came?" "Delighted, dear Carmilla," I answered. "And you asked for the picture you think like me, to hang in your room," she murmured with a sigh, as she drew her arm closer about my waist, and let her pretty head sink upon my shoulder. "How romantic you are, Carmilla," I said. "Whenever you tell me your story, it will be made up chiefly of some one great romance." She kissed me silently. "I am sure, Carmilla, you have been in love; that there is, at this moment, an affair of the heart going on." "I have been in love with no one, and never shall," she whispered, "unless it should be with you." How beautiful she looked in the moonlight! Shy and strange was the look with which she quickly hid her face in my neck and hair, with tumultuous sighs, that seemed almost to sob, and pressed in mine a hand that trembled. Her soft cheek was glowing against mine. "Darling, darling," she murmured, "I live in you; and you would die for me, I love you so." I started from her. She was gazing on me with eyes from which all fire, all meaning had flown, and a face colorless and apathetic. "Is there a chill in the air, dear?" she said drowsily. "I almost shiver; have I been dreaming? Let us come in. Come; come; come in." "You look ill, Carmilla; a little faint. You certainly must take some wine," I said. "Yes. I will. I'm better now. I shall be quite well in a few minutes. Yes, do give me a little wine," answered Carmilla, as we approached the door. "Let us look again for a moment; it is the last time, perhaps, I shall see the moonlight with you." "How do you feel now, dear Carmilla? Are you really better?" I asked.

I was beginning to take alarm, lest she should have been stricken with the strange epidemic that they said had invaded the country about us. "Papa would be grieved beyond measure," I added, "if he thought you were ever so little ill, without immediately letting us know. We have a very skilful doctor near us, the physician who was with papa today." "I'm sure he is. I know how kind you all are; but, dear child, I am quite well again. There is nothing ever wrong with me, but a little weakness. People say I am languid; I am incapable of exertion; I can scarcely walk as far as a child of three years old and every now and then the little strength I have falters, and I become as you have just seen me. But after all I am very easily set up again; in a moment I am perfectly myself. See how I have recovered." So, indeed, she had; and she and I talked a great deal, and very animated she was; and the remainder of that evening passed without any recurrence of what I called her infatuations. I mean her crazy talk and looks, which embarrassed, and even frightened me. But there occurred that night an event which gave my thoughts quite a new turn, and seemed to startle even Carmilla's languid nature into momentary energy. 6. A Very Strange Agony When we got into the drawing room, and had sat down to our coffee and chocolate, although Carmilla did not take any, she seemed quite herself again, and Madame, and Mademoiselle De Lafontaine, joined us, and made a little card party, in the course of which papa came in for what he called his "dish of tea." When the game was over he sat down beside Carmilla on the sofa, and asked her, a little anxiously, whether she had heard from her mother since her arrival. She answered "No." He then asked whether she knew where a letter would reach her at present. "I cannot tell," she answered ambiguously, "but I have been thinking of leaving you; you have been already too hospitable and too kind to me. I have given you an infinity of trouble, and I should wish to take a carriage tomorrow, and post in pursuit of her; I know where I shall ultimately find her, although I dare not yet tell you." "But you must not dream of any such thing," exclaimed my father, to my great relief. "We can't afford to lose you so, and I won't consent to your leaving us, except under the care of your mother, who was so good as to consent to your remaining with us till she should herself return. I should be quite happy if I knew that you heard from her but this evening the accounts of the progress of the mysterious disease that has invaded our neighborhood, grow even more alarming; and my beautiful guest, I do feel the responsibility, unaided by advice from your mother, very much. But I shall do my best; and one thing is certain, that you must not think of leaving us without her distinct direction to that effect. We should suffer too much in parting from you to consent to it easily." "Thank you, sir, a thousand times for your hospitality," she answered, smiling bashfully. "You have all been too kind to me; I have seldom been so happy in all my life before, as in your beautiful chateau, under your care, and in the society of your dear daughter." So he gallantly, in his oldfashioned way, kissed her hand, smiling and pleased at her little speech. I accompanied Carmilla as usual to her room, and sat and chatted with her while she was preparing for bed. "Do you think," I said at length, "that you will ever confide fully in me?" She turned round smiling, but made no answer, only continued to smile on me. "You won't answer that?" I said. "You can't answer pleasantly; I ought not to have asked you." "You were quite right to ask me that, or anything. You do not know how dear you are to me, or you could not think any confidence too great to look for. But I am under vows, no nun half so awfully, and I dare not tell my story yet, even to you. The time is very near when you shall know everything. You will think me cruel, very selfish, but love is always selfish; the more ardent the more selfish. How jealous I am you cannot know. You must come with me, loving me, to death; or else hate me and still come with me. and hating me through death and after. There is no such word as indifference in my apathetic nature." "Now, Carmilla, you are going to talk your wild nonsense again," I said hastily. "Not I, silly little fool as I am, and full of whims and fancies; for your sake I'll talk like a sage. Were you ever at a ball?" "No; how you do run on. What is it like? How charming it must be." "I almost forget, it is years ago." I laughed. "You are not so old. Your first ball can hardly be forgotten yet." "I remember everything about itwith an effort. I see it all, as divers see what is going on above them, through a medium, dense, rippling, but transparent. There occurred that night what has confused the picture, and made its colours faint. I was all but assassinated in my bed, wounded here," she touched her breast, "and never was the same since." "Were you near dying?" "Yes, verya cruel lovestrange love, that would have taken my life. Love will have its sacrifices. No sacrifice without blood. Let us go to sleep now; I feel so lazy. How can I get up just now and lock my door?" She was lying with her tiny hands buried in her rich wavy hair, under her cheek, her little head upon the pillow, and her glittering eyes followed me wherever I moved, with a kind of shy smile that I could not decipher. I bid her good night, and crept from the room with an uncomfortable sensation. I often wondered whether our pretty guest ever said her prayers. I certainly had never seen her upon her knees. In the morning she never came down until long after our family prayers were over, and at night she never left the drawing room to attend our brief evening prayers in the hall. If it had not been that it had casually come out in one of our careless talks that she had been baptised, I should have doubted her being a Christian. Religion was a subject on which I had never heard her speak a word. If I had known the world better, this particular neglect or antipathy would not have so much surprised me. The precautions of nervous people are infectious, and persons of a like temperament are pretty sure, after a time, to imitate them. I had adopted Carmilla's habit of locking her bedroom door, having taken into my head all her whimsical alarms about midnight invaders and prowling assassins. I had also adopted her precaution of making a brief search through her room, to satisfy herself that no lurking assassin or robber was "ensconced." These wise measures taken, I got into my bed and fell asleep. A light was burning in my room. This was an old habit, of very early date, and which nothing could have tempted me to dispense with. Thus fortifed I might take my rest in peace. But dreams come through stone walls, light up dark rooms, or darken light ones, and their persons make their exits and their entrances as they please, and laugh at locksmiths. I had a dream that night that was the beginning of a very strange agony. I cannot call it a nightmare, for I was quite conscious of being asleep. But I was equally conscious of being in my room, and lying in bed, precisely as I actually was. I saw, or fancied I saw, the room and its furniture just as I had seen it last, except that it was very dark, and I saw something moving round the foot of the bed, which at first I could not accurately distinguish. But I soon saw that it was a sootyblack animal that resembled a monstrous cat. It appeared to me about four or five feet long for it measured fully the length of the hearthrug as it passed over it; and it continued toing and froing with the lithe, sinister restlessness of a beast in a cage. I could not cry out, although as you may suppose, I was terrified. Its pace was growing faster, and the room rapidly darker and darker, and at length so dark that I could no longer see anything of it but its eyes. I felt it spring lightly on the bed. The two broad eyes approached my face, and suddenly I felt a stinging pain as if two large needles darted, an inch or two apart, deep into my breast. I waked with a scream. The room was lighted by the candle that burnt there all through the night, and I saw a female figure standing at the foot of the bed, a little at the right side. It was in a dark loose dress, and its hair was down and covered its shoulders. A block of stone could not have been more still. There was not the slightest stir of respiration. As I stared at it, the figure appeared to have changed its place, and was now nearer the door; then, close to it, the door opened, and it passed out. I was now relieved, and able to breathe and move. My first thought was that Carmilla had been playing me a trick, and that I had forgotten to secure my door. I hastened to it, and found it locked as usual on the inside. I was afraid to open itI was horrified. I sprang into my bed and covered my head up in the bedclothes, and lay there more dead than alive till morning. 7. Descending It would be vain my attempting to tell you the horror with which, even now, I recall the occurrence of that night. It was no such transitory terror as a dream leaves behind it. It seemed to deepen by time, and communicated itself to the room and the very furniture that had encompassed the apparition. I could not bear next day to be alone for a moment. I should have told papa, but for two opposite reasons. At one time I thought he would laugh at my story, and I could not bear its being treated as a jest; and at another I thought he might fancy that I had been attacked by the mysterious complaint which had invaded our neighborhood. I had myself no misgiving of the kind, and as he had been rather an invalid for some time, I was afraid of alarming him. I was comfortable enough with my goodnatured companions, Madame Perrodon, and the vivacious Mademoiselle Lafontaine. They both perceived that I was out of spirits and nervous, and at length I told them what lay so heavy at my heart. Mademoiselle laughed, but I fancied that Madame Perrodon looked anxious. "Bytheby," said Mademoiselle, laughing, "the long lime tree walk, behind Carmilla's bedroom window, is haunted!" "Nonsense!" exclaimed Madame, who probably thought the theme rather inopportune, "and who tells that story, my dear?" "Martin says that he came up twice, when the old yard gate was being repaired, before sunrise, and twice saw the same female figure walking down the lime tree avenue." "So he well might, as long as there are cows to milk in the river fields," said Madame. "I daresay; but Martin chooses to be frightened, and never did I see fool more frightened." "You must not say a word about it to Carmilla, because she can see down that walk from her room window," I interposed, "and she is, if possible, a greater coward than I." Carmilla came down rather later than usual that day. "I was so frightened last night," she said, so soon as were together, "and I am sure I should have seen something dreadful if it had not been for that charm I bought from the poor little hunchback whom I called such hard names. I had a dream of something black coming round my bed, and I awoke in a perfect horror, and I really thought, for some seconds, I saw a dark figure near the chimneypiece, but I felt under my pillow for my charm, and the moment my fingers touched it, the figure disappeared, and I felt quite certain, only that I had it by me, that something frightful would have made its appearance, and, perhaps, throttled me, as it did those poor people we heard of. "Well, listen to me," I began, and recounted my adventure, at the recital of which she appeared horrified. "And had you the charm near you?" she asked, earnestly. "No, I had dropped it into a china vase in the drawing room, but I shall certainly take it with me tonight, as you have so much faith in it." At this distance of time I cannot tell you, or even understand, how I overcame my horror so effectually as to lie alone in my room that night. I remember distinctly that I pinned the charm to my pillow. I fell asleep almost immediately, and slept even more soundly than usual all night. Next night I passed as well. My sleep was delightfully deep and dreamless. But I wakened with a sense of lassitude and melancholy, which, however, did not exceed a degree that was almost luxurious. "Well, I told you so," said Carmilla, when I described my quiet sleep, "I had such delightful sleep myself last night; I pinned the charm to the breast of my nightdress. It was too far away the night before. I am quite sure it was all fancy, except the dreams. I used to think that evil spirits made dreams, but our doctor told me it is no such thing. Only a fever passing by, or some other malady, as they often do, he said, knocks at the door, and not being able to get in, passes on, with that alarm." "And what do you think the charm is?" said I. "It has been fumigated or immersed in some drug, and is an antidote against the malaria," she answered. "Then it acts only on the body?" "Certainly; you don't suppose that evil spirits are frightened by bits of ribbon, or the perfumes of a druggist's shop? No, these complaints, wandering in the air, begin by trying the nerves, and so infect the brain, but before they can seize upon you, the antidote repels them. That I am sure is what the charm has done for us. It is nothing magical, it is simply natural. I should have been happier if I could have quite agreed with Carmilla, but I did my best, and the impression was a little losing its force. For some nights I slept profoundly; but still every morning I felt the same lassitude, and a languor weighed upon me all day. I felt myself a changed girl. A strange melancholy was stealing over me, a melancholy that I would not have interrupted. Dim thoughts of death began to open, and an idea that I was slowly sinking took gentle, and, somehow, not unwelcome, possession of me. If it was sad, the tone of mind which this induced was also sweet. Whatever it might be, my soul acquiesced in it. I would not admit that I was ill, I would not consent to tell my papa, or to have the doctor sent for. Carmilla became more devoted to me than ever, and her strange paroxysms of languid adoration more frequent. She used to gloat on me with increasing ardor the more my strength and spirits waned. This always shocked me like a momentary glare of insanity. Without knowing it, I was now in a pretty advanced stage of the strangest illness under which mortal ever suffered. There was an unaccountable fascination in its earlier symptoms that more than reconciled me to the incapacitating effect of that stage of the malady. This fascination increased for a time, until it reached a certain point, when gradually a sense of the horrible mingled itself with it, deepening, as you shall hear, until it discolored and perverted the whole state of my life. The first change I experienced was rather agreeable. It was very near the turning point from which began the descent of Avernus. Certain vague and strange sensations visited me in my sleep. The prevailing one was of that pleasant, peculiar cold thrill which we feel in bathing, when we move against the current of a river. This was soon accompanied by dreams that seemed interminable, and were so vague that I could never recollect their scenery and persons, or any one connected portion of their action. But they left an awful impression, and a sense of exhaustion, as if I had passed through a long period of great mental exertion and danger. After all these dreams there remained on waking a remembrance of having been in a place very nearly dark, and of having spoken to people whom I could not see; and especially of one clear voice, of a female's, very deep, that spoke as if at a distance, slowly, and producing always the same sensation of indescribable solemnity and fear. Sometimes there came a sensation as if a hand was drawn softly along my cheek and neck. Sometimes it was as if warm lips kissed me, and longer and longer and more lovingly as they reached my throat, but there the caress fixed itself. My heart beat faster, my breathing rose and fell rapidly and full drawn; a sobbing, that rose into a sense of strangulation, supervened, and turned into a dreadful convulsion, in which my senses left me and I became unconscious. It was now three weeks since the commencement of this unaccountable state. My sufferings had, during the last week, told upon my appearance. I had grown pale, my eyes were dilated and darkened underneath, and the languor which I had long felt began to display itself in my countenance. My father asked me often whether I was ill; but, with an obstinacy which now seems to me unaccountable, I persisted in assuring him that I was quite well. In a sense this was true. I had no pain, I could complain of no bodily derangement. My complaint seemed to be one of the imagination, or the nerves, and, horrible as my sufferings were, I kept them, with a morbid reserve, very nearly to myself. It could not be that terrible complaint which the peasants called the oupire, for I had now been suffering for three weeks, and they were seldom ill for much more than three days, when death put an end to their miseries. Carmilla complained of dreams and feverish sensations, but by no means of so alarming a kind as mine. I say that mine were extremely alarming. Had I been capable of comprehending my condition, I would have invoked aid and advice on my knees. The narcotic of an unsuspected influence was acting upon me, and my perceptions were benumbed. I am going to tell you now of a dream that led immediately to an odd discovery. One night, instead of the voice I was accustomed to hear in the dark, I heard one, sweet and tender, and at the same time terrible, which said, "Your mother warns you to beware of the assassin." At the same time a light unexpectedly sprang up, and I saw Carmilla, standing, near the foot of my bed, in her white nightdress, bathed, from her chin to her feet, in one great stain of blood. I wakened with a shriek, possessed with the one idea that Carmilla was being murdered. I remember springing from my bed, and my next recollection is that of standing on the lobby, crying for help. Madame and Mademoiselle came scurrying out of their rooms in alarm; a lamp burned always on the lobby, and seeing me, they soon learned the cause of my terror. I insisted on our knocking at Carmilla's door. Our knocking was unanswered. It soon became a pounding and an uproar. We shrieked her name, but all was vain. We all grew frightened, for the door was locked. We hurried back, in panic, to my room. There we rang the bell long and furiously. If my father's room had been at that side of the house, we would have called him up at once to our aid. But, alas! he was quite out of hearing, and to reach him involved an excursion for which we none of us had courage. Servants, however, soon came running up the stairs; I had got on my dressing gown and slippers meanwhile, and my companions were already similarly furnished. Recognizing the voices of the servants on the lobby, we sallied out together; and having renewed, as fruitlessly, our summons at Carmilla's door, I ordered the men to force the lock. They did so, and we stood, holding our lights aloft, in the doorway, and so stared into the room. We called her by name; but there was still no reply. We looked round the room. Everything was undisturbed. It was exactly in the state in which I had left it on bidding her good night. But Carmilla was gone. 8. Search At sight of the room, perfectly undisturbed except for our violent entrance, we began to cool a little, and soon recovered our senses sufficiently to dismiss the men. It had struck Mademoiselle that possibly Carmilla had been wakened by the uproar at her door, and in her first panic had jumped from her bed, and hid herself in a press, or behind a curtain, from which she could not, of course, emerge until the majordomo and his myrmidons had withdrawn. We now recommenced our search, and began to call her name again. It was all to no purpose. Our perplexity and agitation increased. We examined the windows, but they were secured. I implored of Carmilla, if she had concealed herself, to play this cruel trick no longerto come out and to end our anxieties. It was all useless. I was by this time convinced that she was not in the room, nor in the dressing room, the door of which was still locked on this side. She could not have passed it. I was utterly puzzled. Had Carmilla discovered one of those secret passages which the old housekeeper said were known to exist in the schloss, although the tradition of their exact situation had been lost? A little time would, no doubt, explain allutterly perplexed as, for the present, we were. It was past four o'clock, and I preferred passing the remaining hours of darkness in Madame's room. Daylight brought no solution of the difficulty. The whole household, with my father at its head, was in a state of agitation next morning. Every part of the chateau was searched. The grounds were explored. No trace of the missing lady could be discovered. The stream was about to be dragged; my father was in distraction; what a tale to have to tell the poor girl's mother on her return. I, too, was almost beside myself, though my grief was quite of a different kind. The morning was passed in alarm and excitement. It was now one o'clock, and still no tidings. I ran up to Carmilla's room, and found her standing at her dressing table. I was astounded. I could not believe my eyes. She beckoned me to her with her pretty finger, in silence. Her face expressed extreme fear. I ran to her in an ecstasy of joy; I kissed and embraced her again and again. I ran to the bell and rang it vehemently, to bring others to the spot who might at once relieve my father's anxiety. "Dear Carmilla, what has become of you all this time? We have been in agonies of anxiety about you," I exclaimed. "Where have you been? How did you come back?" "Last night has been a night of wonders," she said. "For mercy's sake, explain all you can." "It was past two last night," she said, "when I went to sleep as usual in my bed, with my doors locked, that of the dressing room, and that opening upon the gallery. My sleep was uninterrupted, and, so far as I know, dreamless; but I woke just now on the sofa in the dressing room there, and I found the door between the rooms open, and the other door forced. How could all this have happened without my being wakened? It must have been accompanied with a great deal of noise, and I am particularly easily wakened; and how could I have been carried out of my bed without my sleep having been interrupted, I whom the slightest stir startles?" By this time, Madame, Mademoiselle, my father, and a number of the servants were in the room. Carmilla was, of course, overwhelmed with inquiries, congratulations, and welcomes. She had but one story to tell, and seemed the least able of all the party to suggest any way of accounting for what had happened. My father took a turn up and down the room, thinking. I saw Carmilla's eye follow him for a moment with a sly, dark glance. When my father had sent the servants away, Mademoiselle having gone in search of a little bottle of valerian and salvolatile, and there being no one now in the room with Carmilla, except my father, Madame, and myself, he came to her thoughtfully, took her hand very kindly, led her to the sofa, and sat down beside her. "Will you forgive me, my dear, if I risk a conjecture, and ask a question?" "Who can have a better right?" she said. "Ask what you please, and I will tell you everything. But my story is simply one of bewilderment and darkness. I know absolutely nothing. Put any question you please, but you know, of course, the limitations mamma has placed me under." "Perfectly, my dear child. I need not approach the topics on which she desires our silence. Now, the marvel of last night consists in your having been removed from your bed and your room, without being wakened, and this removal having occurred apparently while the windows were still secured, and the two doors locked upon the inside. I will tell you my theory and ask you a question." Carmilla was leaning on her hand dejectedly; Madame and I were listening breathlessly. "Now, my question is this. Have you ever been suspected of walking in your sleep?" "Never, since I was very young indeed." "But you did walk in your sleep when you were young?" "Yes; I know I did. I have been told so often by my old nurse." My father smiled and nodded. "Well, what has happened is this. You got up in your sleep, unlocked the door, not leaving the key, as usual, in the lock, but taking it out and locking it on the outside; you again took the key out, and carried it away with you to some one of the fiveandtwenty rooms on this floor, or perhaps upstairs or downstairs. There are so many rooms and closets, so much heavy furniture, and such accumulations of lumber, that it would require a week to search this old house thoroughly. Do you see, now, what I mean?" "I do, but not all," she answered. "And how, papa, do you account for her finding herself on the sofa in the dressing room, which we had searched so carefully?" "She came there after you had searched it, still in her sleep, and at last awoke spontaneously, and was as much surprised to find herself where she was as any one else. I wish all mysteries were as easily and innocently explained as yours, Carmilla," he said, laughing. "And so we may congratulate ourselves on the certainty that the most natural explanation of the occurrence is one that involves no drugging, no tampering with locks, no burglars, or poisoners, or witchesnothing that need alarm Carmilla, or anyone else, for our safety." Carmilla was looking charmingly. Nothing could be more beautiful than her tints. Her beauty was, I think, enhanced by that graceful languor that was peculiar to her. I think my father was silently contrasting her looks with mine, for he said "I wish my poor Laura was looking more like herself"; and he sighed. So our alarms were happily ended, and Carmilla restored to her friends. 9. The Doctor As Carmilla would not hear of an attendant sleeping in her room, my father arranged that a servant should sleep outside her door, so that she would not attempt to make another such excursion without being arrested at her own door. That night passed quietly; and next morning early, the doctor, whom my father had sent for without telling me a word about it, arrived to see me. Madame accompanied me to the library; and there the grave little doctor, with white hair and spectacles, whom I mentioned before, was waiting to receive me. I told him my story, and as I proceeded he grew graver and graver. We were standing, he and I, in the recess of one of the windows, facing one another. When my statement was over, he leaned with his shoulders against the wall, and with his eyes fixed on me earnestly, with an interest in which was a dash of horror. After a minute's reflection, he asked Madame if he could see my father. He was sent for accordingly, and as he entered, smiling, he said "I dare say, doctor, you are going to tell me that I am an old fool for having brought you here; I hope I am." But his smile faded into shadow as the doctor, with a very grave face, beckoned him to him. He and the doctor talked for some time in the same recess where I had just conferred with the physician. It seemed an earnest and argumentative conversation. The room is very large, and I and Madame stood together, burning with curiosity, at the farther end. Not a word could we hear, however, for they spoke in a very low tone, and the deep recess of the window quite concealed the doctor from view, and very nearly my father, whose foot, arm, and shoulder only could we see; and the voices were, I suppose, all the less audible for the sort of closet which the thick wall and window formed. After a time my father's face looked into the room; it was pale, thoughtful, and, I fancied, agitated. "Laura, dear, come here for a moment. Madame, we shan't trouble you, the doctor says, at present." Accordingly I approached, for the first time a little alarmed; for, although I felt very weak, I did not feel ill; and strength, one always fancies, is a thing that may be picked up when we please. My father held out his hand to me, as I drew near, but he was looking at the doctor, and he said "It certainly is very odd; I don't understand it quite. Laura, come here, dear; now attend to Doctor Spielsberg, and recollect yourself." "You mentioned a sensation like that of two needles piercing the skin, somewhere about your neck, on the night when you experienced your first horrible dream. Is there still any soreness?" "None at all," I answered. "Can you indicate with your finger about the point at which you think this occurred?" "Very little below my throathere," I answered. I wore a morning dress, which covered the place I pointed to. "Now you can satisfy yourself," said the doctor. "You won't mind your papa's lowering your dress a very little. It is necessary, to detect a symptom of the complaint under which you have been suffering." I acquiesced. It was only an inch or two below the edge of my collar. "God bless me!so it is," exclaimed my father, growing pale. "You see it now with your own eyes," said the doctor, with a gloomy triumph. "What is it?" I exclaimed, beginning to be frightened. "Nothing, my dear young lady, but a small blue spot, about the size of the tip of your little finger; and now," he continued, turning to papa, "the question is what is best to be done?" Is there any danger?"I urged, in great trepidation. "I trust not, my dear," answered the doctor. "I don't see why you should not recover. I don't see why you should not begin immediately to get better. That is the point at which the sense of strangulation begins?" "Yes," I answered. "Andrecollect as well as you canthe same point was a kind of center of that thrill which you described just now, like the current of a cold stream running against you?" "It may have been; I think it was." "Ay, you see?" he added, turning to my father. "Shall I say a word to Madame?" "Certainly," said my father. He called Madame to him, and said "I find my young friend here far from well. It won't be of any great consequence, I hope; but it will be necessary that some steps be taken, which I will explain byandby; but in the meantime, Madame, you will be so good as not to let Miss Laura be alone for one moment. That is the only direction I need give for the present. It is indispensable." "We may rely upon your kindness, Madame, I know," added my father. Madame satisfied him eagerly. "And you, dear Laura, I know you will observe the doctor's direction." "I shall have to ask your opinion upon another patient, whose symptoms slightly resemble those of my daughter, that have just been detailed to youvery much milder in degree, but I believe quite of the same sort. She is a young ladyour guest; but as you say you will be passing this way again this evening, you can't do better than take your supper here, and you can then see her. She does not come down till the afternoon." "I thank you," said the doctor. "I shall be with you, then, at about seven this evening." And then they repeated their directions to me and to Madame, and with this parting charge my father left us, and walked out with the doctor; and I saw them pacing together up and down between the road and the moat, on the grassy platform in front of the castle, evidently absorbed in earnest conversation. The doctor did not return. I saw him mount his horse there, take his leave, and ride away eastward through the forest. Nearly at the same time I saw the man arrive from Dranfield with the letters, and dismount and hand the bag to my father.

In the meantime, Madame and I were both busy, lost in conjecture as to the reasons of the singular and earnest direction which the doctor and my father had concurred in imposing. Madame, as she afterwards told me, was afraid the doctor apprehended a sudden seizure, and that, without prompt assistance, I might either lose my life in a fit, or at least be seriously hurt. The interpretation did not strike me; and I fancied, perhaps luckily for my nerves, that the arrangement was prescribed simply to secure a companion, who would prevent my taking too much exercise, or eating unripe fruit, or doing any of the fifty foolish things to which young people are supposed to be prone. About half an hour after my father came inhe had a letter in his handand said "This letter had been delayed; it is from General Spielsdorf. He might have been here yesterday, he may not come till tomorrow or he may be here today." He put the open letter into my hand; but he did not look pleased, as he used when a guest, especially one so much loved as the General, was coming. On the contrary, he looked as if he wished him at the bottom of the Red Sea. There was plainly something on his mind which he did not choose to divulge. "Papa, darling, will you tell me this?" said I, suddenly laying my hand on his arm, and looking, I am sure, imploringly in his face. "Perhaps," he answered, smoothing my hair caressingly over my eyes. "Does the doctor think me very ill?" "No, dear; he thinks, if right steps are taken, you will be quite well again, at least, on the high road to a complete recovery, in a day or two," he answered, a little dryly. "I wish our good friend, the General, had chosen any other time; that is, I wish you had been perfectly well to receive him." "But do tell me, papa," I insisted, "what does he think is the matter with me?" "Nothing; you must not plague me with questions," he answered, with more irritation than I ever remember him to have displayed before; and seeing that I looked wounded, I suppose, he kissed me, and added, "You shall know all about it in a day or two; that is, all that I know. In the meantime you are not to trouble your head about it." He turned and left the room, but came back before I had done wondering and puzzling over the oddity of all this; it was merely to say that he was going to Karnstein, and had ordered the carriage to be ready at twelve, and that I and Madame should accompany him; he was going to see the priest who lived near those picturesque grounds, upon business, and as Carmilla had never seen them, she could follow, when she came down, with Mademoiselle, who would bring materials for what you call a picnic, which might be laid for us in the ruined castle. At twelve o'clock, accordingly, I was ready, and not long after, my father, Madame and I set out upon our projected drive. Passing the drawbridge we turn to the right, and follow the road over the steep Gothic bridge, westward, to reach the deserted village and ruined castle of Karnstein. No sylvan drive can be fancied prettier. The ground breaks into gentle hills and hollows, all clothed with beautiful wood, totally destitute of the comparative formality which artificial planting and early culture and pruning impart. The irregularities of the ground often lead the road out of its course, and cause it to wind beautifully round the sides of broken hollows and the steeper sides of the hills, among varieties of ground almost inexhaustible. Turning one of these points, we suddenly encountered our old friend, the General, riding towards us, attended by a mounted servant. His portmanteaus were following in a hired wagon, such as we term a cart. The General dismounted as we pulled up, and, after the usual greetings, was easily persuaded to accept the vacant seat in the carriage and send his horse on with his servant to the schloss. 10. Bereaved It was about ten months since we had last seen him but that time had sufficed to make an alteration of years in his appearance. He had grown thinner; something of gloom and anxiety had taken the place of that cordial serenity which used to characterize his features. His dark blue eyes, always penetrating, now gleamed with a sterner light from under his shaggy grey eyebrows. It was not such a change as grief alone usually induces, and angrier passions seemed to have had their share in bringing it about. We had not long resumed our drive, when the General began to talk, with his usual soldierly directness, of the bereavement, as he termed it, which he had sustained in the death of his beloved niece and ward; and he then broke out in a tone of intense bitterness and fury, inveighing against the "hellish arts" to which she had fallen a victim, and expressing, with more exasperation than piety, his wonder that Heaven should tolerate so monstrous an indulgence of the lusts and malignity of hell. My father, who saw at once that something very extraordinary had befallen, asked him, if not too painful to him, to detail the circumstances which he thought justified the strong terms in which he expressed himself. "I should tell you all with pleasure," said the General, "but you would not believe me." "Why should I not?" he asked. "Because," he answered testily, "you believe in nothing but what consists with your own prejudices and illusions. I remember when I was like you, but I have learned better." "Try me," said my father; "I am not such a dogmatist as you suppose. Besides which, I very well know that you generally require proof for what you believe, and am, therefore, very strongly predisposed to respect your conclusions." "You are right in supposing that I have not been led lightly into a belief in the marvelousfor what I have experienced is marvelousand I have been forced by extraordinary evidence to credit that which ran counter, diametrically, to all my theories. I have been made the dupe of a preternatural conspiracy." Notwithstanding his professions of confidence in the General's penetration, I saw my father, at this point, glance at the General, with, as I thought, a marked suspicion of his sanity. The General did not see it, luckily. He was looking gloomily and curiously into the glades and vistas of the woods that were opening before us. "You are going to the Ruins of Karnstein?" he said. "Yes, it is a lucky coincidence; do you know I was going to ask you to bring me there to inspect them. I have a special object in exploring. There is a ruined chapel, ain't there, with a great many tombs of that extinct family?" "So there arehighly interesting," said my father. "I hope you are thinking of claiming the title and estates?" My father said this gaily, but the General did not recollect the laugh, or even the smile, which courtesy exacts for a friend's joke; on the contrary, he looked grave and even fierce, ruminating on a matter that stirred his anger and horror. "Something very different," he said, gruffly. "I mean to unearth some of those fine people. I hope, by God's blessing, to accomplish a pious sacrilege here, which will relieve our earth of certain monsters, and enable honest people to sleep in their beds without being assailed by murderers. I have strange things to tell you, my dear friend, such as I myself would have scouted as incredible a few months since." My father looked at him again, but this time not with a glance of suspicionwith an eye, rather, of keen intelligence and alarm. "The house of Karnstein," he said, "has been long extinct a hundred years at least. My dear wife was maternally descended from the Karnsteins. But the name and title have long ceased to exist. The castle is a ruin; the very village is deserted; it is fifty years since the smoke of a chimney was seen there; not a roof left." "Quite true. I have heard a great deal about that since I last saw you; a great deal that will astonish you. But I had better relate everything in the order in which it occurred," said the General. "You saw my dear wardmy child, I may call her. No creature could have been more beautiful, and only three months ago none more blooming." "Yes, poor thing! when I saw her last she certainly was quite lovely," said my father. "I was grieved and shocked more than I can tell you, my dear friend; I knew what a blow it was to you." He took the General's hand, and they exchanged a kind pressure. Tears gathered in the old soldier's eyes. He did not seek to conceal them. He said "We have been very old friends; I knew you would feel for me, childless as I am. She had become an object of very near interest to me, and repaid my care by an affection that cheered my home and made my life happy. That is all gone. The years that remain to me on earth may not be very long; but by God's mercy I hope to accomplish a service to mankind before I die, and to subserve the vengeance of Heaven upon the fiends who have murdered my poor child in the spring of her hopes and beauty!" "You said, just now, that you intended relating everything as it occurred," said my father. "Pray do; I assure you that it is not mere curiosity that prompts me." By this time we had reached the point at which the Drunstall road, by which the General had come, diverges from the road which we were traveling to Karnstein. "How far is it to the ruins?" inquired the General, looking anxiously forward. "About half a league," answered my father. "Pray let us hear the story you were so good as to promise." 11. The Story With all my heart," said the General, with an effort; and after a short pause in which to arrange his subject, he commenced one of the strangest narratives I ever heard. "My dear child was looking forward with great pleasure to the visit you had been so good as to arrange for her to your charming daughter." Here he made me a gallant but melancholy bow. "In the meantime we had an invitation to my old friend the Count Carlsfeld, whose schloss is about six leagues to the other side of Karnstein. It was to attend the series of fetes which, you remember, were given by him in honor of his illustrious visitor, the Grand Duke Charles." "Yes; and very splendid, I believe, they were," said my father. "Princely! But then his hospitalities are quite regal. He has Aladdin's lamp. The night from which my sorrow dates was devoted to a magnificent masquerade. The grounds were thrown open, the trees hung with colored lamps. There was such a display of fireworks as Paris itself had never witnessed. And such musicmusic, you know, is my weaknesssuch ravishing music! The finest instrumental band, perhaps, in the world, and the finest singers who could be collected from all the great operas in Europe. As you wandered through these fantastically illuminated grounds, the moonlighted chateau throwing a rosy light from its long rows of windows, you would suddenly hear these ravishing voices stealing from the silence of some grove, or rising from boats upon the lake. I felt myself, as I looked and listened, carried back into the romance and poetry of my early youth. "When the fireworks were ended, and the ball beginning, we returned to the noble suite of rooms that were thrown open to the dancers. A masked ball, you know, is a beautiful sight; but so brilliant a spectacle of the kind I never saw before. "It was a very aristocratic assembly. I was myself almost the only 'nobody' present. "My dear child was looking quite beautiful. She wore no mask. Her excitement and delight added an unspeakable charm to her features, always lovely. I remarked a young lady, dressed magnificently, but wearing a mask, who appeared to me to be observing my ward with extraordinary interest. I had seen her, earlier in the evening, in the great hall, and again, for a few minutes, walking near us, on the terrace under the castle windows, similarly employed. A lady, also masked, richly and gravely dressed, and with a stately air, like a person of rank, accompanied her as a chaperon. Had the young lady not worn a mask, I could, of course, have been much more certain upon the question whether she was really watching my poor darling. I am now well assured that she was. "We were now in one of the salons. My poor dear child had been dancing, and was resting a little in one of the chairs near the door; I was standing near. The two ladies I have mentioned had approached and the younger took the chair next my ward; while her companion stood beside me, and for a little time addressed herself, in a low tone, to her charge. "Availing herself of the privilege of her mask, she turned to me, and in the tone of an old friend, and calling me by my name, opened a conversation with me, which piqued my curiosity a good deal. She referred to many scenes where she had met meat Court, and at distinguished houses. She alluded to little incidents which I had long ceased to think of, but which, I found, had only lain in abeyance in my memory, for they instantly started into life at her touch. "I became more and more curious to ascertain who she was, every moment. She parried my attempts to discover very adroitly and pleasantly. The knowledge she showed of many passages in my life seemed to me all but unaccountable; and she appeared to take a not unnatural pleasure in foiling my curiosity, and in seeing me flounder in my eager perplexity, from one conjecture to another. "In the meantime the young lady, whom her mother called by the odd name of Millarca, when she once or twice addressed her, had, with the same ease and grace, got into conversation with my ward. "She introduced herself by saying that her mother was a very old acquaintance of mine. She spoke of the agreeable audacity which a mask rendered practicable; she talked like a friend; she admired her dress, and insinuated very prettily her admiration of her beauty. She amused her with laughing criticisms upon the people who crowded the ballroom, and laughed at my poor child's fun. She was very witty and lively when she pleased, and after a time they had grown very good friends, and the young stranger lowered her mask, displaying a remarkably beautiful face. I had never seen it before, neither had my dear child. But though it was new to us, the features were so engaging, as well as lovely, that it was impossible not to feel the attraction powerfully. My poor girl did so. I never saw anyone more taken with another at first sight, unless, indeed, it was the stranger herself, who seemed quite to have lost her heart to her. "In the meantime, availing myself of the license of a masquerade, I put not a few questions to the elder lady. "'You have puzzled me utterly,' I said, laughing. 'Is that not enough? Won't you, now, consent to stand on equal terms, and do me the kindness to remove your mask?' "'Can any request be more unreasonable?' she replied. 'Ask a lady to yield an advantage! Beside, how do you know you should recognize me? Years make changes.' "'As you see,' I said, with a bow, and, I suppose, a rather melancholy little laugh. "'As philosophers tell us,' she said; 'and how do you know that a sight of my face would help you?' "'I should take chance for that,' I answered. 'It is vain trying to make yourself out an old woman; your figure betrays you.' "'Years, nevertheless, have passed since I saw you, rather since you saw me, for that is what I am considering. Millarca, there, is my daughter; I cannot then be young, even in the opinion of people whom time has taught to be indulgent, and I may not like to be compared with what you remember me. You have no mask to remove. You can offer me nothing in exchange.' "'My petition is to your pity, to remove it.' "'And mine to yours, to let it stay where it is,' she replied. "'Well, then, at least you will tell me whether you are French or German; you speak both languages so perfectly.' "'I don't think I shall tell you that, General; you intend a surprise, and are meditating the particular point of attack.' "'At all events, you won't deny this,' I said, 'that being honored by your permission to converse, I ought to know how to address you. Shall I say Madame la Comtesse?' "She laughed, and she would, no doubt, have met me with another evasionif, indeed, I can treat any occurrence in an interview every circumstance of which was prearranged, as I now believe, with the profoundest cunning, as liable to be modified by accident. "'As to that,' she began; but she was interrupted, almost as she opened her lips, by a gentleman, dressed in black, who looked particularly elegant and distinguished, with this drawback, that his face was the most deadly pale I ever saw, except in death. He was in no masqueradein the plain evening dress of a gentleman; and he said, without a smile, but with a courtly and unusually low bow "'Will Madame la Comtesse permit me to say a very few words which may interest her?' "The lady turned quickly to him, and touched her lip in token of silence; she then said to me, 'Keep my place for me, General; I shall return when I have said a few words.' "And with this injunction, playfully given, she walked a little aside with the gentleman in black, and talked for some minutes, apparently very earnestly. They then walked away slowly together in the crowd, and I lost them for some minutes. "I spent the interval in cudgeling my brains for a conjecture as to the identity of the lady who seemed to remember me so kindly, and I was thinking of turning about and joining in the conversation between my pretty ward and the Countess's daughter, and trying whether, by the time she returned, I might not have a surprise in store for her, by having her name, title, chateau, and estates at my fingers' ends. But at this moment she returned, accompanied by the pale man in black, who said "'I shall return and inform Madame la Comtesse when her carriage is at the door.' "He withdrew with a bow." 12. A Petition "'Then we are to lose Madame la Comtesse, but I hope only for a few hours,' I said, with a low bow. "'It may be that only, or it may be a few weeks. It was very unlucky his speaking to me just now as he did. Do you now know me?' "I assured her I did not. "'You shall know me,' she said, 'but not at present. We are older and better friends than, perhaps, you suspect. I cannot yet declare myself. I shall in three weeks pass your beautiful schloss, about which I have been making enquiries. I shall then look in upon you for an hour or two, and renew a friendship which I never think of without a thousand pleasant recollections. This moment a piece of news has reached me like a thunderbolt. I must set out now, and travel by a devious route, nearly a hundred miles, with all the dispatch I can possibly make. My perplexities multiply. I am only deterred by the compulsory reserve I practice as to my name from making a very singular request of you. My poor child has not quite recovered her strength. Her horse fell with her, at a hunt which she had ridden out to witness, her nerves have not yet recovered the shock, and our physician says that she must on no account exert herself for some time to come. We came here, in consequence, by very easy stageshardly six leagues a day. I must now travel day and night, on a mission of life and deatha mission the critical and momentous nature of which I shall be able to explain to you when we meet, as I hope we shall, in a few weeks, without the necessity of any concealment.' "She went on to make her petition, and it was in the tone of a person from whom such a request amounted to conferring, rather than seeking a favor. This was only in manner, and, as it seemed, quite unconsciously. Than the terms in which it was expressed, nothing could be more deprecatory. It was simply that I would consent to take charge of her daughter during her absence. "This was, all things considered, a strange, not to say, an audacious request. She in some sort disarmed me, by stating and admitting everything that could be urged against it, and throwing herself entirely upon my chivalry. At the same moment, by a fatality that seems to have predetermined all that happened, my poor child came to my side, and, in an undertone, besought me to invite her new friend, Millarca, to pay us a visit. She had just been sounding her, and thought, if her mamma would allow her, she would like it extremely. "At another time I should have told her to wait a little, until, at least, we knew who they were. But I had not a moment to think in. The two ladies assailed me together, and I must confess the refined and beautiful face of the young lady, about which there was something extremely engaging, as well as the elegance and fire of high birth, determined me; and, quite overpowered, I submitted, and undertook, too easily, the care of the young lady, whom her mother called Millarca. "The Countess beckoned to her daughter, who listened with grave attention while she told her, in general terms, how suddenly and peremptorily she had been summoned, and also of the arrangement she had made for her under my care, adding that I was one of her earliest and most valued friends. "I made, of course, such speeches as the case seemed to call for, and found myself, on reflection, in a position which I did not half like. "The gentleman in black returned, and very ceremoniously conducted the lady from the room. "The demeanor of this gentleman was such as to impress me with the conviction that the Countess was a lady of very much more importance than her modest title alone might have led me to assume. "Her last charge to me was that no attempt was to be made to learn more about her than I might have already guessed, until her return. Our distinguished host, whose guest she was, knew her reasons. "'But here,' she said, 'neither I nor my daughter could safely remain for more than a day. I removed my mask imprudently for a moment, about an hour ago, and, too late, I fancied you saw me. So I resolved to seek an opportunity of talking a little to you. Had I found that you had seen me, I would have thrown myself on your high sense of honor to keep my secret some weeks. As it is, I am satisfied that you did not see me; but if you now suspect, or, on reflection, should suspect, who I am, I commit myself, in like manner, entirely to your honor. My daughter will observe the same secrecy, and I well know that you will, from time to time, remind her, lest she should thoughtlessly disclose it.' "She whispered a few words to her daughter, kissed her hurriedly twice, and went away, accompanied by the pale gentleman in black, and disappeared in the crowd. "'In the next room,' said Millarca, 'there is a window that looks upon the hall door. I should like to see the last of mamma, and to kiss my hand to her.' "We assented, of course, and accompanied her to the window. We looked out, and saw a handsome oldfashioned carriage, with a troop of couriers and footmen. We saw the slim figure of the pale gentleman in black, as he held a thick velvet cloak, and placed it about her shoulders and threw the hood over her head. She nodded to him, and just touched his hand with hers. He bowed low repeatedly as the door closed, and the carriage began to move. "'She is gone,' said Millarca, with a sigh. "'She is gone,' I repeated to myself, for the first timein the hurried moments that had elapsed since my consentreflecting upon the folly of my act. "'She did not look up,' said the young lady, plaintively. "'The Countess had taken off her mask, perhaps, and did not care to show her face,' I said; 'and she could not know that you were in the window.' "She sighed, and looked in my face. She was so beautiful that I relented. I was sorry I had for a moment repented of my hospitality, and I determined to make her amends for the unavowed churlishness of my reception. "The young lady, replacing her mask, joined my ward in persuading me to return to the grounds, where the concert was soon to be renewed. We did so, and walked up and down the terrace that lies under the castle windows. Millarca became very intimate with us, and amused us with lively descriptions and stories of most of the great people whom we saw upon the terrace. I liked her more and more every minute. Her gossip without being illnatured, was extremely diverting to me, who had been so long out of the great world. I thought what life she would give to our sometimes lonely evenings at home. "This ball was not over until the morning sun had almost reached the horizon. It pleased the Grand Duke to dance till then, so loyal people could not go away, or think of bed. "We had just got through a crowded saloon, when my ward asked me what had become of Millarca. I thought she had been by her side, and she fancied she was by mine. The fact was, we had lost her. "All my efforts to find her were vain. I feared that she had mistaken, in the confusion of a momentary separation from us, other people for her new friends, and had, possibly, pursued and lost them in the extensive grounds which were thrown open to us. "Now, in its full force, I recognized a new folly in my having undertaken the charge of a young lady without so much as knowing her name; and fettered as I was by promises, of the reasons for imposing which I knew nothing, I could not even point my inquiries by saying that the missing young lady was the daughter of the Countess who had taken her departure a few hours before. "Morning broke. It was clear daylight before I gave up my search. It was not till near two o'clock next day that we heard anything of my missing charge. "At about that time a servant knocked at my niece's door, to say that he had been earnestly requested by a young lady, who appeared to be in great distress, to make out where she could find the General Baron Spielsdorf and the young lady his daughter, in whose charge she had been left by her mother. "There could be no doubt, notwithstanding the slight inaccuracy, that our young friend had turned up; and so she had. Would to heaven we had lost her! "She told my poor child a story to account for her having failed to recover us for so long. Very late, she said, she had got to the housekeeper's bedroom in despair of finding us, and had then fallen into a deep sleep which, long as it was, had hardly sufficed to recruit her strength after the fatigues of the ball. "That day Millarca came home with us. I was only too happy, after all, to have secured so charming a companion for my dear girl." 13. The Woodman "There soon, however, appeared some drawbacks. In the first place, Millarca complained of extreme languorthe weakness that remained after her late illnessand she never emerged from her room till the afternoon was pretty far advanced. In the next place, it was accidentally discovered, although she always locked her door on the inside, and never disturbed the key from its place till she admitted the maid to assist at her toilet, that she was undoubtedly sometimes absent from her room in the very early morning, and at various times later in the day, before she wished it to be understood that she was stirring. She was repeatedly seen from the windows of the schloss, in the first faint grey of the morning, walking through the trees, in an easterly direction, and looking like a person in a trance. This convinced me that she walked in her sleep. But this hypothesis did not solve the puzzle. How did she pass out from her room, leaving the door locked on the inside? How did she escape from the house without unbarring door or window? "In the midst of my perplexities, an anxiety of a far more urgent kind presented itself. "My dear child began to lose her looks and health, and that in a manner so mysterious, and even horrible, that I became thoroughly frightened. "She was at first visited by appalling dreams; then, as she fancied, by a specter, sometimes resembling Millarca, sometimes in the shape of a beast, indistinctly seen, walking round the foot of her bed, from side to side. Lastly came sensations. One, not unpleasant, but very peculiar, she said, resembled the flow of an icy stream against her breast. At a later time, she felt something like a pair of large needles pierce her, a little below the throat, with a very sharp pain. A few nights after, followed a gradual and convulsive sense of strangulation; then came unconsciousness." I could hear distinctly every word the kind old General was saying, because by this time we were driving upon the short grass that spreads on either side of the road as you approach the roofless village which had not shown the smoke of a chimney for more than half a century. You may guess how strangely I felt as I heard my own symptoms so exactly described in those which had been experienced by the poor girl who, but for the catastrophe which followed, would have been at that moment a visitor at my father's chateau. You may suppose, also, how I felt as I heard him detail habits and mysterious peculiarities which were, in fact, those of our beautiful guest, Carmilla! A vista opened in the forest; we were on a sudden under the chimneys and gables of the ruined village, and the towers and battlements of the dismantled castle, round which gigantic trees are grouped, overhung us from a slight eminence. In a frightened dream I got down from the carriage, and in silence, for we had each abundant matter for thinking; we soon mounted the ascent, and were among the spacious chambers, winding stairs, and dark corridors of the castle. "And this was once the palatial residence of the Karnsteins!" said the old General at length, as from a great window he looked out across the village, and saw the wide, undulating expanse of forest. "It was a bad family, and here its bloodstained annals were written," he continued. "It is hard that they should, after death, continue to plague the human race with their atrocious lusts. That is the chapel of the Karnsteins, down there." He pointed down to the grey walls of the Gothic building partly visible through the foliage, a little way down the steep. "And I hear the axe of a woodman," he added, "busy among the trees that surround it; he possibly may give us the information of which I am in search, and point out the grave of Mircalla, Countess of Karnstein. These rustics preserve the local traditions of great families, whose stories die out among the rich and titled so soon as the families themselves become extinct." "We have a portrait, at home, of Mircalla, the Countess Karnstein; should you like to see it?" asked my father. "Time enough, dear friend," replied the General. "I believe that I have seen the original; and one motive which has led me to you earlier than I at first intended, was to explore the chapel which we are now approaching." "What! see the Countess Mircalla," exclaimed my father; "why, she has been dead more than a century!" "Not so dead as you fancy, I am told," answered the General. "I confess, General, you puzzle me utterly," replied my father, looking at him, I fancied, for a moment with a return of the suspicion I detected before. But although there was anger and detestation, at times, in the old General's manner, there was nothing flighty. "There remains to me," he said, as we passed under the heavy arch of the Gothic churchfor its dimensions would have justified its being so styled"but one object which can interest me during the few years that remain to me on earth, and that is to wreak on her the vengeance which, I thank God, may still be accomplished by a mortal arm." "What vengeance can you mean?" asked my father, in increasing amazement. "I mean, to decapitate the monster," he answered, with a fierce flush, and a stamp that echoed mournfully through the hollow ruin, and his clenched hand was at the same moment raised, as if it grasped the handle of an axe, while he shook it ferociously in the air. "What?" exclaimed my father, more than ever bewildered. "To strike her head off." "Cut her head off!" "Aye, with a hatchet, with a spade, or with anything that can cleave through her murderous throat.

You shall hear," he answered, trembling with rage. And hurrying forward he said "That beam will answer for a seat; your dear child is fatigued; let her be seated, and I will, in a few sentences, close my dreadful story." The squared block of wood, which lay on the grassgrown pavement of the chapel, formed a bench on which I was very glad to seat myself, and in the meantime the General called to the woodman, who had been removing some boughs which leaned upon the old walls; and, axe in hand, the hardy old fellow stood before us. He could not tell us anything of these monuments; but there was an old man, he said, a ranger of this forest, at present sojourning in the house of the priest, about two miles away, who could point out every monument of the old Karnstein family; and, for a trifle, he undertook to bring him back with him, if we would lend him one of our horses, in little more than half an hour. "Have you been long employed about this forest?" asked my father of the old man. "I have been a woodman here," he answered in his patois, "under the forester, all my days; so has my father before me, and so on, as many generations as I can count up. I could show you the very house in the village here, in which my ancestors lived." "How came the village to be deserted?" asked the General. "It was troubled by revenants, sir; several were tracked to their graves, there detected by the usual tests, and extinguished in the usual way, by decapitation, by the stake, and by burning; but not until many of the villagers were killed. "But after all these proceedings according to law," he continued"so many graves opened, and so many vampires deprived of their horrible animationthe village was not relieved. But a Moravian nobleman, who happened to be traveling this way, heard how matters were, and being skilledas many people are in his countryin such affairs, he offered to deliver the village from its tormentor. He did so thus There being a bright moon that night, he ascended, shortly after sunset, the towers of the chapel here, from whence he could distinctly see the churchyard beneath him; you can see it from that window. From this point he watched until he saw the vampire come out of his grave, and place near it the linen clothes in which he had been folded, and then glide away towards the village to plague its inhabitants. "The stranger, having seen all this, came down from the steeple, took the linen wrappings of the vampire, and carried them up to the top of the tower, which he again mounted. When the vampire returned from his prowlings and missed his clothes, he cried furiously to the Moravian, whom he saw at the summit of the tower, and who, in reply, beckoned him to ascend and take them. Whereupon the vampire, accepting his invitation, began to climb the steeple, and so soon as he had reached the battlements, the Moravian, with a stroke of his sword, clove his skull in twain, hurling him down to the churchyard, whither, descending by the winding stairs, the stranger followed and cut his head off, and next day delivered it and the body to the villagers, who duly impaled and burnt them. "This Moravian nobleman had authority from the then head of the family to remove the tomb of Mircalla, Countess Karnstein, which he did effectually, so that in a little while its site was quite forgotten." "Can you point out where it stood?" asked the General, eagerly. The forester shook his head, and smiled. "Not a soul living could tell you that now," he said; "besides, they say her body was removed; but no one is sure of that either." Having thus spoken, as time pressed, he dropped his axe and departed, leaving us to hear the remainder of the General's strange story. 14. The Meeting "My beloved child," he resumed, "was now growing rapidly worse. The physician who attended her had failed to produce the slightest impression on her disease, for such I then supposed it to be. He saw my alarm, and suggested a consultation. I called in an abler physician, from Gratz. Several days elapsed before he arrived. He was a good and pious, as well as a learned man. Having seen my poor ward together, they withdrew to my library to confer and discuss. I, from the adjoining room, where I awaited their summons, heard these two gentlemen's voices raised in something sharper than a strictly philosophical discussion. I knocked at the door and entered. I found the old physician from Gratz maintaining his theory. His rival was combating it with undisguised ridicule, accompanied with bursts of laughter. This unseemly manifestation subsided and the altercation ended on my entrance. "'Sir,' said my first physician, 'my learned brother seems to think that you want a conjuror, and not a doctor.' "'Pardon me,' said the old physician from Gratz, looking displeased, 'I shall state my own view of the case in my own way another time. I grieve, Monsieur le General, that by my skill and science I can be of no use. Before I go I shall do myself the honor to suggest something to you.' "He seemed thoughtful, and sat down at a table and began to write. Profoundly disappointed, I made my bow, and as I turned to go, the other doctor pointed over his shoulder to his companion who was writing, and then, with a shrug, significantly touched his forehead. "This consultation, then, left me precisely where I was. I walked out into the grounds, all but distracted. The doctor from Gratz, in ten or fifteen minutes, overtook me. He apologized for having followed me, but said that he could not conscientiously take his leave without a few words more. He told me that he could not be mistaken; no natural disease exhibited the same symptoms; and that death was already very near. There remained, however, a day, or possibly two, of life. If the fatal seizure were at once arrested, with great care and skill her strength might possibly return. But all hung now upon the confines of the irrevocable. One more assault might extinguish the last spark of vitality which is, every moment, ready to die. "'And what is the nature of the seizure you speak of?' I entreated. "'I have stated all fully in this note, which I place in your hands upon the distinct condition that you send for the nearest clergyman, and open my letter in his presence, and on no account read it till he is with you; you would despise it else, and it is a matter of life and death. Should the priest fail you, then, indeed, you may read it.' "He asked me, before taking his leave finally, whether I would wish to see a man curiously learned upon the very subject, which, after I had read his letter, would probably interest me above all others, and he urged me earnestly to invite him to visit him there; and so took his leave. "The ecclesiastic was absent, and I read the letter by myself. At another time, or in another case, it might have excited my ridicule. But into what quackeries will not people rush for a last chance, where all accustomed means have failed, and the life of a beloved object is at stake? "Nothing, you will say, could be more absurd than the learned man's letter. It was monstrous enough to have consigned him to a madhouse. He said that the patient was suffering from the visits of a vampire! The punctures which she described as having occurred near the throat, were, he insisted, the insertion of those two long, thin, and sharp teeth which, it is well known, are peculiar to vampires; and there could be no doubt, he added, as to the welldefined presence of the small livid mark which all concurred in describing as that induced by the demon's lips, and every symptom described by the sufferer was in exact conformity with those recorded in every case of a similar visitation. "Being myself wholly skeptical as to the existence of any such portent as the vampire, the supernatural theory of the good doctor furnished, in my opinion, but another instance of learning and intelligence oddly associated with some one hallucination. I was so miserable, however, that, rather than try nothing, I acted upon the instructions of the letter. "I concealed myself in the dark dressing room, that opened upon the poor patient's room, in which a candle was burning, and watched there till she was fast asleep. I stood at the door, peeping through the small crevice, my sword laid on the table beside me, as my directions prescribed, until, a little after one, I saw a large black object, very illdefined, crawl, as it seemed to me, over the foot of the bed, and swiftly spread itself up to the poor girl's throat, where it swelled, in a moment, into a great, palpitating mass. "For a few moments I had stood petrified. I now sprang forward, with my sword in my hand. The black creature suddenly contracted towards the foot of the bed, glided over it, and, standing on the floor about a yard below the foot of the bed, with a glare of skulking ferocity and horror fixed on me, I saw Millarca. Speculating I know not what, I struck at her instantly with my sword; but I saw her standing near the door, unscathed. Horrified, I pursued, and struck again. She was gone; and my sword flew to shivers against the door. "I can't describe to you all that passed on that horrible night. The whole house was up and stirring. The specter Millarca was gone. But her victim was sinking fast, and before the morning dawned, she died." The old General was agitated. We did not speak to him. My father walked to some little distance, and began reading the inscriptions on the tombstones; and thus occupied, he strolled into the door of a side chapel to prosecute his researches. The General leaned against the wall, dried his eyes, and sighed heavily. I was relieved on hearing the voices of Carmilla and Madame, who were at that moment approaching. The voices died away. In this solitude, having just listened to so strange a story, connected, as it was, with the great and titled dead, whose monuments were moldering among the dust and ivy round us, and every incident of which bore so awfully upon my own mysterious casein this haunted spot, darkened by the towering foliage that rose on every side, dense and high above its noiseless wallsa horror began to steal over me, and my heart sank as I thought that my friends were, after all, not about to enter and disturb this triste and ominous scene. The old General's eyes were fixed on the ground, as he leaned with his hand upon the basement of a shattered monument. Under a narrow, arched doorway, surmounted by one of those demoniacal grotesques in which the cynical and ghastly fancy of old Gothic carving delights, I saw very gladly the beautiful face and figure of Carmilla enter the shadowy chapel. I was just about to rise and speak, and nodded smiling, in answer to her peculiarly engaging smile; when with a cry, the old man by my side caught up the woodman's hatchet, and started forward. On seeing him a brutalized change came over her features. It was an instantaneous and horrible transformation, as she made a crouching step backwards. Before I could utter a scream, he struck at her with all his force, but she dived under his blow, and unscathed, caught him in her tiny grasp by the wrist. He struggled for a moment to release his arm, but his hand opened, the axe fell to the ground, and the girl was gone. He staggered against the wall. His grey hair stood upon his head, and a moisture shone over his face, as if he were at the point of death. The frightful scene had passed in a moment. The first thing I recollect after, is Madame standing before me, and impatiently repeating again and again, the question, "Where is Mademoiselle Carmilla?" I answered at length, "I don't knowI can't tellshe went there," and I pointed to the door through which Madame had just entered; "only a minute or two since." "But I have been standing there, in the passage, ever since Mademoiselle Carmilla entered; and she did not return." She then began to call "Carmilla," through every door and passage and from the windows, but no answer came. "She called herself Carmilla?" asked the General, still agitated. "Carmilla, yes," I answered. "Aye," he said; "that is Millarca. That is the same person who long ago was called Mircalla, Countess Karnstein. Depart from this accursed ground, my poor child, as quickly as you can. Drive to the clergyman's house, and stay there till we come. Begone! May you never behold Carmilla more; you will not find her here." 15. Ordeal And Execution As he spoke one of the strangest looking men I ever beheld entered the chapel at the door through which Carmilla had made her entrance and her exit. He was tall, narrowchested, stooping, with high shoulders, and dressed in black. His face was brown and dried in with deep furrows; he wore an oddlyshaped hat with a broad leaf. His hair, long and grizzled, hung on his shoulders. He wore a pair of gold spectacles, and walked slowly, with an odd shambling gait, with his face sometimes turned up to the sky, and sometimes bowed down towards the ground, seemed to wear a perpetual smile; his long thin arms were swinging, and his lank hands, in old black gloves ever so much too wide for them, waving and gesticulating in utter abstraction. "The very man!" exclaimed the General, advancing with manifest delight. "My dear Baron, how happy I am to see you, I had no hope of meeting you so soon." He signed to my father, who had by this time returned, and leading the fantastic old gentleman, whom he called the Baron to meet him. He introduced him formally, and they at once entered into earnest conversation. The stranger took a roll of paper from his pocket, and spread it on the worn surface of a tomb that stood by. He had a pencil case in his fingers, with which he traced imaginary lines from point to point on the paper, which from their often glancing from it, together, at certain points of the building, I concluded to be a plan of the chapel. He accompanied, what I may term, his lecture, with occasional readings from a dirty little book, whose yellow leaves were closely written over. They sauntered together down the side aisle, opposite to the spot where I was standing, conversing as they went; then they began measuring distances by paces, and finally they all stood together, facing a piece of the sidewall, which they began to examine with great minuteness; pulling off the ivy that clung over it, and rapping the plaster with the ends of their sticks, scraping here, and knocking there. At length they ascertained the existence of a broad marble tablet, with letters carved in relief upon it. With the assistance of the woodman, who soon returned, a monumental inscription, and carved escutcheon, were disclosed. They proved to be those of the long lost monument of Mircalla, Countess Karnstein. The old General, though not I fear given to the praying mood, raised his hands and eyes to heaven, in mute thanksgiving for some moments. "Tomorrow," I heard him say; "the commissioner will be here, and the Inquisition will be held according to law." Then turning to the old man with the gold spectacles, whom I have described, he shook him warmly by both hands and said "Baron, how can I thank you? How can we all thank you? You will have delivered this region from a plague that has scourged its inhabitants for more than a century. The horrible enemy, thank God, is at last tracked." My father led the stranger aside, and the General followed. I know that he had led them out of hearing, that he might relate my case, and I saw them glance often quickly at me, as the discussion proceeded. My father came to me, kissed me again and again, and leading me from the chapel, said "It is time to return, but before we go home, we must add to our party the good priest, who lives but a little way from this; and persuade him to accompany us to the schloss." In this quest we were successful and I was glad, being unspeakably fatigued when we reached home. But my satisfaction was changed to dismay, on discovering that there were no tidings of Carmilla. Of the scene that had occurred in the ruined chapel, no explanation was offered to me, and it was clear that it was a secret which my father for the present determined to keep from me. The sinister absence of Carmilla made the remembrance of the scene more horrible to me. The arrangements for the night were singular. Two servants, and Madame were to sit up in my room that night; and the ecclesiastic with my father kept watch in the adjoining dressing room. The priest had performed certain solemn rites that night, the purport of which I did not understand any more than I comprehended the reason of this extraordinary precaution taken for my safety during sleep. I saw all clearly a few days later. The disappearance of Carmilla was followed by the discontinuance of my nightly sufferings. You have heard, no doubt, of the appalling superstition that prevails in Upper and Lower Styria, in Moravia, Silesia, in Turkish Serbia, in Poland, even in Russia; the superstition, so we must call it, of the Vampire. If human testimony, taken with every care and solemnity, judicially, before commissions innumerable, each consisting of many members, all chosen for integrity and intelligence, and constituting reports more voluminous perhaps than exist upon any one other class of cases, is worth anything, it is difficult to deny, or even to doubt the existence of such a phenomenon as the Vampire. For my part I have heard no theory by which to explain what I myself have witnessed and experienced, other than that supplied by the ancient and wellattested belief of the country. The next day the formal proceedings took place in the Chapel of Karnstein. The grave of the Countess Mircalla was opened; and the General and my father recognized each his perfidious and beautiful guest, in the face now disclosed to view. The features, though a hundred and fifty years had passed since her funeral, were tinted with the warmth of life. Her eyes were open; no cadaverous smell exhaled from the coffin. The two medical men, one officially present, the other on the part of the promoter of the inquiry, attested the marvelous fact that there was a faint but appreciable respiration, and a corresponding action of the heart. The limbs were perfectly flexible, the flesh elastic; and the leaden coffin floated with blood, in which to a depth of seven inches, the body lay immersed. Here then, were all the admitted signs and proofs of vampirism. The body, therefore, in accordance with the ancient practice, was raised, and a sharp stake driven through the heart of the vampire, who uttered a piercing shriek at the moment, in all respects such as might escape from a living person in the last agony. Then the head was struck off, and a torrent of blood flowed from the severed neck. The body and head was next placed on a pile of wood, and reduced to ashes, which were thrown upon the river and borne away, and that territory has never since been plagued by the visits of a vampire. My father has a copy of the report of the Imperial Commission, with the signatures of all who were present at these proceedings, attached in verification of the statement. It is from this official paper that I have summarized my account of this last shocking scene. 16. Conclusion I write all this you suppose with composure. But far from it; I cannot think of it without agitation. Nothing but your earnest desire so repeatedly expressed, could have induced me to sit down to a task that has unstrung my nerves for months to come, and reinduced a shadow of the unspeakable horror which years after my deliverance continued to make my days and nights dreadful, and solitude insupportably terrific. Let me add a word or two about that quaint Baron Vordenburg, to whose curious lore we were indebted for the discovery of the Countess Mircalla's grave. He had taken up his abode in Gratz, where, living upon a mere pittance, which was all that remained to him of the once princely estates of his family, in Upper Styria, he devoted himself to the minute and laborious investigation of the marvelously authenticated tradition of Vampirism. He had at his fingers' ends all the great and little works upon the subject. "Magia Posthuma," "Phlegon de Mirabilibus," "Augustinus de cura pro Mortuis," "Philosophicae et Christianae Cogitationes de Vampiris," by John Christofer Herenberg; and a thousand others, among which I remember only a few of those which he lent to my father. He had a voluminous digest of all the judicial cases, from which he had extracted a system of principles that appear to governsome always, and others occasionally onlythe condition of the vampire. I may mention, in passing, that the deadly pallor attributed to that sort of revenants, is a mere melodramatic fiction. They present, in the grave, and when they show themselves in human society, the appearance of healthy life. When disclosed to light in their coffins, they exhibit all the symptoms that are enumerated as those which proved the vampirelife of the longdead Countess Karnstein. How they escape from their graves and return to them for certain hours every day, without displacing the clay or leaving any trace of disturbance in the state of the coffin or the cerements, has always been admitted to be utterly inexplicable. The amphibious existence of the vampire is sustained by daily renewed slumber in the grave. Its horrible lust for living blood supplies the vigor of its waking existence. The vampire is prone to be fascinated with an engrossing vehemence, resembling the passion of love, by particular persons. In pursuit of these it will exercise inexhaustible patience and stratagem, for access to a particular object may be obstructed in a hundred ways. It will never desist until it has satiated its passion, and drained the very life of its coveted victim. But it will, in these cases, husband and protract its murderous enjoyment with the refinement of an epicure, and heighten it by the gradual approaches of an artful courtship. In these cases it seems to yearn for something like sympathy and consent. In ordinary ones it goes direct to its object, overpowers with violence, and strangles and exhausts often at a single feast. The vampire is, apparently, subject, in certain situations, to special conditions. In the particular instance of which I have given you a relation, Mircalla seemed to be limited to a name which, if not her real one, should at least reproduce, without the omission or addition of a single letter, those, as we say, anagrammatically, which compose it. Carmilla did this; so did Millarca. My father related to the Baron Vordenburg, who remained with us for two or three weeks after the expulsion of Carmilla, the story about the Moravian nobleman and the vampire at Karnstein churchyard, and then he asked the Baron how he had discovered the exact position of the longconcealed tomb of the Countess Mircalla? The Baron's grotesque features puckered up into a mysterious smile; he looked down, still smiling on his worn spectacle case and fumbled with it. Then looking up, he said "I have many journals, and other papers, written by that remarkable man; the most curious among them is one treating of the visit of which you speak, to Karnstein. The tradition, of course, discolors and distorts a little. He might have been termed a Moravian nobleman, for he had changed his abode to that territory, and was, beside, a noble. But he was, in truth, a native of Upper Styria. It is enough to say that in very early youth he had been a passionate and favored lover of the beautiful Mircalla, Countess Karnstein. Her early death plunged him into inconsolable grief. It is the nature of vampires to increase and multiply, but according to an ascertained and ghostly law. "Assume, at starting, a territory perfectly free from that pest. How does it begin, and how does it multiply itself? I will tell you. A person, more or less wicked, puts an end to himself. A suicide, under certain circumstances, becomes a vampire. That specter visits living people in their slumbers; they die, and almost invariably, in the grave, develop into vampires. This happened in the case of the beautiful Mircalla, who was haunted by one of those demons. My ancestor, Vordenburg, whose title I still bear, soon discovered this, and in the course of the studies to which he devoted himself, learned a great deal more. "Among other things, he concluded that suspicion of vampirism would probably fall, sooner or later, upon the dead Countess, who in life had been his idol. He conceived a horror, be she what she might, of her remains being profaned by the outrage of a posthumous execution. He has left a curious paper to prove that the vampire, on its expulsion from its amphibious existence, is projected into a far more horrible life; and he resolved to save his once beloved Mircalla from this. "He adopted the stratagem of a journey here, a pretended removal of her remains, and a real obliteration of her monument. When age had stolen upon him, and from the vale of years, he looked back on the scenes he was leaving, he considered, in a different spirit, what he had done, and a horror took possession of him. He made the tracings and notes which have guided me to the very spot, and drew up a confession of the deception that he had practiced. If he had intended any further action in this matter, death prevented him; and the hand of a remote descendant has, too late for many, directed the pursuit to the lair of the beast." We talked a little more, and among other things he said was this "One sign of the vampire is the power of the hand. The slender hand of Mircalla closed like a vice of steel on the General's wrist when he raised the hatchet to strike. But its power is not confined to its grasp; it leaves a numbness in the limb it seizes, which is slowly, if ever, recovered from." The following Spring my father took me a tour through Italy. We remained away for more than a year. It was long before the terror of recent events subsided; and to this hour the image of Carmilla returns to memory with ambiguous alternationssometimes the playful, languid, beautiful girl; sometimes the writhing fiend I saw in the ruined church; and often from a reverie I have started, fancying I heard the light step of Carmilla at the drawing room door.

Genealogical Table I Overheard The death was certainly sudden, unexpected, and to me mysterious. Letter from Dr. Paterson to the Registrar in the case of Reg. v. Pritchard But if he thought the woman was being murdered My dear Charles, said the young man with the monocle, it doesnt do for people, especially doctors, to go about thinking things. They may get into frightful trouble. In Pritchards case, I consider Dr. Paterson did all he reasonably could by refusing a certificate for Mrs. Taylor and sending that uncommonly disquieting letter to the Registrar. He couldnt help the mans being a fool. If there had only been an inquest on Mrs. Taylor, Pritchard would probably have been frightened off and left his wife alone. After all, Paterson hadnt a spark of real evidence. And suppose hed been quite wrongwhat a dustup thered have been! All the same, urged the nondescript young man, dubiously extracting a bubblinghot Helix Pomatia from its shell, and eyeing it nervously before putting it in his mouth, surely its a clear case of public duty to voice ones suspicions. Of your dutyyes, said the other. By the way, its not a public duty to eat snails if you dont like em. No, I thought you didnt. Why wrestle with a harsh fate any longer? Waiter, take the gentlemans snails away and bring oysters instead Noas I was saying, it may be part of your duty to have suspicions and invite investigation and generally raise hell for everybody, and if youre mistaken nobody says much, beyond that youre a smart, painstaking officer though a little overzealous. But doctors, poor devils! are everlastingly walking a kind of social tightrope. People dont fancy calling in a man whos liable to bring out accusations of murder on the smallest provocation. Excuse me. The thinfaced young man sitting alone at the next table had turned round eagerly. Its frightfully rude of me to break in, but every word you say is absolutely true, and mine is a case in point. A doctoryou cant have any idea how dependent he is on the fancies and prejudices of his patients. They resent the most elementary precautions. If you dare to suggest a postmortem, theyre up in arms at the idea of cutting poor dear Soandso up, and even if you only ask permission to investigate an obscure disease in the interests of research, they imagine youre hinting at something unpleasant. Of course, if you let things go, and it turns out afterwards theres been any jiggerypokery, the coroner jumps down your throat and the newspapers make a butt of you, and, whichever way it is, you wish youd never been born. You speak with personal feeling, said the man with the monocle, with an agreeable air of interest. I do, said the thinfaced man, emphatically. If I had behaved like a man of the world instead of a zealous citizen, I shouldnt be hunting about for a new job today. The man with the monocle glanced round the little Soho restaurant with a faint smile. The fat man on their right was unctuously entertaining two ladies of the chorus; beyond him, two elderly habitus were showing their acquaintance with the fare at the Au Bon Bourgeois by consuming a Tripes la Mode de Caen (which they do very excellently there) and a bottle of Chablis Moutonne 1916; on the other side of the room a provincial and his wife were stupidly clamouring for a cut off the joint with lemonade for the lady and whisky and soda for the gentleman, while at the adjoining table, the handsome silverhaired proprietor, absorbed in fatiguing a salad for a family party, had for the moment no thoughts beyond the nice adjustment of the chopped herbs and garlic. The head waiter, presenting for inspection a plate of Blue River Trout, helped the monocled man and his companion and retired, leaving them in the privacy which unsophisticated people always seek in genteel teashops and never, never find there. I feel, said the monocled man, exactly like Prince Florizel of Bohemia. I am confident that you, sir, have an interesting story to relate, and shall be greatly obliged if you will favour us with the recital. I perceive that you have finished your dinner, and it will therefore perhaps not be disagreeable to you to remove to this table and entertain us with your story while we eat. Pardon my Stevensonian mannermy sympathy is none the less sincere on that account. Dont be an ass, Peter, said the nondescript man. My friend is a much more rational person than you might suppose to hear him talk, he added, turning to the stranger, and if theres anything youd like to get off your chest, you may be perfectly certain it wont go any farther. The other smiled a little grimly. Ill tell you about it with pleasure if it wont bore you. It just happens to be a case in point, thats all. On my side of the argument, said the man called Peter, with triumph. Do carry on. Have something to drink. Its a poor heart that never rejoices. And begin right at the beginning, if you will, please. I have a very trivial mind. Detail delights me. Ramifications enchant me. Distance no object. No reasonable offer refused. Charles here will say the same. Well, said the stranger, to begin from the very beginning, I am a medical man, particularly interested in the subject of Cancer. I had hoped, as so many people do, to specialise on the subject, but there wasnt money enough, when Id done my exams, to allow me to settle down to research work. I had to take a country practice, but I kept in touch with the important men up here, hoping to be able to come back to it some day. I may say I have quite decent expectations from an uncle, and in the meanwhile they agreed it would be quite good for me to get some allround experience as a G.P. Keeps one from getting narrow and all that. Consequently, when I bought a nice little practice at Id better not mention any names, lets call it X, down Hampshire way, a little country town of about 5,000 peopleI was greatly pleased to find a cancer case on my list of patients. The old lady How long ago was this? interrupted Peter. Three years ago. There wasnt much to be done with the case. The old lady was seventytwo, and had already had one operation. She was a game old girl, though, and was making a good fight of it, with a very tough constitution to back her up. She was not, I should say, and had never been, a woman of very powerful intellect or strong character as far as her dealings with other people went, but she was extremely obstinate in certain ways and was possessed by a positive determination not to die. At this time she lived alone with her niece, a young woman of twentyfive or so. Previously to that, she had been living with another old lady, the girls aunt on the other side of the family, who had been her devoted friend since their school days. When this other old aunt died, the girl, who was their only living relative, threw up her job as a nurse at the Royal Free Hospital to look after the survivormy patientand they had come and settled down at X about a year before I took over the practice. I hope I am making myself clear. Perfectly. Was there another nurse? Not at that time. The patient was able to get about, visit acquaintances, do light work about the house, flowers and knitting and reading and so on, and to drive about the placein fact, most of the things that old ladies do occupy their time with. Of course, she had her bad days of pain from time to time, but the nieces training was quite sufficient to enable her to do all that was necessary. What was the niece like? Oh, a very nice, welleducated, capable girl, with a great deal more brain than her aunt. Selfreliant, cool, all that sort of thing. Quite the modern type. The sort of woman one can trust to keep her head and not forget things. Of course, after a time, the wretched growth made its appearance again, as it always does if it isnt tackled at the very beginning, and another operation became necessary. That was when I had been in X about eight months. I took her up to London, to my own old chief, Sir Warburton Giles, and it was performed very successfully as far as the operation itself went, though it was then only too evident that a vital organ was being encroached upon, and that the end could only be a matter of time. I neednt go into details. Everything was done that could be done. I wanted the old lady to stay in town under Sir Warburtons eye, but she was vigorously opposed to this. She was accustomed to a country life and could not be happy except in her own home. So she went back to X, and I was able to keep her going with visits for treatment at the nearest large town, where there is an excellent hospital. She rallied amazingly after the operation and eventually was able to dismiss her nurse and go on in the old way under the care of the niece. One moment, doctor, put in the man called Charles, you say you took her to Sir Warburton Giles and so on. I gather she was pretty well off. Oh, yes, she was quite a wealthy woman. Do you happen to know whether she made a will? No. I think I mentioned her extreme aversion to the idea of death. She had always refused to make any kind of will because it upset her to think about such things. I did once venture to speak of the subject in the most casual way I could, shortly before she underwent her operation, but the effect was to excite her very undesirably. Also she said, which was quite true, that it was quite unnecessary. You, my dear, she said to the niece, are the only kith and kin Ive got in the world, and all Ive got will be yours some day, whatever happens. I know I can trust you to remember my servants and my little charities. So, of course, I didnt insist. I remember, by the waybut that was a good deal later on and has nothing to do with the story Please, said Peter, all the details. Well, I remember going there one day and finding my patient not so well as I could have wished and very much agitated. The niece told me that the trouble was caused by a visit from her solicitora family lawyer from her home town, not our local man. He had insisted on a private interview with the old lady, at the close of which she had appeared terribly excited and angry, declaring that everyone was in a conspiracy to kill her before her time. The solicitor, before leaving, had given no explanation to the niece, but had impressed upon her that if at any time her aunt expressed a wish to see him, she was to send for him at any hour of the day or night and he would come at once. And was he ever sent for? No. The old lady was deeply offended with him, and almost the last bit of business she did for herself was to take her affairs out of his hands and transfer them to the local solicitor. Shortly afterwards, a third operation became necessary, and after this she gradually became more and more of an invalid. Her head began to get weak, too, and she grew incapable of understanding anything complicated, and indeed she was in too much pain to be bothered about business. The niece had a power of attorney, and took over the management of her aunts money entirely. When was this? In April, 1925. Mind you, though she was getting a bit gagaafter all, she was getting on in yearsher bodily strength was quite remarkable. I was investigating a new method of treatment and the results were extraordinarily interesting. That made it all the more annoying to me when the surprising thing happened. I should mention that by this time we were obliged to have an outside nurse for her, as the niece could not do both the day and night duty. The first nurse came in April. She was a most charming and capable young womanthe ideal nurse. I placed absolute dependence on her. She had been specially recommended to me by Sir Warburton Giles, and though she was not then more than twentyeight, she had the discretion and judgment of a woman twice her age. I may as well tell you at once that I became deeply attached to this lady and she to me. We are engaged, and had hoped to be married this yearif it hadnt been for my damned conscientiousness and public spirit. The doctor grimaced wryly at Charles, who murmured rather lamely that it was very bad luck. My fiance, like myself, took a keen interest in the casepartly because it was my case and partly because she was herself greatly interested in the disease. She looks forward to being of great assistance to me in my life work if I ever get the chance to do anything at it. But thats by the way. Things went on like this till September. Then, for some reason, the patient began to take one of those unaccountable dislikes that feebleminded patients do take sometimes. She got it into her head that the nurse wanted to kill herthe same idea shed had about the lawyer, you seeand earnestly assured her niece that she was being poisoned. No doubt she attributed her attacks of pain to this cause. Reasoning was uselessshe cried out and refused to let the nurse come near her. When that happens, naturally, theres nothing for it but to get rid of the nurse, as she can do the patient no possible good. I sent my fiance back to town and wired to Sir Warburtons Clinic to send me down another nurse. The new nurse arrived the next day. Naturally, after the other, she was a secondbest as far as I was concerned, but she seemed quite up to her work and the patient made no objection. However, now I began to have trouble with the niece. Poor girl, all this longdrawnout business was getting on her nerves, I suppose. She took it into her head that her aunt was very much worse. I said that of course she must gradually get worse, but that she was putting up a wonderful fight and there was no cause for alarm. The girl wasnt satisfied, however, and on one occasion early in November sent for me hurriedly in the middle of the night because her aunt was dying. When I arrived, I found the patient in great pain, certainly, but in no immediate danger. I told the nurse to give her a morphia injection, and administered a dose of bromide to the girl, telling her to go to bed and not to do any nursing for the next few days. The following day I overhauled the patient very carefully and found that she was doing even better than I supposed. Her heart was exceptionally strong and steady, she was taking nourishment remarkably well and the progress of the disease was temporarily arrested. The niece apologised for her agitation, and said she really thought her aunt was going. I said that, on the contrary, I could now affirm positively that she would live for another five or six months. As you know, in cases like hers, one can speak with very fair certainty. In any case, I said, I shouldnt distress yourself too much. Death, when it does come, will be a release from suffering. Yes, she said, poor Auntie. Im afraid Im selfish, but shes the only relative I have left in the world. Three days later, I was just sitting down to dinner when a telephone message came. Would I go over at once? The patient was dead. Good gracious! cried Charles, its perfectly obvious Shut up, Sherlock, said his friend, the doctors story is not going to be obvious. Far from it, as the private said when he aimed at the bullseye and hit the gunnery instructor. But I observe the waiter hovering uneasily about us while his colleagues pile up chairs and carry away the cruets. Will you not come and finish the story in my flat? I can give you a glass of very decent port. You will? Good. Waiter, call a taxi 110A, Piccadilly. II Miching Mallecho By the pricking of my thumbs Something evil this way comes. Macbeth The April night was clear and chilly, and a brisk wood fire burned in a welcoming manner on the hearth. The bookcases which lined the walls were filled with rich old calf bindings, mellow and glowing in the lamplight. There was a grand piano, open, a huge chesterfield piled deep with cushions and two armchairs of the build that invites one to wallow. The port was brought in by an impressive manservant and placed on a very beautiful little Chippendale table. Some big bowls of scarlet and yellow parrot tulips beckoned, bannerlike, from dark corners. The doctor had just written his new acquaintance down as an aesthete with a literary turn, looking for the ingredients of a human drama, when the manservant reentered. Inspector Sugg rang up, my lord, and left this message, and said would you be good enough to give him a call as soon as you came in. Oh, did he?well, just get him for me, would you? This is the Worplesham business, Charles. Suggs mucked it up as usual. The baker has an alibinaturallyhe would have. Oh, thanks Hullo! that you, Inspector? What did I tell you?Oh, routine be hanged. Now, look here. You get hold of that gamekeeper fellow, and find out from him what he saw in the sandpit No, I know, but I fancy if you ask him impressively enough he will come across with it. No, of course notif you ask if he was there, hell say no. Say you know he was there and what did he seeand, look here! if he hums and haws about it, say youre sending a gang down to have the stream diverted All right. Not at all. Let me know if anything comes of it. He put the receiver down. Excuse me, Doctor. A little matter of business. Now go on with your story. The old lady was dead, eh? Died in her sleep, I suppose. Passed away in the most innocent manner possible. Everything all shipshape and Bristolfashion. No struggle, no wounds, haemorrhages, or obvious symptoms, naturally, what? Exactly. She had taken some nourishment at 6 oclocka little broth and some milk pudding. At eight, the nurse gave her a morphine injection and then went straight out to put some bowls of flowers on the little table on the landing for the night. The maid came to speak to her about some arrangements for the next day, and while they were talking, Miss that is, the niececame up and went into her aunts room. She had only been there a moment or two when she cried out, Nurse! Nurse! The nurse rushed in, and found the patient dead. Of course, my first idea was that by some accident a double dose of morphine had been administered Surely that wouldnt have acted so promptly. Nobut I thought that a deep coma might have been mistaken for death. However, the nurse assured me that this was not the case, and, as a matter of fact, the possibility was completely disproved, as we were able to count the ampullae of morphine and found them all satisfactorily accounted for. There were no signs of the patient having tried to move or strain herself, or of her having knocked against anything. The little nighttable was pushed aside, but that had been done by the niece when she came in and was struck by her aunts alarmingly lifeless appearance. How about the broth and the milkpudding? That occurred to me alsonot in any sinister way, but to wonder whether shed been having too muchdistended stomachpressure on the heart, and that sort of thing. However, when I came to look into it, it seemed very unlikely. The quantity was so small, and on the face of it, two hours were sufficient for digestionif it had been that, death would have taken place earlier. I was completely puzzled, and so was the nurse. Indeed, she was very much upset. And the niece? The niece could say nothing but I told you so, I told you soI knew she was worse than you thought. Well, to cut a long story short, I was so bothered with my pet patient going off like that, that next morning, after I had thought the matter over, I asked for a postmortem. Any difficulty? Not the slightest. A little natural distaste, of course, but no sort of opposition. I explained that I felt sure there must be some obscure morbid condition which I had failed to diagnose and that I should feel more satisfied if I might make an investigation. The only thing which seemed to trouble the niece was the thought of an inquest. I saidrather unwisely, I suppose, according to general rulesthat I didnt think an inquest would be necessary. You mean you offered to perform the postmortem yourself. YesI made no doubt that I should find a sufficient cause of death to enable me to give a certificate. I had one bit of luck, and that was that the old lady had at some time or the other expressed in a general way an opinion in favour of cremation, and the niece wished this to be carried out. This meant getting a man with special qualifications to sign the certificate with me, so I persuaded this other doctor to come and help me to do the autopsy. And did you find anything? Not a thing. The other man, of course, said I was a fool to kick up a fuss. He thought that as the old lady was certainly dying in any case, it would be quite enough to put in, Cause of death, Cancer; immediate cause, Heart Failure, and leave it at that. But I was a damned conscientious ass, and said I wasnt satisfied. There was absolutely nothing about the body to explain the death naturally, and I insisted on an analysis. Did you actually suspect? Well, no, not exactly. Butwell, I wasnt satisfied. By the way, it was very clear at the autopsy that the morphine had nothing to do with it. Death had occurred so soon after the injection that the drug had only partially dispersed from the arm. Now I think it over, I suppose it must have been shock, somehow. Was the analysis privately made? Yes; but of course the funeral was held up and things got round. The coroner heard about it and started to make inquiries, and the nurse, who got it into her head that I was accusing her of neglect or something, behaved in a very unprofessional way and created a lot of talk and trouble. And nothing came of it? Nothing. There was no trace of poison or anything of that sort, and the analysis left us exactly where we were. Naturally, I began to think I had made a ghastly exhibition of myself. Rather against my own professional judgment, I signed the certificateheart failure following on shock, and my patient was finally got into her grave after a week of worry, without an inquest. Grave? Oh, yes. That was another scandal. The crematorium authorities, who are pretty particular, heard about the fuss and refused to act in the matter, so the body is filed in the churchyard for reference if necessary. There was a huge attendance at the funeral and a great deal of sympathy for the niece. The next day I got a note from one of my most influential patients, saying that my professional services would no longer be required. The day after that, I was avoided in the street by the Mayors wife. Presently I found my practice dropping away from me, and discovered I was getting known as the man who practically accused that charming Miss Soandso of murder. Sometimes it was the niece I was supposed to be accusing. Sometimes it was that nice Nursenot the flighty one who was dismissed, the other one, you know. Another version was, that I had tried to get the nurse into trouble because I resented the dismissal of my fiance. Finally, I heard a rumour that the patient had discovered me canoodlingthat was the beastly wordwith my fiance, instead of doing my job, and had done away with the old lady myself out of revengethough why, in that case, I should have refused a certificate, my scandalmongers didnt trouble to explain. I stuck it out for a year, but my position became intolerable. The practice dwindled to practically nothing, so I sold it, took a holiday to get the taste out of my mouthand here I am, looking for another opening. So thats thatand the moral is, Dont be officious about public duties. The doctor gave an irritated laugh, and flung himself back in his chair. I dont care, he added, combatantly, the cats! Confusion to em! and he drained his glass. Hear, hear! agreed his host. He sat for a few moments looking thoughtfully into the fire. Do you know, he said, suddenly, Im feeling rather interested by this case. I have a sensation of internal gloating which assures me that there is something to be investigated. That feeling has never failed me yetI trust it never will. It warned me the other day to look into my Incometax assessment, and I discovered that I had been paying about 900 too much for the last three years. It urged me only last week to ask a bloke who was preparing to drive me over the Horseshoe Pass whether he had any petrol in the tank, and he discovered he had just about a pintenough to get us nicely halfway round. Its a very lonely spot. Of course, I knew the man, so it wasnt all intuition. Still, I always make it a rule to investigate anything I feel like investigating. I believe, he added, in a reminiscent tone, I was a terror in my nursery days. Anyhow, curious cases are rather a hobby of mine. In fact, Im not just being the perfect listener. I have deceived you. I have an ulterior motive, said he, throwing off his sidewhiskers and disclosing the wellknown hollow jaws of Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I was beginning to have my suspicions, said the doctor, after a short pause. I think you must be Lord Peter Wimsey. I wondered why your face was so familiar, but of course it was in all the papers a few years ago when you disentangled the Riddlesdale Mystery. Quite right. Its a silly kind of face, of course, but rather disarming, dont you think? I dont know that Id have chosen it, but I do my best with it. I do hope it isnt contracting a sleuthlike expression, or anything unpleasant. This is the real sleuthmy friend DetectiveInspector Parker of Scotland Yard. Hes the one who really does the work. I make imbecile suggestions and he does the work of elaborately disproving them. Then, by a process of elimination, we find the right explanation, and the world says, My god, what intuition that young man has! Well, look hereif you dont mind, Id like to have a go at this. If youll entrust me with your name and address and the names of the parties concerned, Id like very much to have a shot at looking into it. The doctor considered a moment, then shook his head. Its very good of you, but I think Id rather not. Ive got into enough bothers already. Anyway, it isnt professional to talk, and if I stirred up any more fuss, I should probably have to chuck this country altogether and end up as one of those drunken ships doctors in the South Seas or somewhere, who are always telling their lifehistory to people and delivering awful warnings. Better to let sleeping dogs lie. Thanks very much, all the same. As you like, said Wimsey. But Ill think it over, and if any useful suggestion occurs to me, Ill let you know. Its very good of you, replied the visitor, absently, taking his hat and stick from the manservant, who had answered Wimseys ring. Well, good night, and many thanks for hearing me so patiently. By the way, though, he added, turning suddenly at the door, how do you propose to let me know when you havent got my name and address? Lord Peter laughed. Im Hawkshaw, the detective, he answered, and you shall hear from me anyhow before the end of the week. III A Use for Spinsters There are two million more females than males in England and Wales! And this is an aweinspiring circumstance. Gilbert Frankau What do you really think of that story? inquired Parker. He had dropped in to breakfast with Wimsey the next morning, before departing in the Notting Dale direction, in quest of an elusive anonymous letterwriter. I thought it sounded rather as though our friend had been a bit too cocksure about his grand medical specialising. After all, the old girl might so easily have had some sort of heart attack. She was very old and ill. So she might, though I believe as a matter of fact cancer patients very seldom pop off in that unexpected way. As a rule, they surprise everybody by the way they cling to life. Still, I wouldnt think much of that if it wasnt for the niece. She prepared the way for the death, you see, by describing her aunt as so much worse than she was. I thought the same when the doctor was telling his tale. But what did the niece do? She cant have poisoned her aunt or even smothered her, I suppose, or theyd have found signs of it on the body. And the aunt did dieso perhaps the niece was right and the opinionated young medico wrong. Just so. And of course, weve only got his version of the niece and the nurseand he obviously has what the Scotch call taen a scunner at the nurse. We mustnt lose sight of her, by the way. She was the last person to be with the old lady before her death, and it was she who administered that injection. Yes, yesbut the injection had nothing to do with it. If anythings clear, that is. I say, do you think the nurse can have said anything that agitated the old lady and gave her a shock that way. The patient was a bit gaga, but she may have had sense enough to understand something really startling. Possibly the nurse just said something stupid about dyingthe old lady appears to have been very sensitive on the point. Ah! said Lord Peter, I was waiting for you to get on to that. Have you realised that there really is one rather sinister figure in the story, and thats the family lawyer. The one who came down to say something about the will, you mean, and was so abruptly sent packing. Yes. Suppose hed wanted the patient to make a will in favour of somebody quite differentsomebody outside the story as we know it. And when he found he couldnt get any attention paid to him, he sent the new nurse down as a sort of substitute. It would be rather an elaborate plot, said Parker, dubiously. He couldnt know that the doctors fiance was going to be sent away. Unless he was in league with the niece, of course, and induced her to engineer the change of nurses. That cock wont fight, Charles. The niece wouldnt be in league with the lawyer to get herself disinherited. No, I suppose not. Still, I think theres something in the idea that the old girl was either accidentally or deliberately startled to death. Yesand whichever way it was, it probably wasnt legal murder in that case. However, I think its worth looking into. That reminds me. He rang the bell. Bunter, just take a note to the post for me, would you? Certainly, my lord. Lord Peter drew a writing pad towards him. What are you going to write? asked Parker, looking over his shoulder with some amusement. Lord Peter wrote Isnt civilisation wonderful? He signed this simple message and slipped it into an envelope. If you want to be immune from silly letters, Charles, he said, dont carry your monomark in your hat. And what do you propose to do next? asked Parker. Not, I hope, to send me round to Monomark House to get the name of a client. I couldnt do that without official authority, and they would probably kick up an awful shindy. No, replied his friend, I dont propose violating the secrets of the confessional. Not in that quarter at any rate. I think, if you can spare a moment from your mysterious correspondent, who probably does not intend to be found, I will ask you to come and pay a visit to a friend of mine. It wont take long. I think youll be interested. Iin fact, youll be the first person Ive ever taken to see her. She will be very much touched and pleased. He laughed a little selfconsciously. Oh, said Parker, embarrassed. Although the men were great friends, Wimsey had always preserved a reticence about his personal affairsnot so much by concealing as by ignoring them. This revelation seemed to mark a new stage of intimacy, and Parker was not sure that he liked it. He conducted his own life with an earnest middleclass morality which he owed to his birth and upbringing, and, while theoretically recognising that Lord Peters world acknowledged different standards, he had never contemplated being personally faced with any result of their application in practice. rather an experiment, Wimsey was saying a trifle shyly; anyway, shes quite comfortably fixed in a little flat in Pimlico. You can come, cant you, Charles? I really should like you two to meet. Oh, yes, rather, said Parker, hastily, I should like to very much.

Erhow longI mean Oh, the arrangements only been going a few months, said Wimsey, leading the way to the lift, but it really seems to be working out quite satisfactorily. Of course, it makes things much easier for me. Just so, said Parker. Of course, as youll understandI wont go into it all till we get there, and then youll see for yourself, Wimsey chattered on, slamming the gates of the lift with unnecessary violencebut, as I was saying, youll observe its quite a new departure. I dont suppose theres ever been anything exactly like it before. Of course, theres nothing new under the sun, as Solomon said, but after all, I daresay all those wives and porcupines, as the child said, must have soured his disposition a little, dont you know. Quite, said Parker. Poor fish, he added to himself, they always seem to think its different. Outlet, said Wimsey, energetically, hi! taxi! outleteverybody needs an outlet97A, St. Georges Squareand after all, one cant really blame people if its just that they need an outlet. I mean, why be bitter? They cant help it. I think its much kinder to give them an outlet than to make fun of them in booksand, after all, it isnt really difficult to write books. Especially if you either write a rotten story in good English or a good story in rotten English, which is as far as most people seem to get nowadays. Dont you agree? Mr. Parker agreed, and Lord Peter wandered away along the paths of literature, till the cab stopped before one of those tall, awkward mansions which, originally designed for a Victorian family with fatigueproof servants, have lately been dissected each into half a dozen inconvenient bandboxes and let off in flats. Lord Peter rang the top bell, which was marked Climpson, and relaxed negligently against the porch. Six flights of stairs, he explained; it takes her some time to answer the bell, because theres no lift, you see. She wouldnt have a more expensive flat, though. She thought it wouldnt be suitable. Mr. Parker was greatly relieved, if somewhat surprised, by the modesty of the ladys demands, and, placing his foot on the doorscraper in an easy attitude, prepared to wait with patience. Before many minutes, however, the door was opened by a thin, middleaged woman, with a sharp, sallow face and very vivacious manner. She wore a neat, dark coat and skirt, a highnecked blouse and a long gold neckchain with a variety of small ornaments dangling from it at intervals, and her irongrey hair was dressed under a net, in the style fashionable in the reign of the late King Edward. Oh, Lord Peter! How very nice to see you. Rather an early visit, but Im sure you will excuse the sittingroom being a trifle in disorder. Do come in. The lists are quite ready for you. I finished them last night. In fact, I was just about to put on my hat and bring them round to you. I do hope you dont think I have taken an unconscionable time, but there was a quite surprising number of entries. It is too good of you to trouble to call. Not at all, Miss Climpson. This is my friend, DetectiveInspector Parker, whom I have mentioned to you. How do you do, Mr. Parkeror ought I to say Inspector? Excuse me if I make mistakesthis is really the first time I have been in the hands of the police. I hope its not rude of me to say that. Please come up. A great many stairs, I am afraid, but I hope you do not mind. I do so like to be high up. The air is so much better, and you know, Mr. Parker, thanks to Lord Peters great kindness, I have such a beautiful, airy view, right over the houses. I think one can work so much better when one doesnt feel cribbed, cabined and confined, as Hamlet says. Dear me! Mrs. Winbottle will leave the pail on the stairs, and always in that very dark corner. I am continually telling her about it. If you keep close to the banisters you will avoid it nicely. Only one more flight. Here we are. Please overlook the untidiness. I always think breakfast things look so ugly when one has finished with themalmost sordid, to use a nasty word for a nasty subject. What a pity that some of these clever people cant invent selfcleaning and self clearing plates, is it not? But please do sit down; I wont keep you a moment. And I know, Lord Peter, that you will not hesitate to smoke. I do so enjoy the smell of your cigarettesquite deliciousand you are so very good about extinguishing the ends. The little room was, as a matter of fact, most exquisitely neat, in spite of the crowded array of knickknacks and photographs that adorned every available inch of space. The sole evidences of dissipation were an empty eggshell, a used cup and a crumby plate on a breakfast tray. Miss Climpson promptly subdued this riot by carrying the tray bodily on to the landing. Mr. Parker, a little bewildered, lowered himself cautiously into a small armchair, embellished with a hard, fat little cushion which made it impossible to lean back. Lord Peter wriggled into the windowseat, lit a Sobranie and clasped his hands about his knees. Miss Climpson, seated upright at the table, gazed at him with a gratified air which was positively touching. I have gone very carefully into all these cases, she began, taking up a thick wad of typescript. Im afraid, indeed, my notes are rather copious, but I trust the typists bill will not be considered too heavy. My handwriting is very clear, so I dont think there can be any errors. Dear me! such sad stories some of these poor women had to tell me! But I have investigated most fully, with the kind assistance of the clergymana very nice man and so helpfuland I feel sure that in the majority of the cases your assistance will be well bestowed. If you would like to go through Not at the moment, Miss Climpson, interrupted Lord Peter, hurriedly. Its all right, Charlesnothing whatever to do with Our Dumb Friends or supplying Flannel to Unmarried Mothers. Ill tell you about it later. Just now, Miss Climpson, we want your help on something quite different. Miss Climpson produced a businesslike notebook and sat at attention. The inquiry divides itself into two parts, said Lord Peter. The first part, Im afraid, is rather dull. I want you (if you will be so good) to go down to Somerset House and search, or get them to search, through all the deathcertificates for Hampshire in the month of November, 1925. I dont know the town and I dont know the name of the deceased. What you are looking for is the deathcertificate of an old lady of 73; cause of death, cancer; immediate cause, heartfailure; and the certificate will have been signed by two doctors, one of whom will be either a Medical Officer of Health, Police Surgeon, Certifying Surgeon under the Factory and Workshops Act, Medical Referee under the Workmens Compensation Act, Physician or Surgeon in a big General Hospital, or a man specially appointed by the Cremation authorities. If you want to give any excuse for the search, you can say that you are compiling statistics about cancer; but what you really want is the names of the people concerned and the name of the town. Suppose there are more than one answering to the requirements? Ah! thats where the second part comes in, and where your remarkable tact and shrewdness are going to be so helpful to us. When you have collected all the possibles, I shall ask you to go down to each of the towns concerned and make very, very skilful inquiries, to find out which is the case we want to get on to. Of course, you mustnt appear to be inquiring. You must find some good gossipy lady living in the neighbourhood and just get her to talk in a natural way. You must pretend to be gossipy yourselfits not in your nature, I know, but Im sure you can make a little pretence about itand find out all you can. I fancy youll find it pretty easy if you once strike the right town, because I know for a certainty that there was a terrible lot of illnatured talk about this particular death, and it wont have been forgotten yet by a long chalk. How shall I know when its the right one? Well, if you can spare the time, I want you to listen to a little story. Mind you, Miss Climpson, when you get to wherever it is, you are not supposed ever to have heard a word of this tale before. But I neednt tell you that. Now, Charles, youve got an official kind of way of puttin these things clearly. Will you just weigh in and give Miss Climpson the gist of that rigmarole our friend served out to us last night? Pulling his wits into order, Mr. Parker accordingly obliged with a digest of the doctors story. Miss Climpson listened with great attention, making notes of the dates and details. Parker observed that she showed great acumen in seizing on the salient points; she asked a number of very shrewd questions, and her grey eyes were intelligent. When he had finished, she repeated the story, and he was able to congratulate her on a clear head and retentive memory. A dear old friend of mine used to say that I should have made a very good lawyer, said Miss Climpson, complacently, but of course, when I was young, girls didnt have the education or the opportunities they get nowadays, Mr. Parker. I should have liked a good education, but my dear father didnt believe in it for women. Very oldfashioned, you young people would think him. Never mind, Miss Climpson, said Wimsey, youve got just exactly the qualifications we want, and theyre rather rare, so were in luck. Now we want this matter pushed forward as fast as possible. Ill go down to Somerset House at once, replied the lady, with great energy, and let you know the minute Im ready to start for Hampshire. Thats right, said his lordship, rising. And now well just make a noise like a hoop and roll away. Oh! and while I think of it, Id better give you something in hand for travelling expenses and so on. I think you had better be just a retired lady in easy circumstances looking for a nice little place to settle down in. I dont think youd better be wealthywealthy people dont inspire confidence. Perhaps you would oblige me by living at the rate of about 800 a yearyour own excellent taste and experience will suggest the correct accessories and so on for creating that impression. If you will allow me, I will give you a cheque for 50 now, and when you start on your wanderings you will let me know what you require. Dear me, said Miss Climpson, I dont This is a pure matter of business, of course, said Wimsey, rather rapidly, and you will let me have a note of the expenses in your usual businesslike way. Of course. Miss Climpson was dignified. And I will give you a proper receipt immediately. Dear, dear, she added, hunting through her purse, I do not appear to have any penny stamps. How extremely remiss of me. It is most unusual for me not to have my little book of stampsso handy I always think they arebut only last night Mrs. Williams borrowed my last stamps to send a very urgent letter to her son in Japan. If you will excuse me a moment I think I have some, interposed Parker. Oh, thank you very much, Mr. Parker. Here is the twopence. I never allow myself to be without pennieson account of the bathroom geyser, you know. Such a very sensible invention, most convenient, and prevents all dispute about hot water among the tenants. Thank you so much. And now I sign my name across the stamps. Thats right, isnt it? My dear father would be surprised to find his daughter so businesslike. He always said a woman should never need to know anything about money matters, but times have changed so greatly, have they not? Miss Climpson ushered them down all six flights of stairs, volubly protesting at their protests, and the door closed behind them. May I ask? began Parker. It is not what you think, said his lordship, earnestly. Of course not, agreed Parker. There, I knew you had a nasty mind. Even the closest of ones friends turn out to be secret thinkers. They think in private thoughts which they publicly repudiate. Dont be a fool. Who is Miss Climpson? Miss Climpson, said Lord Peter, is a manifestation of the wasteful way in which this country is run. Look at electricity. Look at waterpower. Look at the tides. Look at the sun. Millions of power units being given off into space every minute. Thousands of old maids, simply bursting with useful energy, forced by our stupid social system into hydros and hotels and communities and hostels and posts as companions, where their magnificent gossippowers and units of inquisitiveness are allowed to dissipate themselves or even become harmful to the community, while the ratepayers money is spent on getting work for which these women are providentially fitted, inefficiently carried out by illequipped policemen like you. My god! its enough to make a man write to John Bull. And then bright young men write nasty little patronising books called Elderly Women, and On the Edge of the Explosionand the drunkards make songs upon em, poor things. Quite, quite, said Parker. You mean that Miss Climpson is a kind of inquiry agent for you. She is my ears and tongue, said Lord Peter, dramatically, and especially my nose. She asks questions which a young man could not put without a blush. She is the angel that rushes in where fools get a clump on the head. She can smell a rat in the dark. In fact, she is the cats whiskers. Thats not a bad idea, said Parker. Naturallyit is mine, therefore brilliant. Just think. People want questions asked. Whom do they send? A man with large flat feet and a notebookthe sort of man whose private life is conducted in a series of inarticulate grunts. I send a lady with a long, woolly jumper on knittingneedles and jingly things round her neck. Of course she asks questionseveryone expects it. Nobody is surprised. Nobody is alarmed. And socalled superfluity is agreeably and usefully disposed of. One of these days they will put up a statue to me, with an inscription To the Man who Made Thousands of Superfluous Women Happy Without Injury to their Modesty or Exertion to Himself. I wish you wouldnt talk so much, complained his friend. And how about all those typewritten reports? Are you turning philanthropist in your old age? Nono, said Wimsey, rather hurriedly hailing a taxi. Tell you about that later. Little private pogrom of my ownInsurance against the Socialist Revolutionwhen it comes. What did you do with your great wealth, comrade? I bought First Editions. Aristocrat! la lanterne! Stay, spare me! I took proceedings against 500 moneylenders who oppressed the workers. Citizen, you have done well. We will spare your life. You shall be promoted to cleaning out the sewers. Voila! We must move with the times. Citizen taxidriver, take me to the British Museum. Can I drop you anywhere? No? So long. I am going to collate a 12th century manuscript of Tristan, while the old order lasts. Mr. Parker thoughtfully boarded a westwardbound bus and was rolled away to do some routine questioning, on his own account, among the female population of Notting Dale. It did not appear to him to be a milieu in which the talents of Miss Climpson could be usefully employed. IV A Bit Mental A babbled of green fields. King Henry V Letter from Miss Alexandra Katherine Climpson to Lord Peter Wimsey. co Mrs. Hamilton Budge, Fairview, Nelson Avenue, Leahampton, Hants. April 29th, 1927. My dear Lord Peter, You will be happy to hear, after my two previous bad shots (!), that I have found the right place at last. The Agatha Dawson certificate is the correct one, and the dreadful scandal about Dr. Carr is still very much alive, I am sorry to say for the sake of human nature. I have been fortunate enough to secure rooms in the very next street to Wellington Avenue, where Miss Dawson used to live. My landlady seems a very nice woman, though a terrible gossip!which is all to the good!! Her charge for a very pleasant bedroom and sittingroom with full board is 3 guineas weekly. I trust you will not think this too extravagant, as the situation is just what you wished me to look for. I enclose a careful statement of my expenses uptodate. You will excuse the mention of underwear, which is, I fear, a somewhat large item! but wool is so expensive nowadays, and it is necessary that every detail of my equipment should be suitable to my (supposed!) position in life. I have been careful to wash the garments through, so that they do not look too new, as this might have a suspicious appearance!! But you will be anxious for me to (if I may use a vulgar expression) cut the cackle, and come to the horses (!!). On the day after my arrival, I informed Mrs. Budge that I was a great sufferer from rheumatism (which is quite true, as I have a sad legacy of that kind left me by, alas! my portdrinking ancestors!)and inquired what doctors there were in the neighbourhood. This at once brought forth a long catalogue, together with a grand panegyric of the sandy soil and healthy situation of the town. I said I should prefer an elderly doctor, as the young men, in my opinion, were not to be depended on. Mrs. Budge heartily agreed with me, and a little discreet questioning brought out the whole story of Miss Dawsons illness and the carryingson (as she termed them) of Dr. Carr and the nurse! I never did trust that first nurse, said Mrs. Budge, for all she had her training at Guys and ought to have been trustworthy. A sly, redheaded baggage, and its my belief that all Dr. Carrs fussing over Miss Dawson and his visits all day and every day were just to get lovemaking with Nurse Philliter. No wonder poor Miss Whittaker couldnt stand it any longer and gave the girl the sacknone too soon, in my opinion. Not quite so attentive after that, Dr. Carr wasntwhy, up to the last minute, he was pretending the old lady was quite all right, when Miss Whittaker had only said the day before that she felt sure she was going to be taken from us. I asked if Mrs. Budge knew Miss Whittaker personally. Miss Whittaker is the niece, you know. Not personally, she said, though she had met her in a social way at the Vicarage workingparties. But she knew all about it, because her maid was own sister to the maid at Miss Dawsons. Now is not that a fortunate coincidence, for you know how these girls talk! I also made careful inquiries about the Vicar, Mr. Tredgold, and was much gratified to find that he teaches sound Catholic doctrine, so that I shall be able to attend the Church (S. Onesimus) without doing violence to my religious beliefsa thing I could not undertake to do, even in your interests. I am sure you will understand this. As it happens, all is well, and I have written to my very good friend, the Vicar of St. Edfriths, Holborn, to ask for an introduction to Mr. Tredgold. By this means, I feel sure of meeting Miss Whittaker before long, as I hear she is quite a pillar of the Church! I do hope it is not wrong to make use of the Church of God to a worldly end; but after all, you are only seeking to establish Truth and Justice!and in so good a cause, we may perhaps permit ourselves to be a little bit Jesuitical!!! This is all I have been able to do as yet, but I shall not be idle, and will write to you again as soon as I have anything to report. By the way, the pillarbox is most conveniently placed just at the corner of Wellington Avenue, so that I can easily run out and post my letters to you myself (away from prying eyes!!)and just take a little peep at Miss Dawsonsnow Miss Whittakershouse, The Grove, at the same time. Believe me, Sincerely yours, Alexandra Katherine Climpson. The little redheaded nurse gave her visitor a quick, slightly hostile lookover. Its quite all right, he said apologetically, I havent come to sell you soap or gramophones, or to borrow money or enrol you in the Ancient Frothblowers or anything charitable. I really am Lord Peter WimseyI mean, that really is my title, dont you know, not a Christian name like Sangers Circus or Earl Derr Biggers. Ive come to ask you some questions, and Ive no real excuse, Im afraid, for butting in on youdo you ever read the News of the World? Nurse Philliter decided that she was to be asked to go to a mental case, and that the patient had come to fetch her in person. Sometimes, she said, guardedly. Ohwell, you may have noticed my name croppin up in a few murders and things lately. I sleuth, you know. For a hobby. Harmless outlet for natural inquisitiveness, dont you see, which might otherwise strike inward and produce introspection an suicide. Very natural, healthy pursuitnot too strenuous, not too sedentary; trains and invigorates the mind. I know who you are now, said Nurse Philliter, slowly. Youyou gave evidence against Sir Julian Freke. In fact, you traced the murder to him, didnt you? I didit was rather unpleasant, said Lord Peter, simply, and Ive got another little job of the same kind in hand now, and I want your help. Wont you sit down? said Nurse Philliter, setting the example. How am I concerned in the matter? You know Dr. Edward Carr, I thinklate of Leahamptonconscientious but a little lackin in worldly wisdomnot serpentine at all, as the Bible advises, but far otherwise. What! she cried, do you believe it was murder, then? Lord Peter looked at her for a few seconds. Her face was eager, her eyes gleaming curiously under her thick, level brows. She had expressive hands, rather large and with strong, flat joints. He noticed how they gripped the arms of her chair. Havent the faintest, he replied, nonchalantly, but I wanted your opinion. Mine?she checked herself. You know, I am not supposed to give opinions about my cases. You have given it me already, said his lordship, grinning. Though possibly I ought to allow for a little prejudice in favour of Dr. Carrs diagnosis. Well, yesbut its not merely personal. I mean, my being engaged to Dr. Carr wouldnt affect my judgment of a cancer case. I have worked with him on a great many of them, and I know that his opinion is really trustworthyjust as I know that, as a motorist, hes exactly the opposite. Right. I take it that if he says the death was inexplicable, it really was so. Thats one point gained. Now about the old lady herself. I gather she was a little queer towards the enda bit mental, I think you people call it? I dont know that Id say that either. Of course, when she was under morphia, she would be unconscious, or only semiconscious, for hours together. But up to the time when I left, I should say she was quitewell, quite all there. She was obstinate, you know, and what they call a character, at the best of times. But Dr. Carr told me she got odd fanciesabout people poisoning her? The redhaired nurse rubbed her fingers slowly along the arm of the chair, and hesitated. If it will make you feel any less unprofessional, said Lord Peter, guessing what was in her mind, I may say that my friend DetectiveInspector Parker is looking into this matter with me, which gives me a sort of right to ask questions. In that caseyesin that case I think I can speak freely. I never understood about that poisoning idea. I never saw anything of itno aversion, I mean, or fear of me. As a rule, a patient will show it, if shes got any queer ideas about the nurse. Poor Miss Dawson was always most kind and affectionate. She kissed me when I went away and gave me a little present, and said she was sorry to lose me. She didnt show any sort of nervousness about taking food from you? Well, I wasnt allowed to give her any food that last week. Miss Whittaker said her aunt had taken this funny notion, and gave her all her meals herself. Oh! thats very interestin. Was it Miss Whittaker, then, who first mentioned this little eccentricity to you? Yes. And she begged me not to say anything about it to Miss Dawson, for fear of agitating her. And did you? I did not. I wouldnt mention it in any case to a patient. It does no good. Did Miss Dawson ever speak about it to anyone else? Dr. Carr, for instance? No. According to Miss Whittaker, her aunt was frightened of the doctor too, because she imagined he was in league with me. Of course, that story rather lent colour to the unkind things that were said afterwards. I suppose its just possible that she saw us glancing at one another or speaking aside, and got the idea that we were plotting something. How about the maids? There were new maids about that time. She probably wouldnt talk about it to them, and anyhow, I wouldnt be discussing my patient with her servants. Of course not. Why did the other maids leave? How many were there? Did they all go at once? Two of them went. They were sisters. One was a terrible crockerysmasher, and Miss Whittaker gave her notice, so the other left with her. Ah, well! one can have too much of seeing the Crown Derby rollin round the floor. Quite. Then it had nothing to do withit wasnt on account of any little It wasnt because they couldnt get along with the nurse, if you mean that, said Nurse Philliter, with a smile. They were very obliging girls, but not very bright. Quite. Well, now, is there any little odd, outoftheway incident you can think of that might throw light on the thing. There was a visit from a lawyer, I believe, that agitated your patient quite a lot. Was that in your time? No. I only heard about it from Dr. Carr. And he never heard the name of the lawyer, what he came about, or anything. A pity, said his lordship. I have been hoping great things of the lawyer. Theres such a sinister charm, dont you think, about lawyers who appear unexpectedly with little bags, and alarm people with mysterious conferences, and then go away leaving urgent messages that if anything happens they are to be sent for. If it hadnt been for the lawyer, I probably shouldnt have treated Dr. Carrs medical problem with the respect it deserves. He never came again, or wrote, I suppose? I dont know. Wait a minute. I do remember one thing. I remember Miss Dawson having another hysterical attack of the same sort, and saying just what she said thenthat they were trying to kill her before her time. When was that? Oh, a couple of weeks before I left. Miss Whittaker had been up to her with the post, I think, and there were some papers of some kind to sign, and it seems to have upset her. I came in from my walk and found her in a dreadful state. The maids could have told you more about it than I could, really, for they were doing some dusting on the landing at the time and heard her going on, and they ran down and fetched me up to her. I didnt ask them about what happened myself, naturallyit doesnt do for nurses to gossip with the maids behind their employers backs. Miss Whittaker said that her aunt had had an annoying communication from a solicitor. Yes, it sounds as though there might be something there. Do you remember what the maids were called? What was the name now? A funny one, or I shouldnt remember itGotobed, that was itBertha and Evelyn Gotobed. I dont know where they went, but I daresay you could find out. Now one last question, and I want you to forget all about Christian kindliness and the law of slander when you answer it. What is Miss Whittaker like? An indefinable expression crossed the nurses face. Tall, handsome, very decided in manner, she said, with an air of doing strict justice against her will, an extremely competent nurseshe was at the Royal Free, you know, till she went to live with her aunt. I think she would have made a perfectly wonderful theatre nurse. She did not like me, nor I her, you know, Lord Peterand its better I should be telling you so at once, that way you can take everything I say about her with a grain of charity addedbut we both knew good hospital work when we saw it, and respected one another. Why in the world didnt she like you, Miss Philliter? I really dont know when Ive seen a more likeable kind of person, if youll scuse my mentionin it. I dont know. The nurse seemed a little embarrassed. The dislike seemed to grow on her. Youperhaps you heard the kind of things people said in the town? when I left?that Dr. Carr and IOh! it really was damnable, and I had the most dreadful interview with Matron when I got back here. She must have spread those stories. Who else could have done it? Wellyou did become engaged to Dr. Carr, didnt you? said his lordship, gently. Mind you, Im not sayin it wasnt a very agreeable occurrence and all that, but But she said I neglected the patient. I never did. I wouldnt think of such a thing. Of course not. No. But, do you suppose that possibly getting engaged was an offence in itself? Is Miss Whittaker engaged to anyone, by the way? No. You mean, was she jealous? Im sure Dr. Carr never gave the slightest, not the slightest Oh, please, cried Lord Peter, please dont be ruffled. Such a nice word, ruffledlike a kitten, I always thinkso furry and nice. But even without the least whatdyecallit on Dr. Carrs side, hes a very prepossessin person and all that. Dont you think there might be something in it? I did think so once, admitted Miss Philliter, but afterwards, when she got him into such awful trouble over the postmortem, I gave up the idea. But she didnt object to the postmortem? She did not. But theres such a thing as putting yourself in the right in the eyes of your neighbours, Lord Peter, and then going off to tell people all about it at Vicarage teaparties. I wasnt there, but you ask someone who was. I know those teaparties. Well, its not impossible. People can be very spiteful if they think theyve been slighted. Perhaps youre right, said Nurse Philliter, thoughtfully. But, she added suddenly, thats no motive for murdering a perfectly innocent old lady. Thats the second time youve used that word, said Wimsey, gravely. Theres no proof yet that it was murder. I know that. But you think it was? I do. And you think she did it? Yes. Lord Peter walked across to the aspidistra in the bowwindow and stroked its leaves thoughtfully. The silence was broken by a buxom nurse who, entering precipitately first and knocking afterwards, announced with a giggle Excuse me, Im sure, but youre in request this afternoon, Philliter. Heres Dr. Carr come for you. Dr. Carr followed hard upon his name. The sight of Wimsey struck him speechless. I told you Id be turnin up again before long, said Lord Peter, cheerfully. Sherlock is my name and Holmes is my nature. Im delighted to see you, Dr. Carr. Your little matter is well in hand, and seein Im not required any longer Ill make a noise like a bee and buzz off. How did he get here? demanded Dr. Carr, not altogether pleased. Didnt you send him? I think hes very nice, said Nurse Philliter. Hes mad, said Dr. Carr. Hes clever, said the redhaired nurse. V Gossip With vollies of eternal babble. Butler Hudibras So you are thinking of coming to live in Leahampton, said Miss Murgatroyd. How very nice. I do hope you will be settling down in the parish. We are not too well off for weekday congregationsthere is so much indifference and so much Protestantism about. There! I have dropped a stitch. Provoking! Perhaps it was meant as a little reminder to me not to think uncharitably about Protestants. All is wellI have retrieved it. Were you thinking of taking a house, Miss Climpson? I am not quite sure, replied Miss Climpson. Rents are so very high nowadays, and I fear that to buy a house would be almost beyond my means. I must look round very carefully, and view the question from all sides. I should certainly prefer to be in this parishand close to the Church, if possible. Perhaps the Vicar would know whether there is likely to be anything suitable. Oh, yes, he would doubtless be able to suggest something. It is such a very nice, residential neighbourhood. I am sure you would like it. Let me seeyou are staying in Nelson Avenue, I think Mrs. Tredgold said? Yeswith Mrs. Budge at Fairview. I am sure she makes you comfortable. Such a nice woman, though Im afraid she never stops talking. Hasnt she got any ideas on the subject? Im sure if theres any news going about, Mrs. Budge never fails to get hold of it.

Well, said Miss Climpson, seizing the opening with a swiftness which would have done credit to Napoleon, she did say something about a house in Wellington Avenue which she thought might be to let before long. Wellington Avenue? You surprise me! I thought I knew almost everybody there. Could it be the Parfittsreally moving at last! They have been talking about it for at least seven years, and I really had begun to think it was all talk. Mrs. Peasgood, do you hear that? Miss Climpson says the Parfitts are really leaving that house at last! Bless me, cried Mrs. Peasgood, raising her rather prominent eyes from a piece of plain needlework and focusing them on Miss Climpson like a pair of operaglasses. Well, that is news. It must be that brother of hers who was staying with them last week. Possibly he is going to live with them permanently, and that would clinch the matter, of course, for they couldnt get on without another bedroom when the girls come home from school. A very sensible arrangement, I should think. I believe he is quite well off, you know, and it will be a very good thing for those children. I wonder where they will go. I expect it will be one of the new houses out on the Winchester Road, though of course that would mean keeping a car. Still, I expect he would want them to do that in any case. Most likely he will have it himself, and let them have the use of it. I dont think Parfitt was the name, broke in Miss Climpson hurriedly, Im sure it wasnt. It was a Miss somebodya Miss Whittaker, I think, Mrs. Budge mentioned. Miss Whittaker? cried both the ladies in chorus. Oh, no! surely not? Im sure Miss Whittaker would have told me if she thought of giving up her house, pursued Miss Murgatroyd. We are such great friends. I think Mrs. Budge must have run away with a wrong idea. People do build up such amazing stories out of nothing at all. I wouldnt go so far as that, put in Mrs. Peasgood, rebukingly. There may be something in it. I know dear Miss Whittaker has sometimes spoken to me about wishing to take up chickenfarming. I daresay she has not mentioned the matter generally, but then she always confides in me. Depend upon it, that is what she intends to do. Mrs. Budge didnt actually say Miss Whittaker was moving, interposed Miss Climpson. She said, I think, that Miss Whittaker had been left alone by some relations death, and she wouldnt be surprised if she found the house lonely. Ah! thats Mrs. Budge all over! said Mrs. Peasgood, nodding ominously. A most excellent woman, but she sometimes gets hold of the wrong end of the stick. Not but what Ive often thought the same thing myself. I said to poor Mary Whittaker only the other day, Dont you find it very lonely in that house, my dear, now that your poor dear Aunt is no more? Im sure it would be a very good thing if she did move, or got someone to live with her. Its not a natural life for a young woman, all alone like that, and so I told her. Im one of those that believe in speaking their mind, you know, Miss Climpson. Well, now, so am I, Mrs. Peasgood, rejoined Miss Climpson promptly, and that is what I said to Mrs. Budge at the time. I said, Do I understand that there was anything odd about the old ladys death?because she had spoken of the peculiar circumstances of the case, and you know, I should not at all like to live in a house which could be called in any way notorious. I should really feel quite uncomfortable about it. In saying which, Miss Climpson no doubt spoke with perfect sincerity. But not at allnot at all, cried Miss Murgatroyd, so eagerly that Mrs. Peasgood, who had paused to purse up her face and assume an expression of portentous secrecy before replying, was completely crowded out and left at the post. There never was a more wicked story. The death was naturalperfectly natural, and a most happy release, poor soul, Im sure, for her sufferings at the last were truly terrible. It was all a scandalous story put about by that young Dr. Carr (whom Im sure I never liked) simply to aggrandise himself. As though any doctor would pronounce so definitely upon what exact date it would please God to call a poor sufferer to Himself! Human pride and vanity make a most shocking exhibition, Miss Climpson, when they lead us to cast suspicion on innocent people, simply because we are wedded to our own presumptuous opinions. Poor Miss Whittaker! She went through a most terrible time. But it was provedabsolutely proved, that there was nothing in the story at all, and I hope that young man was properly ashamed of himself. There may be two opinions about that, Miss Murgatroyd, said Mrs. Peasgood. I say what I think, Miss Climpson, and in my opinion there should have been an inquest. I try to be uptodate, and I believe Dr. Carr to have been a very able young man, though of course, he was not the kind of oldfashioned family doctor that appeals to elderly people. It was a great pity that nice Nurse Philliter was sent awaythat woman Forbes was no more use than a headacheto use my brothers rather vigorous expression. I dont think she knew her job, and thats a fact. Nurse Forbes was a charming person, snapped Miss Murgatroyd, pink with indignation at being called elderly. That may be, retorted Mrs. Peasgood, but you cant get over the fact that she nearly killed herself one day by taking nine grains of calomel by mistake for three. She told me that herself, and what she did in one case she might do in another. But Miss Dawson wasnt given anything, said Miss Murgatroyd, and at any rate, Nurse Forbes mind was on her patient, and not on flirting with the doctor. Ive always thought that Dr. Carr felt a spite against her for taking his young womans place, and nothing would have pleased him better than to get her into trouble. You dont mean, said Miss Climpson, that he would refuse a certificate and cause all that trouble, just to annoy the nurse. Surely no doctor would dare to do that. Of course not, said Mrs. Peasgood, and nobody with a grain of sense would suppose it for a moment. Thank you very much, Mrs. Peasgood, cried Miss Murgatroyd, thank you very much, Im sure I say what I think, said Mrs. Peasgood. Then Im glad I havent such uncharitable thoughts, said Miss Murgatroyd. I dont think your own observations are so remarkable for their charity, retorted Mrs. Peasgood. Fortunately, at this moment Miss Murgatroyd, in her agitation, gave a vicious tweak to the wrong needle and dropped twentynine stitches at once. The Vicars wife, scenting battle from afar, hurried over with a plate of scones, and helped to bring about a diversion. To her, Miss Climpson, doggedly sticking to her mission in life, broached the subject of the house in Wellington Avenue. Well, I dont know, Im sure, replied Mrs. Tredgold, but theres Miss Whittaker just arrived. Come over to my corner and Ill introduce her to you, and you can have a nice chat about it. You will like each other so much, she is such a keen worker. Oh! and Mrs. Peasgood, my husband is so anxious to have a word with you about the choirboys social. He is discussing it now with Mrs. Findlater. I wonder if youd be so very good as to come and give him your opinion? He values it so much. Thus tactfully the good lady parted the disputants and, having deposited Mrs. Peasgood safely under the clerical wing, towed Miss Climpson away to an armchair near the teatable. Dear Miss Whittaker, I so want you to know Miss Climpson. She is a near neighbour of yoursin Nelson Avenue, and I hope we shall persuade her to make her home among us. That will be delightful, said Miss Whittaker. The first impression which Miss Climpson got of Mary Whittaker was that she was totally out of place among the teatables of St. Onesimus. With her handsome, stronglymarked features and quiet air of authority, she was of the type that does well in City offices. She had a pleasant and selfpossessed manner, and was beautifully tailorednot mannishly, and yet with a severe fineness of outline that negatived the appeal of a beautiful figure. With her long and melancholy experience of frustrated womanhood, observed in a dreary succession of cheap boardinghouses, Miss Climpson was able to dismiss one theory which had vaguely formed itself in her mind. This was no passionate nature, cramped by association with an old woman and eager to be free to mate before youth should depart. That look she knew wellshe could diagnose it with dreadful accuracy at the first glance, in the tone of a voice saying, How do you do? But meeting Mary Whittakers clear, light eyes under their wellshaped brows, she was struck by a sudden sense of familiarity. She had seen that look before, though the where and the when escaped her. Chatting volubly about her arrival in Leahampton, her introduction to the Vicar and her approval of the Hampshire air and sandy soil, Miss Climpson racked her shrewd brain for a clue. But the memory remained obstinately somewhere at the back of her head. It will come to me in the night, thought Miss Climpson, confidently, and meanwhile I wont say anything about the house; it would seem so pushing on a first acquaintance. Whereupon, fate instantly intervened to overthrow this prudent resolve, and very nearly ruined the whole effect of Miss Climpsons diplomacy at one fell swoop. The form which the avenging Erinyes assumed was that of the youngest Miss Findlaterthe gushing onewho came romping over to them, her hands filled with babylinen, and plumped down on the end of the sofa beside Miss Whittaker. Mary my dear! Why didnt you tell me? You really are going to start your chickenfarming scheme at once. Id no idea youd got on so far with your plans. How could you let me hear it first from somebody else? You promised to tell me before anybody. But I didnt know it myself, replied Miss Whittaker, coolly. Who told you this wonderful story? Why, Mrs. Peasgood said that she heard it from Here Miss Findlater was in a difficulty. She had not yet been introduced to Miss Climpson and hardly knew how to refer to her before her face. This lady was what a shopgirl would say; Miss Climpson would hardly do, as she had, so to speak, no official cognisance of the name; Mrs. Budges new lodger was obviously impossible in the circumstances. She hesitatedthen beamed a bright appeal at Miss Climpson, and said Our new helpermay I introduce myself? I do so detest formality, dont you, and to belong to the Vicarage workparty is a sort of introduction in itself, dont you think? Miss Climpson, I believe? How do you do? It is true, isnt it, Mary?that you are letting your house to Miss Climpson, and starting a poultryfarm at Alford. Certainly not that I know of. Miss Climpson and I have only just met one another. The tone of Miss Whittakers voice suggested that the first meeting might very willingly be the last so far as she was concerned. Oh dear! cried the youngest Miss Findlater, who was fair and bobbed and rather coltish, I believe Ive dropped a brick. Im sure Mrs. Peasgood understood that it was all settled. She appealed to Miss Climpson again. Quite a mistake! said that lady, energetically, what must you be thinking of me, Miss Whittaker? Of course, I could not possibly have said such a thing. I only happened to mentionin the most casual way, that I was lookingthat is, thinking of looking aboutfor a house in the neighbourhood of the Churchso convenient you know, for Early Services and Saints Daysand it was suggestedjust suggested, I really forget by whom, that you might, just possibly, at some time, consider letting your house. I assure you, that was all. In saying which, Miss Climpson was not wholly accurate or disingenuous, but excused herself to her conscience on the rather Jesuitical grounds that where so much responsibility was floating about, it was best to pin it down in the quarter which made for peace. Miss Murgatroyd, she added, put me right at once, for she said you were certainly not thinking of any such thing, or you would have told her before anybody else. Miss Whittaker laughed. But I shouldnt, she said, I should have told my houseagent. Its quite true, I did have it in mind, but I certainly havent taken any steps. You really are thinking of doing it, then? cried Miss Findlater. I do hope sobecause, if you do, I mean to apply for a job on the farm! Im simply longing to get away from all these silly tennisparties and things, and live close to the Earth and the fundamental crudities. Do you read Sheila KayeSmith? Miss Climpson said no, but she was very fond of Thomas Hardy. It really is terrible, living in a little town like this, went on Miss Findlater, so full of aspidistras, you know, and small gossip. Youve no idea what a dreadfully gossipy place Leahampton is, Miss Climpson. Im sure, Mary dear, you must have had more than enough of it, with that tiresome Dr. Carr and the things people said. I dont wonder youre thinking of getting rid of that house. I shouldnt think you could ever feel comfortable in it again. Why on earth not? said Miss Whittaker, lightly. Too lightly? Miss Climpson was startled to recognise in eye and voice the curious quick defensiveness of the neglected spinster who cries out that she has no use for men. Oh well, said Miss Findlater, I always think its a little sad, living where people have died, you know. Dear Miss Dawsonthough of course it really was merciful that she should be releasedall the same Evidently, thought Miss Climpson, she was turning the matter off. The atmosphere of suspicion surrounding the death had been in her mind, but she shied at referring to it. There are very few houses in which somebody hasnt died sometime or other, said Miss Whittaker. I really cant see why people should worry about it. I suppose its just a question of not realising. We are not sensitive to the past lives of people we dont know. Just as we are much less upset about epidemics and accidents that happen a long way off. Do you really suppose, by the way, Miss Climpson, that this Chinese business is coming to anything? Everybody seems to take it very casually. If all this rioting and Bolshevism was happening in Hyde Park, thered be a lot more fuss made about it. Miss Climpson made a suitable reply. That night she wrote to Lord Peter Miss Whittaker has asked me to tea. She tells me that, much as she would enjoy an active, country life, with something definite to do, she has a deep affection for the house in Wellington Avenue, and cannot tear herself away. She seems very anxious to give this impression. Would it be fair for me to say The lady doth protest too much, methinks? The Prince of Denmark might even add Let the galled jade winceif one can use that expression of a lady. How wonderful Shakespeare is! One can always find a phrase in his works for any situation! VI Found Dead Blood, though it sleep a time, yet never dies. Chapman The Widows Tears You know, Wimsey, I think youve found a mares nest, objected Mr. Parker. I dont believe theres the slightest reason for supposing that there was anything odd about the Dawson womans death. Youve nothing to go on but a conceited young doctors opinion and a lot of silly gossip. Youve got an official mind, Charles, replied his friend. Your official passion for evidence is gradually sapping your brilliant intellect and smothering your instincts. Youre overcivilised, thats your trouble. Compared with you, I am a child of nature. I dwell among the untrodden ways beside the springs of Dove, a maid whom there are (I am shocked to say) few to praise, likewise very few to love, which is perhaps just as well. I know there is something wrong about this case. How? How?well, just as I know there is something wrong about that case of reputed Lafite 76 which that infernal fellow PettigrewRobinson had the nerve to try out on me the other night. It has a nasty flavour. Flavour be damned. Theres no indication of violence or poison. Theres no motive for doing away with the old girl. And theres no possibility of proving anything against anybody. Lord Peter selected a Villar y Villar from his case, and lighted it with artistic care. Look here, he said, will you take a bet about it? Ill lay you ten to one that Agatha Dawson was murdered, twenty to one that Mary Whittaker did it, and fifty to one that I bring it home to her within the year. Are you on? Parker laughed. Im a poor man, your Majesty, he temporised. There you are, said Lord Peter, triumphantly, youre not comfortable about it yourself. If you were, youd have said, Its taking your money, old chap, and closed like a shot, in the happy assurance of a certainty. Ive seen enough to know that nothing is a certainty, retorted the detective, but Ill take youinhalfcrowns, he added, cautiously. Had you said ponies, replied Lord Peter, I would have taken your alleged poverty into consideration and spared you, but sevenandsixpence will neither make nor break you. Consequently, I shall proceed to make my statements good. And what step do you propose taking? inquired Parker, sarcastically. Shall you apply for an exhumation order and search for poison, regardless of the analysts report? Or kidnap Miss Whittaker and apply the thirddegree in the Gallic manner? Not at all. I am more modern. I shall use uptodate psychological methods. Like the people in the Psalms, I lay traps; I catch men. I shall let the alleged criminal convict herself. Go on! You are a one, arent you? said Parker, jeeringly. I am indeed. It is a wellestablished psychological fact that criminals cannot let well alone. They Revisit the place of the crime? Dont interrupt, blast you. They take unnecessary steps to cover the traces which they havent left, and so invite, seriatim, Suspicion, Inquiry, Proof, Conviction and the Gallows. Eminent legal writersno, pax! dont chuck that St. Augustine about, its valuable. Anyhow, not to cast the jewels of my eloquence into the pigbucket, I propose to insert this advertisement in all the morning papers. Miss Whittaker must read some product of our brilliant journalistic age, I suppose. By this means, we shall kill two birds with one stone. Start two hares at once, you mean, grumbled Parker. Hand it over. Bertha and Evelyn Gotobed, formerly in the service of Miss Agatha Dawson, of The Grove, Wellington Avenue, Leahampton, are requested to communicate with J. Murbles, solicitor, of Staple Inn, when they will hear of something to their advantage. Rather good, I think, dont you? said Wimsey. Calculated to rouse suspicion in the most innocent mind. I bet you Mary Whittaker will fall for that. In what way? I dont know. Thats whats so interesting. I hope nothing unpleasant will happen to dear old Murbles. I should hate to lose him. Hes such a perfect type of the family solicitor. Still, a man in his profession must be prepared to take risks. Oh, bosh! said Parker. But I agree that it might be as well to get hold of the girls, if you really want to find out about the Dawson household. Servants always know everything. It isnt only that. Dont you remember that Nurse Philliter said the girls were sacked shortly before she left herself? Now, passing over the odd circumstances of the Nurses own dismissalthe story about Miss Dawsons refusing to take food from her hands, which wasnt at all borne out by the old ladys own attitude to her nurseisnt it worth considerin that these girls should have been pushed off on some excuse just about three weeks after one of those hysterical attacks of Miss Dawsons? Doesnt it rather look as though everybody who was likely to remember anything about that particular episode had been got out of the way? Well, there was a good reason for getting rid of the girls. Crockery?well, nowadays its not so easy to get good servants. Mistresses put up with a deal more carelessness than they did in the dear dead days beyond recall. Then, about that attack. Why did Miss Whittaker choose just the very moment when the highlyintelligent Nurse Philliter had gone for her walk, to bother Miss Dawson about signin some tiresome old lease or other? If business was liable to upset the old girl, why not have a capable person at hand to calm her down? Oh, but Miss Whittaker is a trained nurse. She was surely capable enough to see to her aunt herself. Im perfectly sure she was a very capable woman indeed, said Wimsey, with emphasis. Oh, all right. Youre prejudiced. But stick the ad in by all means. It cant do any harm. Lord Peter paused, in the very act of ringing the bell. His jaw slackened, giving his long, narrow face a faintly foolish and hesitant look, reminiscent of the heroes of Mr. P. G. Wodehouse. You dont think he began. Oh! rats! He pressed the button. It cant do any harm, as you say. Bunter, see that this advertisement appears in the personal columns of all this list of papers, every day until further notice. The advertisement made its first appearance on the Tuesday morning. Nothing of any note happened during the week, except that Miss Climpson wrote in some distress to say that the youngest Miss Findlater had at length succeeded in persuading Miss Whittaker to take definite steps about the poultry farm. They had gone away together to look at a business which they had seen advertised in the Poultry News, and proposed to be away for some weeks. Miss Climpson feared that under the circumstances she would not be able to carry on any investigations of sufficient importance to justify her far too generous salary. She had, however, become friendly with Miss Findlater, who had promised to tell her all about their doings. Lord Peter replied in reassuring terms. On the Tuesday following, Mr. Parker was just wrestling in prayer with his charlady, who had a tiresome habit of boiling his breakfast kippers till they resembled heavily pickled loofahs, when the telephone whirred aggressively. Is that you, Charles? asked Lord Peters voice. I say, Murbles has had a letter about that girl, Bertha Gotobed. She disappeared from her lodgings last Thursday, and her landlady, getting anxious, and having seen the advertisement, is coming to tell us all she knows. Can you come round to Staple Inn at eleven? Dunno, said Parker, a little irritably. Ive got a job to see to. Surely you can tackle it by yourself. Oh, yes! The voice was peevish. But I thought youd like to have some of the fun. What an ungrateful devil you are. You arent taking the faintest interest in this case. WellI dont believe in it, you know. All rightdont use language like thatyoull frighten the girl at the Exchange. Ill see what I can do. Eleven?right!Oh, I say! Cluck! said the telephone. Rung off, said Parker, bitterly. Bertha Gotobed. Hm! I could have sworn He reached across to the breakfasttable for the Daily Yell which was propped against the marmalade jar, and read with pursed lips a paragraph whose heavily leaded headlines had caught his eye, just before the interruption of the kipper episode. Nippy Found Dead in Epping Forest 5 Note in Handbag He took up the receiver again and asked for Wimseys number. The manservant answered him. His lordship is in his bath, sir. Shall I put you through? Please, said Parker. The telephone clucked again. Presently Lord Peters voice came faintly, Hullo! Did the landlady mention where Bertha Gotobed was employed? Yesshe was a waitress at the Corner House. Why this interest all of a sudden? You snub me in my bed, but you woo me in my bath. It sounds like a musichall song of the less refined sort. Why, oh why? Havent you seen the papers? No. I leave those follies till breakfasttime. Whats up? Are we ordered to Shanghai? or have they taken sixpence off the incometax? Shut up, you fool, its serious. Youre too late. What for? Bertha Gotobed was found dead in Epping Forest this morning. Good God! Dead? How? What of? No idea. Poison or something. Or heart failure. No violence. No robbery. No clue. Im going down to the Yard about it now. God forgive me, Charles. Dyou know, I had a sort of awful feeling when you said that ad could do no harm. Dead. Poor girl! Charles, I feel like a murderer. Oh, damn! and Im all wet. It does make one feel so helpless. Look here, you spin down to the Yard and tell em what you know and Ill join you there in half a tick. Anyway, theres no doubt about it now. Oh, but, look here. It may be something quite different. Nothing to do with your ad. Pigs may fly. Use your common sense. Oh! and Charles, does it mention the sister? Yes. There was a letter from her on the body, by which they identified it. She got married last month and went to Canada. Thats saved her life. Shell be in absolutely horrible danger, if she comes back. We must get hold of her and warn her. And find out what she knows. Goodbye. I must get some clothes on. Oh, hell! Cluck! the line went dead again, and Mr. Parker, abandoning the kippers without regret, ran feverishly out of the house and down Lambs Conduit Street to catch a diver tram to Westminster. The Chief of Scotland Yard, Sir Andrew Mackenzie, was a very old friend of Lord Peters. He received that agitated young man kindly and listened with attention to his slightly involved story of cancer, wills, mysterious solicitors and advertisements in the agony column. Its a curious coincidence, he said, indulgently, and I can understand your feeling upset about it. But you may set your mind at rest. I have the policesurgeons report, and he is quite convinced that the death was perfectly natural. No signs whatever of any assault. They will make an examination, of course, but I dont think there is the slightest reason to suspect foul play. But what was she doing in Epping Forest? Sir Andrew shrugged gently. That must be inquired into, of course. Stillyoung people do wander about, you know. Theres a fianc somewhere. Something to do with the railway, I believe. Collins has gone down to interview him. Or she may have been with some other friend. But if the death was natural, no one would leave a sick or dying girl like that? You wouldnt. But say there had been some running aboutsome horseplayand the girl fell dead, as these heart cases sometimes do. The companion may well have taken fright and cleared out. Its not unheard of. Lord Peter looked unconvinced. How long has she been dead? About five or six days, our man thinks. It was quite by accident that she was found then at all; its quite an unfrequented part of the Forest. A party of young people were exploring with a couple of terriers, and one of the dogs nosed out the body. Was it out in the open? Not exactly. It lay among some bushesthe sort of place where a frolicsome young couple might go to play hideandseek. Or where a murderer might go to play hide and let the police seek, said Wimsey. Well, well. Have it your own way, said Sir Andrew, smiling. If it was murder, it must have been a poisoning job, for, as I say, there was not the slightest sign of a wound or a struggle. Ill let you have the report of the autopsy. In the meanwhile, if youd like to run down there with Inspector Parker, you can of course have any facilities you want. And if you discover anything, let me know. Wimsey thanked him, and collecting Parker from an adjacent office, rushed him briskly down the corridor. I dont like it, he said, that is, of course, its very gratifying to know that our first steps in psychology have led to action, so to speak, but I wish to God it hadnt been quite such decisive action. Wed better trot down to Epping straight away, and see the landlady later. Ive got a new car, by the way, which youll like. Mr. Parker took one look at the slim black monster, with its long rakish body and polishedcopper twin exhausts, and decided there and then that the only hope of getting down to Epping without interference was to look as official as possible and wave his police authority under the eyes of every man in blue along the route. He shoehorned himself into his seat without protest, and was more unnerved than relieved to find himself shoot suddenly ahead of the trafficnot with the bellowing roar of the ordinary racing engine, but in a smooth, uncanny silence. The new Daimler TwinSix, said Lord Peter, skimming dexterously round a lorry without appearing to look at it. With a racing body. Specially built useful gadgets no rowhate row like Edmund Sparkler very anxious there should be no row Little Dorrit remember call her Mrs. Merdle for that reason presently well see what she can do. The promise was fulfilled before their arrival at the spot where the body had been found. Their arrival made a considerable sensation among the little crowd which business or curiosity had drawn to the spot. Lord Peter was instantly pounced upon by four reporters and a synod of Press photographers, whom his presence encouraged in the hope that the mystery might turn out to be a threecolumn splash after all. Parker, to his annoyance, was photographed in the undignified act of extricating himself from Mrs. Merdle. Superintendent Walmisley came politely to his assistance, rebuked the onlookers, and led him to the scene of action. The body had been already removed to the mortuary, but a depression in the moist ground showed clearly enough where it had lain. Lord Peter groaned faintly as he saw it. Damn this nasty warm spring weather, he said, with feeling. April showerssun and watercouldnt be worse. Body much altered, Superintendent? Well, yes, rather, my lord, especially in the exposed parts. But theres no doubt about the identity. I didnt suppose there was. How was it lying? On the back, quite quiet and naturallike. No disarrangement of clothing, or anything. She must just have sat down when she felt herself bad and fallen back. Mm. The rain has spoilt any footprints or signs on the ground. And its grassy. Beastly stuff, grass, eh, Charles? Yes. These twigs dont seem to have been broken at all, Superintendent. Oh, no, said the officer, no signs of a struggle, as I pointed out in my report. Nobut if shed sat down here and fallen back as you suggest, dont you think her weight would have snapped some of these young shoots? The Superintendent glanced sharply at the Scotland Yard man. You dont suppose she was brought and put here, do you, sir? I dont suppose anything, retorted Parker, I merely drew attention to a point which I think you should consider. What are these wheelmarks? Thats our car, sir. We backed it up here and took her up that way. And all this trampling is your men too, I suppose? Partly that, sir, and partly the party as found her. You noticed no other persons tracks, I suppose? No, sir. But its rained considerably this last week. Besides, the rabbits have been all over the place, as you can see, and other creatures too, I fancy. Weasels, or something of that sort. Oh! Well, I think youd better take a look round. There might be traces of some kind a bit further away. Make a circle, and report anything you see. And you oughtnt to have let all that bunch of people get so near. Put a cordon round and tell em to move on. Have you seen all you want, Peter? Wimsey had been poking his stick aimlessly into the bole of an oaktree at a few yards distance. Now he stooped and lifted out a package which had been stuffed into a cleft. The two policemen hurried forward with eager interest, which evaporated somewhat at sight of the finda ham sandwich and an empty Bass bottle, roughly wrapped up in a greasy newspaper. Picnickers, said Walmisley, with a snort. Nothing to do with the body, I daresay. I think youre mistaken, said Wimsey, placidly. When did the girl disappear, exactly? Well, she went off duty at the Corner House at five a week ago tomorrow, thats Wednesday, 27th, said Parker. And this is the Evening Views of Wednesday, 27th, said Wimsey. Late Final edition. Now that edition isnt on the streets till about 6 oclock. So unless somebody brought it down and had supper here, it was probably brought by the girl herself or her companion. Its hardly likely anyone would come and picnic here afterwards, not with the body there.

Not that bodies need necessarily interfere with ones enjoyment of ones food. la guerre comme la guerre. But for the moment there isnt a war on. Thats true, sir. But youre assuming the death took place on the Wednesday or Thursday. She may have been somewhere elseliving with someone in town or anywhere. Crushed again, said Wimsey. Still, its a curious coincidence. It is, my lord, and Im very glad you found the things. Will you take charge of em, Mr. Parker, or shall I? Better take them along and put them with the other things, said Parker, extending his hand to take them from Wimsey, whom they seemed to interest quite disproportionately. I fancy his lordships right and that the parcel came here along with the girl. And that certainly looks as if she didnt come alone. Possibly that young man of hers was with her. Looks like the old, old story. Take care of that bottle, old man, it may have fingerprints on it. You can have the bottle, said Wimsey. May we neer lack a friend or a bottle to give him, as Dick Swiveller says. But I earnestly beg that before you caution your respectable young railway clerk that anything he says may be taken down and used against him, you will cast your eye, and your nose, upon this ham sandwich. Whats wrong with it? inquired Parker. Nothing. It appears to be in astonishingly good preservation, thanks to this admirable oaktree. The stalwart oakfor so many centuries Britains bulwark against the invader! Heart of oak are our shipsnot hearts, by the way, as it is usually misquoted. But I am puzzled by the incongruity between the sandwich and the rest of the outfit. Its an ordinary ham sandwich, isnt it? Oh, gods of the wineflask and the board, how long? how long?it is a ham sandwich, Goth, but not an ordinary one. Never did it see Lyons kitchen, or the counter of the multiple store or the delicatessen shop in the back street. The pig that was sacrificed to make this dainty titbit fattened in no dull style, never knew the daily ration of pigwash or the not unmixed rapture of the domestic garbagepail. Observe the hard texture, the deep brownish tint of the lean; the rich fat, yellow as a Chinamans cheek; the dark spot where the black treacle cure has soaked in, to make a dish fit to lure Zeus from Olympus. And tell me, man of no discrimination and worthy to be fed on boiled cod all the year round, tell me how it comes that your little waitress and her railway clerk come down to Epping Forest to regale themselves on sandwiches made from coalblack, treaclecured Bradenham ham, which long ago ran as a young wild boar about the woodlands, till death translated it to an incorruptible and more glorious body? I may add that it costs about 3s. a pound uncookedan argument which you will allow to be weighty. Thats odd, certainly, said Parker. I imagine that only rich people Only rich people or people who understand eating as a fine art, said Wimsey. The two classes are by no means identical, though they occasionally overlap. It may be very important, said Parker, wrapping the exhibits up carefully. Wed better go along now and see the body. The examination was not a very pleasant matter, for the weather had been damp and warm and there had certainly been weasels. In fact, after a brief glance, Wimsey left the two policemen to carry on alone, and devoted his attention to the dead girls handbag. He glanced through the letter from Evelyn Gotobed(now Evelyn Cropper)and noted down the Canadian address. He turned the cutting of his own advertisement out of an inner compartment, and remained for some time in consideration of the 5 note which lay, folded up, side by side with a 10s. Treasury note, 7s. 8d. in silver and copper, a latchkey and a powder compact. Youre having this note traced, Walmisley, I suppose? Oh, yes, my lord, certainly. And the latchkey, I imagine, belongs to the girls lodgings. No doubt it does. We have asked her landlady to come and identify the body. Not that theres any doubt about it, but just as a matter of routine. She may give us some help. Ah!the Superintendent peered out of the mortuary doorI think this must be the lady. The stout and motherly woman who emerged from a taxi in charge of a youthful policeman identified the body without difficulty, and amid many sobs, as that of Bertha Gotobed. Such a nice young lady, she mourned. What a terrible thing, oh, dear! who would go to do a thing like that? Ive been in such a state of worriment ever since she didnt come home last Wednesday. Im sure manys the time Ive said to myself I wished Id had my tongue cut out before I ever showed her that wicked advertisement. Ah, I see youve got it there, sir. A dreadful thing it is that people should be luring young girls away with stories about something to their advantage. A sinful old devilcalling himself a lawyer, too! When she didnt come back and didnt come back I wrote to the wretch, telling him I was on his track and was coming round to have the law on him as sure as my names Dorcas Gulliver. He wouldnt have got round menot that Id be the bird he was looking for, being sixtyone come Midsummer Dayand so I told him. Lord Peters gravity was somewhat upset by this diatribe against the highly respectable Mr. Murbles of Staple Inn, whose own version of Mrs. Gullivers communication had been decently expurgated. How shocked the old boy must have been, he murmured to Parker. Im for it next time I see him. Mrs. Gullivers voice moaned on and on. Such respectable girls, both of them, and Miss Evelyn married to that nice young man from Canada. Deary me, it will be a terrible upset for her. And theres poor John Ironsides, was to have married Miss Bertha, the poor lamb, this very Whitsuntide as ever is. A very steady, respectable mana clurk on the Southern, which he always used to say, joking like, Slow but safe, like the Southernthats me, Mrs. G. Tch, tchwhod a believed it? And its not as if she was one of the flighty sort. I give her a latchkey gladly, for shed sometimes be on late duty, but never any staying out after her time. Thats why it worried me so, her not coming back. Theres many nowadays as would wash ones hands and glad to be rid of them, knowing what they might be up to. No. When the time passed and she didnt come back, I said, Mark my words, I said, shes bin kidnapped, I said, by that Murbles. Had she been long with you, Mrs. Gulliver? asked Parker. Not above a fifteen month or so, she hadnt, but bless you, I dont have to know a young lady fifteen days to know if shes a good girl or not. You gets to know by the look of em almost, when youve ad my experience. Did she and her sister come to you together? They did. They come to me when they was lookin for work in London. And they could a fallen into a deal worse hands I can tell you, two young things from the country, and them that fresh and pretty looking. They were uncommonly lucky, Im sure, Mrs. Gulliver, said Lord Peter, and they must have found it a great comfort to be able to confide in you and get your good advice. Well, I think they did, said Mrs. Gulliver, not that young people nowadays seems to want much guidance from them as is older. Train up a child and away she go, as the Good Book says. But Miss Evelyn, thats now Mrs. Croppershed had this London idea put into her head, and up they comes with the idea of bein made ladies of, havin only been in service before, though whats the difference between serving in one of them teashops at the beck of all the nasty tagrag and bobtail and serving in a ladys home, I dont see, except that you works harder and dont get your meals so comfortable. Still, Miss Evelyn, she was always the goahead one of the two, and she did very well for herself, I will say, meetin Mr. Cropper as used to take his breakfast regular at the Corner House every morning and took a liking to the girl in the most honourable way. That was very fortunate. Have you any idea what gave them the notion of coming to town? Well, now, sir, its funny you should ask that, because it was a thing I never could understand. The lady as they used to be in service with, down in the country, she put it into Miss Evelyns head. Now, sir, wouldnt you think that with good service that ard to come by, shed have done all she could to keep them with her? But no! There was a bit of trouble one day, it seems, over Berthathis poor girl here, poor lambit do break ones eart to see her like that, dont it, sir?over Bertha avin broke an old teapota very valuable one by all accounts, and the lady told er she couldnt put up with avin her things broke no more. So she says Youll ave to go, she says, but, she says, Ill give you a very good character and youll soon get a good place. And I expect Evelynll want to go with you, she says, so Ill have to find someone else to do for me, she says. But, she says, why not go to London? Youll do better there and have a much more interesting life than what you would at home, she says. And the end of it was, she filled em up so with stories of how fine a place London was and how grand situations was to be had for the asking, that they was mad to go, and she give them a present of money and behaved very handsome, take it all round. Hm, said Wimsey, she seems to have been very particular about her teapot. Was Bertha a great crockerybreaker? Well, sir, she never broke nothing of mine. But this Miss Whittakerthat was the nameshe was one of these opinionated ladies, as will ave their own way in everythink. A fine temper she ad, or so poor Bertha said, though Miss Evelynher as is now Mrs. Croppershe always ad an idea as there was somethink at the back of it. Miss Evelyn was always the sharp one, as you might say. But there, sir, we all as our peculiarities, dont we? Its my own belief as the lady had somebody of her own choice as she wanted to put in the place of Berthathats this oneand Evelynas is now Mrs. Cropper, you understand meand she jest trampled up an excuse, as they say, to get rid of em. Very possibly, said Wimsey. I suppose, Inspector, Evelyn Gotobed Now Mrs. Cropper, put in Mrs. Gulliver with a sob. Mrs. Cropper, I should sayhas been communicated with? Oh, yes, my lord. We cabled her at once. Good. I wish youd let me know when you hear from her. We shall be in touch with Inspector Parker, my lord, of course. Of course. Well, Charles, Im going to leave you to it. Ive got a telegram to send. Or will you come with me? Thanks, no, said Parker. To be frank, I dont like your methods of driving. Being in the Force, I prefer to keep on the windy side of the law. Windy is the word for you, said Peter. Ill see you in Town, then. VII Ham and Brandy Tell me what you eat and I will tell you what you are. BrillatSavarin Well, said Wimsey, as Parker was ushered in that same evening by Bunter, have you got anything fresh? Yes, Ive got a new theory of the crime, which knocks yours into a cocked hat. Ive got evidence to support it, too. Which crime, by the way? Oh, the Epping Forest business. I dont believe the old Dawson person was murdered at all. Thats just an idea of yours. I see. And youre now going to tell me that Bertha Gotobed was got hold of by the White Slave people. How did you know? asked Parker, a little peevishly. Because Scotland Yard have two maggots which crop up whenever anything happens to a young woman. Either its White Slavery or Dope Denssometimes both. You are going to say its both. Well, I was, as a matter of fact. It so often is, you know. Weve traced the 5 note. Thats important, anyhow. Yes. It seems to me to be the clue to the whole thing. It is one of a series paid out to a Mrs. Forrest, living in South Audley Street. Ive been round to make some inquiries. Did you see the lady? No, she was out. She usually is, Im told. In fact, her habits seem to be expensive, irregular and mysterious. She has an elegantly furnished flat over a flowershop. A service flat? No. One of the quiet kind, with a lift you work yourself. She only turns up occasionally, mostly in the evenings, spends a night or two and departs. Food ordered in from Fortnum Masons. Bills paid promptly by note or cheque. Cleaning done by an elderly female who comes in about eleven, by which time Mrs. Forrest has usually gone out. Doesnt anybody ever see her? Oh dear, yes! The people in the flat below and the girl at the flowershop were able to give me quite a good description of her. Tall, overdressed, musquash and those abbreviated sort of shoes with jewelled heels and hardly any uppersyou know the sort of thing. Heavily peroxided; strong aroma of orifan wafted out upon the passerby; powder too white for the fashion and mouth heavily obscured with sealingwax red; eyebrows painted black to startle, not deceive; fingernails a monument to Kraskathe pink variety. Id no idea you studied the Womans Page to such good purpose, Charles. Drives a Renault Fourseater, dark green with tapestry doings. Garages just round the corner. Ive seen the man, and he says the car was out on the night of the 27th. Went out at 1130. Returned about 8 the next morning. How much petrol had been used? We worked that out. Just about enough for a run to Epping and back. Whats more, the charwoman says that there had been supper for two in the flat that night, and three bottles of champagne drunk. Also, there is a ham in the flat. A Bradenham ham? How do you expect the charwoman to know that? But I think it probably is, as I find from Fortnum Masons that a Bradenham ham was delivered to Mrs. Forrests address about a fortnight ago. That sounds conclusive. I take it you think Bertha Gotobed was inveigled there for some undesirable purpose by Mrs. Forrest, and had supper with her No; I should think there was a man. Yes, of course. Mrs. F. brings the parties together and leaves them to it. The poor girl is made thoroughly drunkand then something untoward happens. Yesshock, perhaps, or a shot of dope. And they bustle her off and get rid of her. Its quite possible. The postmortem may tell us something about it. Yes, Bunter, what is it? The telephone, my lord, for Mr. Parker. Excuse me, said Parker, I asked the people at the flowershop to ring me up here, if Mrs. Forrest came in. If shes there, would you like to come round with me? Very much. Parker returned from the telephone with an air of subdued triumph. Shes just gone up to her flat. Come along. Well take a taxinot that deathrattle of yours. Hurry up, I dont want to miss her. The door of the flat in South Audley Street was opened by Mrs. Forrest in person. Wimsey recognised her instantly from the description. On seeing Parkers card, she made no objection whatever to letting them in, and led the way into a pink and mauve sittingroom, obviously furnished by contract from a Regent Street establishment. Please sit down. Will you smoke? And your friend? My colleague, Mr. Templeton, said Parker, promptly. Mrs. Forrests rather hard eyes appeared to sum up in a practised manner the difference between Parkers sevenguinea fashionable lounge suiting, tailored in our own workrooms, fits like a madetomeasure suit, and his colleagues Savile Row outlines, but beyond a slight additional defensiveness of manner she showed no disturbance. Parker noted the glance. Shes summing us up professionally, was his mental comment, and shes not quite sure whether Wimseys an outraged brother or husband or what. Never mind. Let her wonder. We may get her rattled. We are engaged, Madam, he began, with formal severity, on an inquiry relative to certain events connected with the 26th of last month. I think you were in town at that time? Mrs. Forrest frowned slightly in the effort to recollect. Wimsey made a mental note that she was not as young as her bouffant applegreen frock made her appear. She was certainly nearing the thirties, and her eyes were mature and aware. Yes, I think I was. Yes, certainly. I was in town for several days about that time. How can I help you? It is a question of a certain banknote which has been traced to your possession, said Parker, a 5 note numbered xy58929. It was issued to you by Lloyds Bank in payment of a cheque on the 19th. Very likely. I cant say I remember the number, but I think I cashed a cheque about that time. I can tell in a moment by my chequebook. I dont think its necessary. But it would help us very much if you can recollect to whom you paid it. Oh, I see. Well, thats rather difficult. I paid my dressmakers about that timeno, that was by cheque. I paid cash to the garage, I know, and I think there was a 5 note in that. Then I dined at Verrys with a woman friendthat took the second 5 note, I remember, but there was a third. I drew out 25three fives and ten ones. Where did the third note go? Oh, of course, how stupid of me! I put it on a horse. Through a Commission Agent? No. I had nothing much to do one day, so I went down to Newmarket. I put the 5 on some creature called Brighteye or Attaboy or some name like that, at 50 to 1. Of course the wretched animal didnt win, they never do. A man in the train gave me the tip and wrote the name down for me. I handed it to the nearest bookie I sawa funny little greyhaired man with a hoarse voiceand that was the last I saw of it. Could you remember which day it was? I think it was Saturday. Yes, Im sure it was. Thank you very much, Mrs. Forrest. It will be a great help if we can trace those notes. One of them has turned up since inother circumstances. May I know what the circumstances are, or is it an official secret? Parker hesitated. He rather wished, now, that he had demanded pointblank at the start how Mrs. Forrests 5 note had come to be found on the dead body of the waitress at Epping. Taken by surprise, the woman might have got flustered. Now, he had let her entrench herself securely behind this horse story. Impossible to follow up the history of a banknote handed to an unknown bookie at a racemeeting. Before he could speak, Wimsey broke in for the first time, in a high, petulant voice which quite took his friend aback. Youre not getting anywhere with all this, he complained. I dont care a continental curse about the beastly note, and Im sure Sylvia doesnt. Who is Sylvia? demanded Mrs. Forrest with considerable amazement. Who is Sylvia? What is she? gabbled Wimsey, irrepressibly. Shakespeare always has the right word, hasnt he? But, God bless my soul, its no laughing matter. Its very serious and youve no business to laugh at it. Sylvia is very much upset, and the doctor is afraid it may have an effect on her heart. You may not know it, Mrs. Forrest, but Sylvia Lyndhurst is my cousin. And what she wants to know, and what we all want to knowdont interrupt me, Inspector, all this shillyshallying doesnt get us anywhereI want to know, Mrs. Forrest, who was it dining here with you on the night of April 26th. Who was it? Who was it? Can you tell me that? This time, Mrs. Forrest was visibly taken aback. Even under the thick coat of powder they could see the red flush up into her cheeks and ebb away, while her eyes took on an expression of something more than alarma kind of vicious fury, such as one may see in those of a cornered cat. On the 26th? she faltered. I cant I knew it! cried Wimsey. And that girl Evelyn was sure of it too. Who was it, Mrs. Forrest? Answer me that! Therethere was no one, said Mrs. Forrest, with a thick gasp. Oh, come, Mrs. Forrest, think again, said Parker, taking his cue promptly, you arent going to tell us that you accounted by yourself for three bottles of Veuve Clicquot and two peoples dinners. Not forgetting the ham, put in Wimsey, with fussy selfimportance, the Bradenham ham specially cooked and sent up by Fortnum Mason. Now, Mrs. Forrest Wait a moment. Just a moment. Ill tell you everything. The womans hands clutched at the pink silk cushions, making little hot, tight creases. Iwould you mind getting me something to drink? In the diningroom, through thereon the sideboard. Wimsey got up quickly and disappeared into the next room. He took rather a long time, Parker thought. Mrs. Forrest was lying back in a collapsed attitude, but her breathing was more controlled, and she was, he thought, recovering her wits. Making up a story, he muttered savagely to himself. However, he could not, without brutality, press her at the moment. Lord Peter, behind the folding doors, was making a good deal of noise, chinking the glasses and fumbling about. However, before very long, he was back. Scuse my taking such a time, he apologised, handing Mrs. Forrest a glass of brandy and soda. Couldnt find the syphon. Always was a bit woolgathering, yknow. All my friends say so. Starin me in the face all the time, what? And then I sloshed a lot of soda on the sideboard. Hand shakin. Nerves all to pieces and so on. Feelin better? Thats right. Put it down. Thats the stuff to pull you together. How about another little one, what? Oh, rot, it cant hurt you. Mind if I have one myself? Im feelin a bit flustered. Upsettin, delicate business and all that. Just another spot. Thats the idea. He trotted out again, glass in hand, while Parker fidgeted. The presence of amateur detectives was sometimes an embarrassment. Wimsey clattered in again, this time, with more common sense, bringing decanter, syphon and three glasses, bodily, on a tray. Now, now, said Wimsey, now were feeling better, do you think you can answer our question, Mrs. Forrest? May I know, first of all, what right you have to ask it? Parker shot an exasperated glance at his friend. This came of giving people time to think. Right? burst in Wimsey. Right? Of course, weve a right. The police have a right to ask questions when anythings the matter. Heres murder the matter! Right, indeed? Murder? A curious intent look came into her eyes. Parker could not place it, but Wimsey recognised it instantly. He had seen it last on the face of a great financier as he took up his pen to sign a contract. Wimsey had been called to witness the signature, and had refused. It was a contract that ruined thousands of people. Incidentally, the financier had been murdered soon after, and Wimsey had declined to investigate the matter, with a sentence from Dumas Let pass the justice of God. Im afraid, Mrs. Forrest was saying, that in that case I cant help you. I did have a friend dining with me on the 26th, but he has not, so far as I know, been murdered, nor has he murdered anybody. It was a man, then? said Parker. Mrs. Forrest bowed her head with a kind of mocking ruefulness. I live apart from my husband, she murmured. I am sorry, said Parker, to have to press for this gentlemans name and address. Isnt that asking rather much? Perhaps if you would give me further details? Well, you see, cut in Wimsey again, if we could just know for certain it wasnt Lyndhurst. My cousin is so frightfully upset, as I said, and that Evelyn girl is making trouble. In factof course one doesnt want it to go any furtherbut actually Sylvia lost her head very completely. She made a savage attack on poor old Lyndhurstwith a revolver, in fact, only fortunately she is a shocking bad shot. It went over his shoulder and broke a vasemost distressin thinga Famille Rose jar, worth thousandsand of course it was smashed to atoms. Sylvia is really hardly responsible when shes in a temper. And, we thought, as Lyndhurst was actually traced to this block of flatsif you could give us definite proof it wasnt him, it might calm her down and prevent murder being done, dont you know. Because, though they might call it Guilty but Insane, still, it would be awfully awkward havin ones cousin in Broadmoora first cousin, and really a very nice woman, when shes not irritated. Mrs. Forrest gradually softened into a faint smile. I think I understand the position, Mr. Templeton, she said, and if I give you a name, it will be in strict confidence, I presume? Of course, of course, said Wimsey. Dear me, Im sure its uncommonly kind of you. Youll swear you arent spies of my husbands? she said, quickly. I am trying to divorce him. How do I know this isnt a trap? Madam, said Wimsey, with intense gravity, I swear to you on my honour as a gentleman that I have not the slightest connection with your husband. I have never even heard of him before. Mrs. Forrest shook her head. I dont think, after all, she said, it would be much good my giving you the name. In any case, if you asked him whether hed been here, he would say no, wouldnt he? And if youve been sent by my husband, youve got all the evidence you want already. But I give you my solemn assurance, Mr. Templeton, that I know nothing about your friend, Mr. Lyndhurst Major Lyndhurst, put in Wimsey, plaintively. And if Mrs. Lyndhurst is not satisfied, and likes to come round and see me, I will do my best to satisfy her of the fact. Will that do? Thank you very much, said Wimsey. Im sure its as much as anyone could expect. Youll forgive my abruptness, wont you? Im ratherernervously constituted, and the whole business is exceedingly upsetting. Good afternoon. Come on, Inspector, its quite all rightyou see its quite all right. Im really very much obligeduncommonly so. Please dont trouble to see us out. He teetered nervously down the narrow hallway, in his imbecile and wellbred way, Parker following with a policemanlike stiffness. No sooner, however, had the flatdoor closed behind them than Wimsey seized his friend by the arm and bundled him helterskelter into the lift. I thought we should never get away, he panted. Now, quickhow do we get round to the back of these flats? What do you want with the back? demanded Parker, annoyed. And I wish you wouldnt stampede me like this. Ive no business to let you come with me on a job at all, and if I do, you might have the decency to keep quiet. Right you are, said Wimsey, cheerfully, just lets do this little bit and you can get all the virtuous indignation off your chest later on. Round here, I fancy, up this back alley. Step lively and mind the dustbin. One, two, three, fourhere we are! Just keep a lookout for the passing stranger, will you? Selecting a back window which he judged to belong to Mrs. Forrests flat, Wimsey promptly grasped a drainpipe and began to swarm up it with the agility of a catburglar. About fifteen feet from the ground he paused, reached up, appeared to detach something with a quick jerk, and then slid very gingerly to the ground again, holding his right hand at a cautious distance from his body, as though it were breakable. And indeed, to his amazement, Parker observed that Wimsey now held a longstemmed glass in his fingers, similar to those from which they had drunk in Mrs. Forrests sittingroom. What on earth? said Parker. Hush! Im Hawkshaw the detectivegathering fingerprints. Here we come awassailing and gathering prints in May. Thats why I took the glass back. I brought a different one in the second time. Sorry I had to do this athletic stunt, but the only cottonreel I could find hadnt much on it. When I changed the glass, I tiptoed into the bathroom and hung it out of the window. Hope she hasnt been in there since. Just brush my bags down, will you, old man? Gentlydont touch the glass. What the devil do you want fingerprints for? Youre a grateful sort of person. Why, for all you know, Mrs. Forrest is someone the Yard has been looking for for years. And anyway, you could compare the prints with those on the Bass bottle, if any. Besides, you never know when fingerprints maynt come in handy. Theyre excellent things to have about the house. Coast clear? Right. Hail a taxi, will you? I cant wave my hand with this glass in it. Look so silly, dont you know. I say! Well? I saw something else. The first time I went out for the drinks, I had a peep into her bedroom. Yes? What do you think I found in the washstand drawer? What? A hypodermic syringe! Really? Oh, yes, and an innocent little box of ampullae, with a doctors prescription headed The injection, Mrs. Forrest. One to be injected when the pain is very severe. What do you think of that? Tell you when weve got the results of that postmortem, said Parker, really impressed. You didnt bring the prescription, I suppose? No, and I didnt inform the lady who we were or what we were after or ask her permission to carry away the family crystal. But I made a note of the chemists address. Did you? ejaculated Parker. Occasionally, my lad, you have some glimmerings of sound detective sense. VIII Concerning Crime Society is at the mercy of a murderer who is remorseless, who takes no accomplices and who keeps his head. Edmund Pearson Murder at Smutty Nose Letter from Miss Alexandra Katherine Climpson to Lord Peter Wimsey Fair View, Nelson Avenue, Leahampton. 12 May, 1927. My dear Lord Peter, I have not yet been able to get all the information you ask for, as Miss Whittaker has been away for some weeks, inspecting chicken farms!! With a view to purchase, I mean, of course, and not in any sanitary capacity. I really think she means to set up farming with Miss Findlater, though what Miss Whittaker can see in that very gushing and really silly young woman I cannot think. However, Miss Findlater has evidently quite a pash (as we used to call it at school) for Miss Whittaker, and I am afraid none of us are above being flattered by such outspoken admiration. I must say, I think it rather unhealthyyou may remember Miss Clemence Danes very clever book on the subject?I have seen so much of that kind of thing in my rather WomanRidden existence! It has such a bad effect, as a rule, upon the weaker character of the twoBut I must not take up your time with my twaddle!! Miss Murgatroyd, who was quite a friend of old Miss Dawson, however, has been able to tell me a little about her past life. It seems that, until five years ago, Miss Dawson lived in Warwickshire with her cousin, a Miss Clara Whittaker, Mary Whittakers greataunt on the fathers side. This Miss Clara was evidently rather a character, as my dear father used to call it. In her day she was considered very advanced and not quite nice (!) because she refused several good offers, cut her hair short (!!) and set up in business for herself as a horsebreeder!!! Of course, nowadays, nobody would think anything of it, but then the old ladyor young lady as she was when she embarked on this revolutionary proceeding, was quite a pioneer. Agatha Dawson was a schoolfellow of hers, and deeply attached to her. And as a result of this friendship, Agathas sister, Harriet, married Clara Whittakers brother James! But Agatha did not care about marriage, any more than Clara, and the two ladies lived together in a big old house, with immense stables, in a village in WarwickshireCrofton, I think the name was. Clara Whittaker turned out to be a remarkably good business woman, and worked up a big connection among the hunting folk in those parts. Her hunters became quite famous, and from a capital of a few thousand pounds with which she started she made quite a fortune, and was a very rich woman before her death! Agatha Dawson never had anything to do with the horsey part of the business. She was the domestic partner, and looked after the house and the servants. When Clara Whittaker died, she left all her money to Agatha, passing over her own family, with whom she was not on very good termsowing to the narrowminded attitude they had taken up about her horsedealing!! Her nephew, Charles Whittaker, who was a clergyman, and the father of our Miss Whittaker, resented very much not getting the money, though, as he had kept up the feud in a very unchristian manner, he had really no right to complain, especially as Clara had built up her fortune entirely by her own exertions.

But, of course, he inherited the bad, oldfashioned idea that women ought not to be their own mistresses, or make money for themselves, or do what they liked with their own! He and his family were the only surviving Whittaker relations, and when he and his wife were killed in a motorcar accident, Miss Dawson asked Mary to leave her work as a nurse and make her home with her. So that, you see, Clara Whittakers money was destined to come back to James Whittakers daughter in the end!! Miss Dawson made it quite clear that this was her intention, provided Mary would come and cheer the declining days of a lonely old lady! Mary accepted, and as her auntor, to speak more exactly, her greataunthad given up the big old Warwickshire house after Claras death, they lived in London for a short time and then moved to Leahampton. As you know, poor old Miss Dawson was then already suffering from the terrible disease of which she died, so that Mary did not have to wait very long for Clara Whittakers money!! I hope this information will be of some use to you. Miss Murgatroyd did not, of course, know anything about the rest of the family, but she always understood that there were no other surviving relatives, either on the Whittaker or the Dawson side. When Miss Whittaker returns, I hope to see more of her. I enclose my account for expenses up to date. I do trust you will not consider it extravagant. How are your moneylenders progressing? I was sorry not to see more of those poor women whose cases I investigatedtheir stories were so pathetic! I am, Very sincerely yours, Alexandra K. Climpson. P.S.I forgot to say that Miss Whittaker has a little motorcar. I do not, of course, know anything about these matters, but Mrs. Budges maid tells me that Miss Whittakers maid says it is an Austen 7 (is this right?). It is grey, and the number is XX9917. Mr. Parker was announced, just as Lord Peter finished reading this document, and sank rather wearily in a corner of the chesterfield. What luck? inquired his lordship, tossing the letter over to him. Do you know, Im beginning to think you were right about the Bertha Gotobed business, and Im rather relieved. I dont believe one word of Mrs. Forrests story, for reasons of my own, and Im now hoping that the wiping out of Bertha was a pure coincidence and nothing to do with my advertisement. Are you? said Parker, bitterly, helping himself to whisky and soda. Well, I hope youll be cheered to learn that the analysis of the body has been made, and that there is not the slightest sign of foul play. There is no trace of violence or of poisoning. There was a heart weakness of fairly long standing, and the verdict is syncope after a heavy meal. That doesnt worry me, said Wimsey. We suggested shock, you know. Amiable gentleman met at flat of friendly lady suddenly turns funny after dinner and makes undesirable overtures. Virtuous young woman is horribly shocked. Weak heart gives way. Collapse. Exit. Agitation of amiable gentleman and friendly lady, left with corpse on their hands. Happy thought motorcar; Epping Forest; exeunt omnes, singing and washing their hands. Wheres the difficulty? Proving it is the difficulty, thats all. By the way, there were no fingermarks on the bottleonly smears. Gloves, I suppose. Which looks like camouflage, anyhow. An ordinary picnicking couple wouldnt put on gloves to handle a bottle of Bass. I know. But we cant arrest all the people who wear gloves. I weep for you, the Walrus said, I deeply sympathise. I see the difficulty, but its early days yet. How about those injections? Perfectly OK. Weve interrogated the chemist and interviewed the doctor. Mrs. Forrest suffers from violent neuralgic pains, and the injections were duly prescribed. Nothing wrong there, and no history of doping or anything. The prescription is a very mild one, and couldnt possibly be fatal to anybody. Besides, havent I told you that there was no trace of morphia or any other kind of poison in the body? Oh, well! said Wimsey. He sat for a few minutes looking thoughtfully at the fire. I see the case has more or less died out of the papers, he resumed, suddenly. Yes. The analysis has been sent to them, and there will be a paragraph tomorrow and a verdict of natural death, and that will be the end of it. Good. The less fuss there is about it the better. Has anything been heard of the sister in Canada? Oh, I forgot. Yes. We had a cable three days ago. Shes coming over. Is she? By Jove! What boat? The Star of Quebecdue in next Friday. Hm! Well have to get hold of her. Are you meeting the boat? Good heavens, no! Why should I? I think someone ought to. Im reassuredbut not altogether happy. I think Ill go myself, if you dont mind. I want to get that Dawson storyand this time I want to make sure the young woman doesnt have a heart attack before I interview her. I really think youre exaggerating, Peter. Better safe than sorry, said his lordship. Have another peg, wont you? Meanwhile, what do you think of Miss Climpsons latest? I dont see much in it. No? Its a bit confusing, but it all seems quite straightforward. Yes. The only thing we know now is that Mary Whittakers father was annoyed about Miss Dawsons getting his aunts money and thought it ought to have come to him. Well, you dont suspect him of having murdered Miss Dawson, do you? He died before her, and the daughters got the money, anyhow. Yes, I know. But suppose Miss Dawson had changed her mind? She might have quarrelled with Mary Whittaker and wanted to leave her money elsewhere. Oh, I seeand been put out of the way before she could make a will? Isnt it possible? Yes, certainly. Except that all the evidence we have goes to show that willmaking was about the last job anybody could persuade her to do. Truewhile she was on good terms with Mary. But how about that morning Nurse Philliter mentioned, when she said people were trying to kill her before her time? Mary may really have been impatient with her for being such an unconscionable time adying. If Miss Dawson became aware of that, she would certainly have resented it and may very well have expressed an intention of making her will in someone elses favouras a kind of insurance against premature decease! Then why didnt she send for her solicitor? She may have tried to. But after all, she was bedridden and helpless. Mary may have prevented the message from being sent. That sounds quite plausible. Doesnt it? Thats why I want Evelyn Croppers evidence. Im perfectly certain those girls were packed off because they had heard more than they should. Or why such enthusiasm over sending them to London? Yes. I thought that part of Mrs. Gullivers story was a bit odd. I say, how about the other nurse? Nurse Forbes? Thats a good idea. I was forgetting her. Think you can trace her? Of course, if you really think it important. I do. I think its damned important. Look here, Charles, you dont seem very enthusiastic about this case. Well, you know, Im not so certain it is a case at all. What makes you so fearfully keen about it? You seem dead set on making it a murder, with practically nothing to go upon. Why? Lord Peter got up and paced the room. The light from the solitary readinglamp threw his lean shadow, diffused and monstrously elongated, up to the ceiling. He walked over to a bookshelf, and the shadow shrank, blackened, settled down. He stretched his hand, and the hands shadow flew with it, hovering over the gilded titles of the books and blotting them out one by one. Why? repeated Wimsey. Because I believe this is the case I have always been looking for. The case of cases. The murder without discernible means, or motive or clue. The norm. All these,he swept his extended hand across the bookshelf, and the shadow outlined a vaster and more menacing gestureall these books on this side of the room are books about crimes. But they only deal with the abnormal crimes. What do you mean by abnormal crimes? The failures. The crimes that have been found out. What proportion do you suppose they bear to the successful crimesthe ones we hear nothing about? In this country, said Parker, rather stiffly, we manage to trace and convict the majority of criminals My good man, I know that where a crime is known to have been committed, you people manage to catch the perpetrator in at least sixty percent of the cases. But the moment a crime is even suspected, it falls, ipso facto, into the category of failures. After that, the thing is merely a question of greater or less efficiency on the part of the police. But how about the crimes which are never even suspected? Parker shrugged his shoulders. How can anybody answer that? Wellone may guess. Read any newspaper today. Read the News of the World. Or, now that the Press has been muzzled, read the divorce court lists. Wouldnt they give you the idea that marriage is a failure? Isnt the sillier sort of journalism packed with articles to the same effect? And yet, looking round among the marriages you know of personally, arent the majority of them a success, in a humdrum, undemonstrative sort of way? Only you dont hear of them. People dont bother to come into court and explain that they dodder along very comfortably on the whole, thank you. Similarly, if you read all the books on this shelf, youd come to the conclusion that murder was a failure. But bless you, its always the failures that make the noise. Successful murderers dont write to the papers about it. They dont even join in imbecile symposia to tell an inquisitive world What Murder means to me, or How I became a Successful Poisoner. Happy murderers, like happy wives, keep quiet tongues. And they probably bear just about the same proportion to the failures as the divorced couples do to the happily mated. Arent you putting it rather high? I dont know. Nor does anybody. Thats the devil of it. But you ask any doctor, when youve got him in an unbuttoned, welllubricated frame of mind, if he hasnt often had grisly suspicions which he could not and dared not take steps to verify. You see by our friend Carr what happens when one doctor is a trifle more courageous than the rest. Well, he couldnt prove anything. I know. But that doesnt mean theres nothing to be proved. Look at the scores and scores of murders that have gone unproved and unsuspected till the fool of a murderer went too far and did something silly which blew up the whole show. Palmer, for instance. His wife and brother and motherinlaw and various illegitimate children, all peacefully put awaytill he made the mistake of polishing Cook off in that spectacular manner. Look at George Joseph Smith. Nobodyd have thought of bothering any more about those first two wives he drowned. It was only when he did it the third time that he aroused suspicion. Armstrong, too, is supposed to have got away with many more crimes than he was tried forit was being clumsy over Martin and the chocolates that stirred up the hornets nest in the end. Burke and Hare were convicted of murdering an old woman, and then brightly confessed that theyd put away sixteen people in two months and no one a penny the wiser. But they were caught. Because they were fools. If you murder someone in a brutal, messy way, or poison someone who has previously enjoyed rollicking health, or choose the very day after a wills been made in your favour to extinguish the testator, or go on killing everyone you meet till people begin to think youre first cousin to a upas tree, naturally youre found out in the end. But choose somebody old and ill, in circumstances where the benefit to yourself isnt too apparent, and use a sensible method that looks like natural death or accident, and dont repeat your effects too often, and youre safe. I swear all the heartdiseases and gastric enteritis and influenzas that get certified are not natures unaided work. Murders so easy, Charles, so damned easyeven without special training. Parker looked troubled. Theres something in what you say. Ive heard some funny tales myself. We all do, I suppose. But Miss Dawson Miss Dawson fascinates me, Charles. Such a beautiful subject. So old and ill. So likely to die soon. Bound to die before long. No near relations to make inquiries. No connections or old friends in the neighbourhood. And so rich. Upon my soul, Charles, I lie in bed licking my lips over ways and means of murdering Miss Dawson. Well, anyhow, till you can think of one that defies analysis and doesnt seem to need a motive, you havent found the right one, said Parker, practically, rather revolted by this ghoulish conversation. I admit that, replied Lord Peter, but that only shows that as yet Im merely a thirdrate murderer. Wait till Ive perfected my method and then Ill show youperhaps. Some wise old buffer has said that each of us holds the life of one other person between his handsbut only one, Charles, only one. IX The Will Our wills are ours to make them thine. Tennyson In Memoriam Hullo! hulloullo! oh, operator, shall I call thee bird or but a wandering voice? Not at all, I had no intention of being rude, my child, that was a quotation from the poetry of Mr. Wordsworth well, ring him again thank you, is that Dr. Carr? Lord Peter Wimsey speaking oh, yes yes aha! not a bit of it We are about to vindicate you and lead you home, decorated with triumphal wreaths of cinnamon and sennapods No, really weve come to the conclusion that the thing is serious Yes I want Nurse Forbes address Right, Ill hold on Luton? oh, Tooting, yes, Ive got that Certainly, Ive no doubt shes a tartar, but Im the Grand Panjandrum with the little round button atop Thanks awfully cheerfrightfullyho!oh! I say!hullo!I say, she doesnt do Maternity work, does she? Maternity work?M for MotherinlawMaternity?NoYoure sure? It would be simply awful if she did and came along I couldnt possibly produce a baby for her As long as youre quite sure Rightrightyesnot for the worldnothing to do with you at all. Goodbye, old thing, goodbye. Lord Peter hung up, whistling cheerfully, and called for Bunter. My lord? What is the proper suit to put on, Bunter, when one is an expectant father? I regret, my lord, to have seen no recent fashions in paternity wear. I should say, my lord, whichever suit your lordship fancies will induce a calm and cheerful frame of mind in the lady. Unfortunately I dont know the lady. She is, in fact, only the figment of an overteeming brain. But I think the garments should express bright hope, selfcongratulation, and a tinge of tender anxiety. A newly married situation, my lord, I take it. Then I would suggest the lounge suit in pale greythe willowpussy cloth, my lordwith a dull amethyst tie and socks and a soft hat. I would not recommend a bowler, my lord. The anxiety expressed in a bowler hat would be rather of the financial kind. No doubt you are right, Bunter. And I will wear those gloves that got so unfortunately soiled yesterday at Charing Cross. I am too agitated to worry about a clean pair. Very good, my lord. No stick, perhaps. Subject to your lordships better judgment, I should suggest that a stick may be suitably handled to express emotion. You are always right, Bunter. Call me a taxi, and tell the man to drive to Tooting. Nurse Forbes regretted very much. She would have liked to oblige Mr. SimmsGaythorpe, but she never undertook maternity work. She wondered who could have misled Mr. SimmsGaythorpe by giving him her name. Well, yknow, I cant say I was misled, said Mr. SimmsGaythorpe, dropping his walkingstick and retrieving it with an ingenuous laugh. Miss Murgatroydyou know Miss Murgatroyd of Leahampton, I thinkyesshethat is, I heard about you through her (this was a fact), and she said what a charming personexcuse my repeatin these personal remarks, wont you?what a charmin person you were and all that, and how nice it would be if we could persuade you to come, dont you see. But she said she was afraid perhaps you didnt do maternity work. Still, yknow, I thought it was worth tryin, what? Bein so anxious, what?about my wife, that is, you see. So necessary to have someone young and cheery at theseercritical times, dont you know. Maternity nurses often such ancient and ponderous sort of peopleif you dont mind my sayin so. My wifes highly nervousnaturallyfirst effort and all thatdoesnt like middleaged people tramplin roundyou see the idea? Nurse Forbes, who was a bony woman of about forty, saw the point perfectly, and was very sorry she really could not see her way to undertaking the work. It was very kind of Miss Murgatroyd, she said. Do you know her well? Such a delightful woman, is she not? The expectant father agreed. Miss Murgatroyd was so very much impressed by your sympathetic waydont you knowof nursin that poor old lady, Miss Dawson, yknow. Distant connection of my own, as a matter of facter, yessomewhere about fifteenth cousin twelve times removed. So nervous, wasnt she? A little bit eccentric, like the rest of the family, but a charming old lady, dont you think? I became very much attached to her, said Nurse Forbes. When she was in full possession of her faculties, she was a most pleasant and thoughtful patient. Of course, she was in great pain, and we had to keep her under morphia a great part of the time. Ah, yes! poor old soul! I sometimes think, Nurse, its a great pity we arent allowed just to help people off, yknow, when theyre so far gone. After all, theyre practically dead already, as you might say. Whats the point of keepin them sufferin on like that? Nurse Forbes looked rather sharply at him. Im afraid that wouldnt do, she said, though one understands the lay persons point of view, of course. Dr. Carr was not of your opinion, she added, a little acidly. I think all that fuss was simply shockin, said the gentleman warmly. Poor old soul! I said to my wife at the time, why couldnt they let the poor old thing rest. Fancy cuttin her about, when obviously shed just mercifully gone off in a natural way! My wife quite agreed with me. She was quite upset about it, dont you know. It was very distressing to everybody concerned, said Nurse Forbes, and of course, it put me in a very awkward position. I ought not to talk about it, but as you are one of the family, you will quite understand. Just so. Did it ever occur to you, NurseMr. SimmsGaythorpe leaned forward, crushing his soft hat between his hands in a nervous mannerthat there might be something behind all that? Nurse Forbes primmed up her lips. You know, said Mr. SimmsGaythorpe, there have been cases of doctors tryin to get rich old ladies to make wills in their favour. You dont thinkeh? Nurse Forbes intimated that it was not her business to think things. No, of course not, certainly not. But as man to manI mean, between you and me, what?wasnt there a littleerfriction, perhaps, about sending for the solicitorjohnnie, dont you know? Of course, my Cousin MaryI call her cousin, so to speak, but its no relation at all, reallyof course, I mean, shes an awfully nice girl and all that sort of thing, but Id got a sort of idea perhaps she wasnt altogether keen on having the willmaking wallah sent for, what? Oh, Mr. SimmsGaythorpe, Im sure youre quite wrong there. Miss Whittaker was most anxious that her aunt should have every facility in that way. In factI dont think Im betraying any confidence in telling you thisshe said to me, If at any time Miss Dawson should express a wish to see a lawyer, be sure you send for him at once. And so, of course, I did. You did? And didnt he come, then? Certainly he came. There was no difficulty about it at all. There! That just shows, doesnt it? how wrong some of these gossipy females can be! Excuse me, but yknow, Id got absolutely the wrong impression about the thing. Im quite sure Mrs. Peasgood said that no lawyer had been sent for. I dont know what Mrs. Peasgood could have known about it, said Nurse Forbes with a sniff, her permission was not asked in the matter. Certainly notbut you know how these ideas get about. But, I sayif there was a will, why wasnt it produced? I didnt say that, Mr. SimmsGaythorpe. There was no will. The lawyer came to draw up a power of attorney, so that Miss Whittaker could sign cheques and so on for her aunt. That was very necessary, you know, on account of the old ladys failing powers. YesI suppose she was pretty woolly towards the end. Well, she was quite sensible when I took over from Nurse Philliter in September, except, of course, for that fancy she had about poisoning. She really was afraid of that? She said once or twice, Im not going to die to please anybody, Nurse. She had great confidence in me. She got on better with me than with Miss Whittaker, to tell you the truth, Mr. SimmsGaythorpe. But during October, her mind began to give way altogether, and she rambled a lot. She used to wake up sometimes all in a fright and say, Have they passed it yet, Nurse?just like that. Id say, No, they havent got that far yet, and that would quiet her. Thinking of her hunting days, I expect she was. They often go back like that, you know, when theyre being kept under drugs. Dreaming, like, they are, half the time. Then in the last month or so, I suppose she could hardly have made a will, even if she had wanted to. No, I dont think she could have managed it then. But earlier on, when the lawyer was there, she could have done so if she had liked? Certainly she could. But she didnt? Oh no. I was there with her all the time, at her particular request. I see. Just you and Miss Whittaker. Not even Miss Whittaker most of the time. I see what you mean, Mr. SimmsGaythorpe, but indeed you should clear your mind of any unkind suspicions of Miss Whittaker. The lawyer and Miss Dawson and myself were alone together for nearly an hour, while the clerk drew up the necessary papers in the next room. It was all done then, you see, because we thought that a second visit would be too much for Miss Dawson. Miss Whittaker only came in quite at the end. If Miss Dawson had wished to make a will, she had ample opportunity to do so. Well, Im glad to hear that, said Mr. SimmsGaythorpe, rising to go. These little doubts are so apt to make unpleasantness in families, dont you know. Well, I must be toddlin now. Im frightfully sorry you cant come to us, Nursemy wife will be so disappointed. I must try to find somebody else equally charmin if possible. Goodbye. Lord Peter removed his hat in the taxi and scratched his head thoughtfully. Another good theory gone wrong, he murmured. Well, theres another string to the jolly old bow yet. Cropper first and then Croftonthats the line to take, I fancy. X The Will Again The will! the will! We will hear Caesars will! Julius Caesar Oh, Miss Evelyn, my dear, oh, poor dear! The tall girl in black started, and looked round. Why, Mrs. Gulliverhow very, very kind of you to come and meet me! And glad I am to have the chance, my dear, all owing to these kind gentlemen, cried the landlady, flinging her arms round the girl and clinging to her to the great annoyance of the other passengers pouring off the gangway. The elder of the two gentlemen referred to gently put his hand on her arm, and drew them out of the stream of traffic. Poor lamb! mourned Mrs. Gulliver, coming all this way by your lonesome, and poor dear Miss Bertha in her grave and such terrible things said, and her such a good girl always. Its poor mother Im thinking about, said the girl. I couldnt rest. I said to my husband, I must go, I said, and he said, My honey, if I could come with you I would, but I cant leave the farm, but if you feel you ought to go, you shall, he said. Dear Mr. Cropperhe was always that good and kind, said Mrs. Gulliver, but here I am, forgittin all about the good gentlemen as brought me all this way to see you. This is Lord Peter Wimsey, and this is Mr. Murbles, as put in that unfortnit advertisement, as I truly believes was the beginnin of it all. Ow I wish Id never showed it to your poor sister, not but wot I believe the gentleman acted with the best intentions, avin now seen im, which at first I thought e was a wrong un. Pleased to meet you, said Mrs. Cropper, turning with the ready address derived from service in a big restaurant. Just before I sailed I got a letter from poor Bertha enclosing your ad. I couldnt make anything of it, but Id be glad to know anything which can clear up this shocking business. What have they said it ismurder? There was a verdict of natural death at the inquiry, said Mr. Murbles, but we feel that the case presents some inconsistencies, and shall be exceedingly grateful for your cooperation in looking into the matter, and also in connection with another matter which may or may not have some bearing upon it. Righto, said Mrs. Cropper. Im sure youre proper gentlemen, if Mrs. Gulliver answers for you, for Ive never known her mistaken in a person yet, have I, Mrs. G? Ill tell you anything I know, which isnt much, for its all a horrible mystery to me. Only I dont want you to delay me, for Ive got to go straight on down to Mother. Shell be in a dreadful way, so fond as she was of Bertha, and shes all alone except for the young girl that looks after her, and thats not much comfort when youve lost your daughter so sudden. We shall not detain you a moment, Mrs. Cropper, said Mr. Murbles. We propose, if you will allow us, to accompany you to London, and to ask you a few questions on the way, and thenagain with your permissionwe should like to see you safely home to Mrs. Gotobeds house, wherever that may be. Christchurch, near Bournemouth, said Lord Peter. Ill run you down straight away, if you like. It will save time. I say, you know all about it, dont you? exclaimed Mrs. Cropper with some admiration. Well, hadnt we better get a move on, or well miss this train? Quite right, said Mr. Murbles. Allow me to offer you my arm. Mrs. Cropper approving of this arrangement, the party made its way to the station, after the usual disembarkation formalities. As they passed the barrier on to the platform Mrs. Cropper gave a little exclamation and leaned forward as though something had caught her eye. What is it, Mrs. Cropper? said Lord Peters voice in her ear. Did you think you recognised somebody? Youre a noticing one, arent you? said Mrs. Cropper. Make a good waiteryou wouldnot meaning any offence, sir, thats a real compliment from one who knows. Yes, I did think I saw someone, but it couldnt be, because the minute she caught my eye she went away. Who did you think it was? Why, I thought it looked like Miss Whittaker, as Bertha and me used to work for. Where was she? Just down by that pillar there, a tall dark lady in a crimson hat and grey fur. But shes gone now. Excuse me. Lord Peter unhitched Mrs. Gulliver from his arm, hitched her smartly on to the unoccupied arm of Mr. Murbles, and plunged into the crowd. Mr. Murbles, quite unperturbed by this eccentric behaviour, shepherded the two women into an empty firstclass carriage which, Mrs. Cropper noted, bore a large label, Reserved for Lord Peter Wimsey and party. Mrs. Cropper made some protesting observation about her ticket, but Mr. Murbles merely replied that everything was provided for, and that privacy could be more conveniently secured in this way. Your friends going to be left behind, said Mrs. Cropper as the train moved out. That would be very unlike him, replied Mr. Murbles, calmly unfolding a couple of rugs and exchanging his oldfashioned tophat for a curious kind of travelling cap with flaps to it. Mrs. Cropper, in the midst of her anxiety, could not help wondering where in the world he had contrived to purchase this Victorian relic. As a matter of fact, Mr. Murbles caps were specially made to his own design by an exceedingly expensive West End hatter, who held Mr. Murbles in deep respect as a real gentleman of the old school. Nothing, however, was seen of Lord Peter for something like a quarter of an hour, when he suddenly put his head in with an amiable smile and said One redhaired woman in a crimson hat; three dark women in black hats; several nondescript women in those pullon sort of dustcoloured hats; old women with grey hair, various; sixteen flappers without hatshats on rack, I mean, but none of em crimson; two obvious brides in blue hats; innumerable fair women in hats of all colours; one ashblonde dressed as a nurse, none of em our friend as far as I know. Thought Id best just toddle along the train to make sure. Theres just one dark sort of female whose hat I cant see because its tucked down beside her. Wonder if Mrs. Cropper would mind doin a little stagger down the corridor to take a squint at her. Mrs. Cropper, with some surprise, consented to do so. Right you are. Splain later. About four carriages along. Now, look here, Mrs. Cropper, if it should be anybody you know, Id rather on the whole she didnt spot you watching her. I want you to walk along behind me, just glancin into the compartments but keepin your collar turned up. When we come to the party I have in mind, Ill make a screen for you, what? These manoeuvres were successfully accomplished, Lord Peter lighting a cigarette opposite the suspected compartment, while Mrs. Cropper viewed the hatless lady under cover of his raised elbows. But the result was disappointing. Mrs. Cropper had never seen the lady before, and a further promenade from end to end of the train produced no better results. We must leave it to Bunter, then, said his lordship, cheerfully, as they returned to their seats. I put him on the trail as soon as you gave me the good word. Now, Mrs. Cropper, we really get down to business. First of all, we should be glad of any suggestions you may have to make about your sisters death. We dont want to distress you, but we have got an idea that there might, just possibly, be something behind it. Theres just one thing, siryour lordship, I suppose I should say. Bertha was a real good girlI can answer for that absolutely. There wouldnt have been any carryingson with her young mannothing of that. I know people have been saying all sorts of things, and perhaps, with lots of girls as they are, it isnt to be wondered at. But, believe me, Bertha wouldnt go for to do anything that wasnt right. Perhaps youd like to see this last letter she wrote me. Im sure nothing could be nicer and properer from a girl just looking forward to a happy marriage. Now, a girl as wrote like that wouldnt be going larking about, sir, would she? I couldnt rest, thinking they was saying that about her. Lord Peter took the letter, glanced through it, and handed it reverently to Mr. Murbles. Were not thinking that at all, Mrs. Cropper, though of course were very glad to have your point of view, dont you see. Now, do you think it possible your sister might have beenwhat shall I say?got hold of by some woman with a plausible story and all that, andwellpushed into some position which shocked her very much? Was she cautious and up to the tricks of London people and all that? And he outlined Parkers theory of the engaging Mrs. Forrest and the supposed dinner in the flat. Well, my lord, I wouldnt say Bertha was a very quick girlnot as quick as me, you know. Shed always be ready to believe what she was told and give people credit for the best. Took more after her father, like. Im mothers girl, they always said, and I dont trust anybody further than I can see them. But Id warned her very careful against taking up with women as talks to a girl in the street, and she did ought to have been on her guard. Of course, said Peter, it may have been somebody shed got to know quite wellsay, at the restaurant, and she thought she was a nice lady and thered be no harm in going to see her. Or the lady might have suggested taking her into good service. One never knows. I think shed have mentioned it in her letters if shed talked to the lady much, my lord. Its wonderful what a lot of things shed find to tell me about the customers.

And I dont think shed be for going into service again. We got real fed up with service, down in Leahampton. Ah, yes. Now that brings us to quite a different pointthe thing we wanted to ask you or your sister about before this sad accident took place. You were in service with this Miss Whittaker whom you mentioned just now. I wonder if youd mind telling us just exactly why you left. It was a good place, I suppose? Yes, my lord, quite a good place as places go, though of course a girl doesnt get her freedom the way she does in a restaurant. And naturally there was a good deal of waiting on the old lady. Not as we minded that, for she was a very kind, good lady, and generous too. But when she became so ill, I suppose Miss Whittaker managed everything, what? Yes, my lord; but it wasnt a hard placelots of the girls envied us. Only Miss Whittaker was very particular. Especially about the china, what? Ah, they told you about that, then? I told em, dearie, put in Mrs. Gulliver, I told em all about how you come to leave your place and go to London. And it struck us, put in Mr. Murbles, that it was, shall we say, somewhat rash of Miss Whittaker to dismiss so competent and, if I may put it so, so wellspoken and personable a pair of maids on so trivial a pretext. Youre right there, sir. BerthaI told you she was the trusting oneshe was quite ready to believe as she done wrong, and thought how good it was of Miss Whittaker to forgive her breaking the china, and take so much interest in sending us to London, but I always thought there was something more than met the eye. Didnt I, Mrs. Gulliver? That you did, dear; something more than meets the eye, thats what you says to me, and what I agrees with. And did you, in your own mind, pursued Mr. Murbles, connect this sudden dismissal with anything which had taken place? Well, I did then, replied Mrs. Cropper, with some spirit. I said to Berthabut she would hear nothing of it, taking after her father as I tell youI said, Mark my words, I said, Miss Whittaker dont care to have us in the house after the row she had with the old lady. And what row was that? inquired Mr. Murbles. Well, I dont know as I ought rightly to tell you about it, seeing its all over now and we promised to say nothing about it. That, of course, said Mr. Murbles, checking Lord Peter, who was about to burst in impetuously, depends upon your own conscience. But, if it will be of any help to you in making up your mind, I think I may say, in the strictest confidence, that this information may be of the utmost importance to usin a roundabout way which I wont trouble you within investigating a very singular set of circumstances which have been brought to our notice. And it is just barely possibleagain in a very roundabout waythat it may assist us in throwing some light on the melancholy tragedy of your sisters decease. Further than that I cannot go at the moment. Well, now, said Mrs. Cropper, if thats sothough, mind you, I dont see what connection there could bebut if you think thats so, I reckon Id better come across with it, as my husband would say. After all, I only promised I wouldnt mention about it to the people in Leahampton, as might have made mischief out of itand a gossipy lot they is, and no mistake. Weve nothing to do with the Leahampton crowd, said his lordship, and it wont be passed along unless it turns out to be necessary. Righto. Well, Ill tell you. One morning early in September Miss Whittaker comes along to Bertha and I, and says, I want you girls to be just handy on the landing outside Miss Dawsons bedroom, she says, because I may want you to come in and witness her signature to a document. We shall want two witnesses, she says, and youll have to see her sign; but I dont want to flurry her with a lot of people in the room, so when I give you the tip, I want you to come just inside the door without making a noise, so that you can see her write her name, and then Ill bring it straight across to you and you can write your names where I show you. Its quite easy, she says, nothing to do but just put your names opposite where you see the word Witnesses. Bertha was always a bit the timid sortafraid of documents and that sort of thing, and she tried to get out of it. Couldnt Nurse sign instead of me? she says. That was Nurse Philliter, you know, the redhaired one as was the doctors fiance. She was a very nice woman, and we liked her quite a lot. Nurse has gone out for her walk, says Miss Whittaker, rather sharp, I want you and Evelyn to do it, meaning me, of course. Well, we said we didnt mind, and Miss Whittaker goes upstairs to Miss Dawson with a whole heap of papers, and Bertha and I followed and waited on the landing, like she said. One moment, said Mr. Murbles, did Miss Dawson often have documents to sign? Yes, sir, I believe so, quite frequently, but they was usually witnessed by Miss Whittaker or the nurse. There was some leases and things of that sort, or so I heard. Miss Dawson had a little houseproperty. And then thered be the cheques for the housekeeping, and some papers as used to come from the Bank and be put away in the safe. Share coupons and so on, I suppose, said Mr. Murbles. Very likely, sir, I dont know much about those business matters. I did have to witness a signature once, I remember, a long time back, but that was different. The paper was brought down to me with the signature ready wrote. There wasnt any of this todo about it. The old lady was capable of dealing with her own affairs, I understand? Up till then, sir. Afterwards, as I understood, she made it all over to Miss Whittakerthat was just before she got feeblelike, and was kept under drugs. Miss Whittaker signed the cheques then. The power of attorney, said Mr. Murbles, with a nod. Well now, did you sign this mysterious paper? No, sir, Ill tell you how that was. When me and Bertha had been waiting a little time, Miss Whittaker comes to the door and makes us a sign to come in quiet. So we comes and stands just inside the door. There was a screen by the head of the bed, so we couldnt see Miss Dawson nor she us, but we could see her reflection quite well in a big lookingglass she had on the left side of the bed. Mr. Murbles exchanged a significant glance with Lord Peter. Now be sure you tell us every detail, said Wimsey, no matter how small and silly it may sound. I believe this is goin to be very excitin. Yes, my lord. Well, there wasnt much else, except that just inside the door, on the lefthand side as you went in, there was a little table, where Nurse mostly used to set down trays and things that had to go down, and it was cleared, and a piece of blottingpaper on it and an inkstand and pen, all ready for us to sign with. Could Miss Dawson see that? asked Mr. Murbles. No, sir, because of the screen. But it was inside the room. Yes, sir. We want to be quite clear about this. Do you think you could drawquite roughlya little plan of the room, showing where the bed was and the screen and the mirror, and so on? Im not much of a hand at drawing, said Mrs. Cropper dubiously, but Ill try. Mr. Murbles produced a notebook and fountain pen, and after a few false starts, the following rough sketch was produced. Thank you, that is very clear indeed. You notice, Lord Peter, the careful arrangements to have the document signed in presence of the witnesses, and witnessed by them in the presence of Miss Dawson and of each other. I neednt tell you for what kind of document that arrangement is indispensable. Was that it, sir? We couldnt understand why it was all arranged like that. It might have happened, explained Mr. Murbles, that in case of some dispute about this document, you and your sister would have had to come into court and give evidence about it. And if so, you would have been asked whether you actually saw Miss Dawson write her signature, and whether you and your sister and Miss Dawson were all in the same room together when you signed your names as witnesses. And if that had happened, you could have said yes, couldnt you, and sworn to it? Oh, yes. And yet, actually, Miss Dawson would have known nothing about your being there. No, sir. That was it, you see. I see now, sir, but at the time Bertha and me couldnt make nothing of it. But the document, you say, was never signed. No, sir. At any rate, we never witnessed anything. We saw Miss Dawson write her nameat least, I suppose it was her nameto one or two papers, and then Miss Whittaker puts another lot in front of her and says, Heres another little lot, auntie, some more of those incometax forms. So the old lady says, What are they exactly, dear, let me see? So Miss Whittaker says, Oh, only the usual things. And Miss Dawson says, Dear, dear, what a lot of them. How complicated they do make these things to be sure. And we could see that Miss Whittaker was giving her several papers, all laid on top of one another, with just the places for the signatures left showing. So Miss Dawson signs the top one, and then lifts up the paper and looks underneath at the next one, and Miss Whittaker says, Theyre all the same, as if she was in a hurry to get them signed and done with. But Miss Dawson takes them out of her hand and starts looking through them, and suddenly she lets out a screech, and says, I wont have it, I wont have it! Im not dying yet. How dare you, you wicked girl! Cant you wait till Im dead?You want to frighten me into my grave before my time. Havent you got everything you want? And Miss Whittaker says, Hush, auntie, you wont let me explain and the old lady says, No, I wont, I dont want to hear anything about it. I hate the thought of it. I wont talk about it. You leave me be. I cant get better if you keep frightening me so. And then she begins to take and carry on dreadful, and Miss Whittaker comes over to us looking awful white and says, Run along, you girls, she says, my aunts taken ill and cant attend to business. Ill call you if I want you, she says. And I said, Can we help with her, miss? and she says, No, its quite all right. Its just the pain come on again. Ill give her her injection and then shell be all right. And she pushes us out of the room, and shuts the door, and we heard the poor old lady crying fit to break anybodys heart. So we went downstairs and met Nurse just coming in, and we told her Miss Dawson was took worse again, and she runs up quick without taking her things off. So we was in the kitchen, just saying it seemed rather funnylike, when Miss Whittaker comes down again and says, Its all right now, and Aunties sleeping quite peaceful, only well have to put off business till another day. And she says, Better not say anything about this to anybody, because when the pain comes on Aunt gets frightened and talks a bit wild. She dont mean what she says, but if people was to hear about it they might think it odd. So I up and says, Miss Whittaker, I says, me and Bertha was never ones to talk; rather stiff, I said it, because I dont hold by gossip and never did. And Miss Whittaker says, Thats quite all right, and goes away. And the next day she gives us an afternoon off and a presentten shillings each, it was, because it was her aunts birthday, and the old lady wanted us to have a little treat in her honour. A very clear account indeed, Mrs. Cropper, and I only wish all witnesses were as sensible and observant as you are. Theres just one thing. Did you by any chance get a sight of this paper that upset Miss Dawson so much? No, sironly from a distance, that is, and in the lookingglass. But I think it was quite shortjust a few lines of typewriting. I see. Was there a typewriter in the house, by the way? Oh, yes, sir. Miss Whittaker used one quite often for business letters and so on. It used to stand in the sittingroom. Quite so. By the way, do you remember Miss Dawsons solicitor calling shortly after this? No, sir. It was only a little time later Bertha broke the teapot and we left. Miss Whittaker gave her her months warning, but I said no. If she could come down on a girl like that for a little thing, and her such a good worker, Bertha should go at once and me with her. Miss Whittaker said, Just as you like, she saidshe never was one to stand any backchat. So we went that afternoon. But afterwards I think she was sorry, and came over to see us at Christchurch, and suggested why shouldnt we try for a better job in London. Bertha was a bit afraid to go so fartaking after Father, as I mentioned, but Mother, as was always the ambitious one, she says, If the ladys kind enough to give you a good start, why not go? Theres more chances for a girl in Town. And I said to Bertha, privatelike, afterwards, I says, Depend on it, Miss Whittaker wants to see the back of us. Shes afraid well get talking about the things Miss Dawson said that morning. But, I says, if shes willing to pay us to go, why not go, I says. A girls got to look out for herself these days, and if we go off to London shell give us a better character than what she would if we stayed. And anyway, I said, if we dont like it we can always come home again. So the long and short was, we came to Town, and after a bit we got good jobs with Lyons, what with the good character Miss Whittaker gave us, and I met my husband there and Bertha met her Jim. So we never regretted having taken the chancenot till this dreadful thing happened to Bertha. The passionate interest with which her hearers had received this recital must have gratified Mrs. Croppers sense of the dramatic. Mr. Murbles was very slowly rotating his hands over one another with a dry, rustling soundlike an old snake, gliding through the long grass in search of prey. A little scene after your own heart, Murbles, said Lord Peter, with a glint under his dropped eyelids. He turned again to Mrs. Cropper. This is the first time youve told this story? Yesand I wouldnt have said anything if it hadnt been I know. Now, if youll take my advice, Mrs. Cropper, you wont tell it again. Stories like that have a nasty way of bein dangerous. Will you consider it an impertinence if I ask you what your plans are for the next week or two? Im going to see Mother and get her to come back to Canada with me. I wanted her to come when I got married, but she didnt like going so far away from Bertha. She was always Mothers favouritetaking so much after Father, you see. Mother and me was always too much alike to get on. But now shes got nobody else, and it isnt right for her to be all alone, so I think shell come with me. Its a long journey for an ailing old woman, but I reckon bloods thicker than water. My husband said, Bring her back firstclass, my girl, and Ill find the money. Hes a good sort, is my husband. You couldnt do better, said Wimsey, and if youll allow me, Ill send a friend to look after you both on the train journey and see you safe on to the boat. And dont stop long in England. Excuse me buttin in on your affairs like this, but honestly I think youd be safer elsewhere. You dont think that Bertha? Her eyes widened with alarm. I dont like to say quite what I think, because I dont know. But Ill see you and your mother are safe, whatever happens. And Bertha? Can I do anything about that? Well, youll have to come and see my friends at Scotland Yard, I think, and tell them what youve told me. Theyll be interested. And will something be done about it? Im sure, if we can prove theres been any foul play, the police wont rest till its been tracked down to the right person. But the difficulty is, you see, to prove that the death wasnt natural. I observe in todays paper, said Mr. Murbles, that the local superintendent is now satisfied that Miss Gotobed came down alone for a quiet picnic and died of a heart attack. That man would say anything, said Wimsey. We know from the postmortem that she had recently had a heavy mealforgive these distressin details, Mrs. Cropperso why the picnic? I suppose they had the sandwiches and the beerbottle in mind, said Mr. Murbles, mildly. I see. I suppose she went down to Epping alone with a bottle of Bass and took out the cork with her fingers. Ever tried doing it, Murbles? No? Well, when they find the corkscrew Ill believe she went there alone. In the meantime, I hope the papers will publish a few more theories like that. Nothin like inspiring criminals with confidence, Murblesit goes to their heads, you know. XI Crossroads Patienceand shuffle the cards. Don Quixote Lord Peter took Mrs. Cropper down to Christchurch and returned to town to have a conference with Mr. Parker. The latter had just listened to his recital of Mrs. Croppers story, when the discreet opening and closing of the flat door announced the return of Bunter. Any luck? inquired Wimsey. I regret exceedingly to have to inform your lordship that I lost track of the lady. In fact, if your lordship will kindly excuse the expression, I was completely done in the eye. Thank God, Bunter, youre human after all. I didnt know anybody could do you. Have a drink. I am much obliged to your lordship. According to instructions, I searched the platform for a lady in a crimson hat and a grey fur, and at length was fortunate enough to observe her making her way out by the station entrance towards the big bookstall. She was some way ahead of me, but the hat was very conspicuous, and, in the words of the poet, if I may so express myself, I followed the gleam. Stout fellow. Thank you, my lord. The lady walked into the Station Hotel, which, as you know, has two entrances, one upon the platform, and the other upon the street. I hurried after her for fear she should give me the slip, and made my way through the revolving doors just in time to see her back disappearing into the Ladies Retiring Room. Whither, as a modest man, you could not follow her. I quite understand. Quite so, my lord. I took a seat in the entrance hall, in a position from which I could watch the door without appearing to do so. And discovered too late that the place had two exits, I suppose. Unusual and distressin. No, my lord. That was not the trouble. I sat watching for three quarters of an hour, but the crimson hat did not reappear. Your lordship will bear in mind that I had never seen the ladys face. Lord Peter groaned. I foresee the end of this story, Bunter. Not your fault. Proceed. At the end of this time, my lord, I felt bound to conclude either that the lady had been taken ill or that something untoward had occurred. I summoned a female attendant who happened to cross the hall and informed her that I had been entrusted with a message for a lady whose dress I described. I begged her to ascertain from the attendant in the Ladies Room whether the lady in question was still there. The girl went away and presently returned to say that the lady had changed her costume in the cloakroom and had gone out half an hour previously. Oh, Bunter, Bunter. Didnt you spot the suitcase or whatever it was when she came out again? Excuse me, my lord. The lady had come in earlier in the day and had left an attachcase in charge of the attendant. On returning, she had transferred her hat and fur to the attachcase and put on a small black felt hat and a lightweight raincoat which she had packed there in readiness. So that her dress was concealed when she emerged and she was carrying the attachcase, whereas, when I first saw her, she had been emptyhanded. Everything foreseen. What a woman! I made immediate inquiries, my lord, in the region of the hotel and the station, but without result. The black hat and raincoat were entirely inconspicuous, and no one remembered having seen her. I went to the Central Station to discover if she had travelled by any train. Several women answering to the description had taken tickets for various destinations, but I could get no definite information. I also visited all the garages in Liverpool, with the same lack of success. I am greatly distressed to have failed your lordship. Cant be helped. You did everything you could do. Cheer up. Never say die. And you must be tired to death. Take the day off and go to bed. I thank your lordship, but I slept excellently in the train on the way up. Just as you like, Bunter. But I did hope you sometimes got tired like other people. Bunter smiled discreetly and withdrew. Well, weve gained this much, anyhow, said Parker. We know now that this Miss Whittaker has something to conceal, since she takes such precautions to avoid being followed. We know more than that. We know that she was desperately anxious to get hold of the Cropper woman before anybody else could see her, no doubt to stop her mouth by bribery or by worse means. By the way, how did she know she was coming by that boat? Mrs. Cropper sent a cable, which was read at the inquest. Damn these inquests. They give away all the information one wants kept quiet, and produce no evidence worth having. Hear, hear, said Parker, with emphasis, not to mention that we had to sit through a lot of moral punk by the Coroner, about the prevalence of jazz and the immoral behaviour of modern girls in going off alone with young men to Epping Forest. Its a pity these busybodies cant be had up for libel. Never mind. Well get the Whittaker woman yet. Always provided it was the Whittaker woman. After all, Mrs. Cropper may have been mistaken. Lots of people do change their hats in cloakrooms without any criminal intention. Oh, of course. Miss Whittakers supposed to be in the country with Miss Findlater, isnt she? Well get the invaluable Miss Climpson to pump the girl when they turn up again. Meanwhile, what do you think of Mrs. Croppers story? Theres no doubt about what happened there. Miss Whittaker was trying to get the old lady to sign a will without knowing it. She gave it to her all mixed up with the incometax papers, hoping shed put her name to it without reading it. It must have been a will, I think, because thats the only document I know of which is invalid unless its witnessed by two persons in the presence of the testatrix and of each other. Exactly. And since Miss Whittaker couldnt be one of the witnesses herself, but had to get the two maids to sign, the will must have been in Miss Whittakers favour. Obviously. She wouldnt go to all that trouble to disinherit herself. But that brings us to another difficulty. Miss Whittaker, as next of kin, would have taken all the old lady had to leave in any case. As a matter of fact, she did. Why bother about a will? Perhaps, as we said before, she was afraid Miss Dawson would change her mind, and wanted to get a will made out beforeno, that wont work. Nobecause, anyhow, any will made later would invalidate the first will. Besides, the old lady sent for her solicitor some time later, and Miss Whittaker put no obstacle of any kind in her way. According to Nurse Forbes, she was particularly anxious that every facility should be given. Seeing how Miss Dawson distrusted her niece, its a bit surprising, really, that she didnt will the money away. Then it would have been to Miss Whittakers advantage to keep her alive as long as possible. I dont suppose she really distrusted hernot to the extent of expecting to be made away with. She was excited and said more than she meantwe often do. Yes, but she evidently thought thered be other attempts to get a will signed. How do you make that out? Dont you remember the power of attorney? The old girl evidently thought that out and decided to give Miss Whittaker authority to sign everything for her so that there couldnt possibly be any jiggerypokery about papers in future. Of course. Cute old lady. How very irritating for Miss Whittaker. And after that very hopeful visit of the solicitor, too. So disappointing. Instead of the expected will, a very carefully planted spoke in her wheel. Yes. But were still brought up against the problem, why a will at all? So we are. The two men pulled at their pipes for some time in silence. The aunt evidently intended the money to go to Mary Whittaker all right, remarked Parker at last. She promised it so oftenbesides, I daresay she was a justminded old thing, and remembered that it was really Whittaker money which had come to her over the head of the Rev. Charles, or whatever his name was. Thats so. Well, theres only one thing that could prevent that happening, and thatsoh, lord! old son. Do you know what it works out at?The old, old story, beloved of noveliststhe missing heir! Good lord, yes, youre right. Damn it all, what fools we were not to think of it before. Mary Whittaker possibly found out that there was some nearer relative left, who would scoop the lot. Maybe she was afraid that if Miss Dawson got to know about it, shed divide the money or disinherit Mary altogether. Or perhaps she just despaired of hammering the story into the old ladys head, and so hit on the idea of getting her to make the will unbeknownst to herself in Marys favour. What a brain youve got, Charles. Or, see here, Miss Dawson may have known all about it, sly old thing, and determined to pay Miss Whittaker out for her indecent urgency in the matter of willmakin by just dyin intestate in the other chappies favour. If she did, she deserved anything she got, said Parker, rather viciously. After taking the poor girl away from her job under promise of leaving her the dibs. Teach the young woman not to be so mercenary, retorted Wimsey, with the cheerful brutality of the man who has never in his life been short of money. If this bright idea is correct, said Parker, it rather messes up your murder theory, doesnt it? Because Mary would obviously take the line of keeping her aunt alive as long as possible, in hopes she might make a will after all. Thats true. Curse you, Charles, I see that bet of mine going west. What a blow for friend Carr, too. I did hope I was going to vindicate him and have him played home by the village band under a triumphal arch with Welcome, Champion of Truth! picked out in redwhiteandblue electric bulbs. Never mind. Its better to lose a wager and see the light than walk in ignorance bloated with gold.Or stop!why shouldnt Carr be right after all? Perhaps its just my choice of a murderer thats wrong. Aha! I see a new and even more sinister villain step upon the scene. The new claimant, warned by his minions What minions? Oh, dont be so pernickety, Charles. Nurse Forbes, probably. I shouldnt wonder if shes in his pay. Where was I? I wish you wouldnt interrupt. Warned by his minions prompted Parker. Oh, yeswarned by his minions that Miss Dawson is hobnobbing with solicitors and being tempted into making wills and things, gets the said minions to polish her off before she can do any mischief. Yes, but how? Oh, by one of those native poisons which slay in a split second and defy the skill of the analyst. They are familiar to the meanest writer of mystery stories. Im not going to let a trifle like that stand in my way. And why hasnt this hypothetical gentleman brought forward any claim to the property so far? Hes biding his time. The fuss about the death scared him, and hes lying low till its all blown over. Hell find it much more awkward to dispossess Miss Whittaker now shes taken possession. Possession is nine points of the law, you know. I know, but hes going to pretend he wasnt anywhere near at the time of Miss Dawsons death. He only read about it a few weeks ago in a sheet of newspaper wrapped round a salmontin, and now hes rushing home from his distant farm in thingmajig to proclaim himself as the longlost Cousin Tom Great Scott! that reminds me. He plunged his hand into his pocket and pulled out a letter. This came this morning just as I was going out, and I met Freddy Arbuthnot on the doorstep and shoved it into my pocket before Id read it properly. But I do believe there was something in it about a Cousin Somebody from some godforsaken spot. Lets see. He unfolded the letter, which was written in Miss Climpsons oldfashioned flowing hand, and ornamented with such a variety of underlinings and exclamation marks as to look like an exercise in musical notation. Oh, lord! said Parker. Yes, its worse than usual, isnt it?it must be of desperate importance. Luckily its comparatively short. My dear Lord Peter, I heard something this morning which may be of use so I hasten to communicate it!! You remember I mentioned before that Mrs. Budges maid is the sister of the present maid at Miss Whittakers? Well!!! The aunt of these two girls came to pay a visit to Mrs. Budges girl this afternoon, and was introduced to meof course, as boarder at Mrs. Budges I am naturally an object of local interestand, bearing your instructions in mind, I encourage this to an extent I should not otherwise do!! It appears that this aunt was well acquainted with a former housekeeper of Miss Dawsonsbefore the time of the Gotobed girls, I mean. The aunt is a highly respectable person of forbidding aspect!with a bonnet (!), and to my mind, a most disagreeable censorious woman. However!We got to speaking of Miss Dawsons death, and this aunther name is Timminsprimmed up her mouth and said No unpleasant scandal would surprise me about that family, Miss Climpson. They were most undesirably connected! You recollect, Mrs. Budge, that I felt obliged to leave after the appearance of that most extraordinary person who announced himself as Miss Dawsons cousin. Naturally, I asked who this might be not having heard of any other relations! She said that this person, whom she described as a nasty dirty nigger (!!!) arrived one morning, dressed up as a clergyman!!!and sent herMiss Timminsto announce him to Miss Dawson as her Cousin Hallelujah!!! Miss Timmins showed him up, much against her will, she said, into the nice clean, drawingroom! Miss Dawson, she said, actually came down to see this creature instead of sending him about his black business (!), and as a crowning scandal, asked him to stay to lunch!with her niece there, too, Miss Timmins said, and this horrible blackamoor rolling his dreadful eyes at her. Miss Timmins said that it regularly turned her stomachthat was her phrase, and I trust you will excuse itI understand that these parts of the body are frequently referred to in polite (!) society nowadays. In fact, it appears she refused to cook the lunch for the poor black man(after all, even blacks are Gods creatures and we might all be black ourselves if He had not in His infinite kindness seen fit to favour us with white skins!!)and walked straight out of the house!!! So that unfortunately she cannot tell us anything further about this remarkable incident! She is certain, however, that the nigger had a visitingcard with the name Rev. H. Dawson upon it, and an address in foreign parts. It does seem strange, does it not, but I believe many of these native preachers are called to do splendid work among their own people, and no doubt a minister is entitled to have a visitingcard, even when black!!! In great haste, Sincerely yours, A. K. Climpson. God bless my soul, said Lord Peter, when he had disentangled this screedheres our claimant ready made. With a hide as black as his heart, apparently, replied Parker. I wonder where the Rev. Hallelujah has got toand where he came from. Heerhe wouldnt be in Crockford, I suppose. He would be, probably, if hes Church of England, said Lord Peter, dubiously, going in search of that valuable work of reference. DawsonRev. George, Rev. Gordon, Rev. Gurney, Rev. Habbakuk, Rev. Hadrian, Rev. Hammondno, theres no Rev. Hallelujah. I was afraid the name hadnt altogether an established sound. It would be easier if we had an idea what part of the world the gentleman came from. Nigger, to a Miss Timmins, may mean anything from a highcaste Brahmin to Sambo and Rastus at the Coliseumit may even, at a pinch, be an Argentine or an Eskimo. I suppose other religious bodies have their Crockfords, suggested Parker, a little hopelessly.

Yes, no doubtexcept perhaps the more exclusive sectslike the Agapemonites and those people who gather together to say om. Was it Voltaire who said that the English had three hundred and sixtyfive religions and only one sauce? Judging from the War Tribunals, said Parker, I should say that was an understatement. And then theres Americaa country, I understand, remarkably well supplied with religions. Too true. Hunting for a single dogcollar in the States must be like the proverbial needle. Still, we could make a few discreet inquiries, and meanwhile Im going to totter up to Crofton with the jolly old bus. Crofton? Where Miss Clara Whittaker and Miss Dawson used to live. Im going to look for the man with the little black bagthe strange, suspicious solicitor, you remember, who came to see Miss Dawson two years ago, and was so anxious that she should make a will. I fancy he knows all there is to know about the Rev. Hallelujah and his claim. Will you come too? Cantnot without special permission. Im not officially on this case, you know. Youre on the Gotobed business. Tell the Chief you think theyre connected. I shall need your restraining presence. No less ignoble pressure than that of the regular police force will induce a smokedried family lawyer to spill the beans. Well, Ill tryif youll promise to drive with reasonable precaution. Be thou as chaste as ice and have a licence as pure as snow, thou shalt not escape calumny. I am not a dangerous driver. Buck up and get your leave. The snowwhite horsepower foams and frets and the blue bonnetblack in this caseis already, in a manner of speaking, over the border. Youll drive me over the border one of these days, grumbled Parker, and went to the phone to call up Sir Andrew Mackenzie at Scotland Yard. Crofton is a delightful little oldworld village, tucked away amid the maze of crisscross country roads which fills the triangle of which Coventry, Warwick and Birmingham mark the angles. Through the falling night, Mrs. Merdle purred her way delicately round hedgeblinded corners and down devious lanes, her quest made no easier by the fact that the Warwick County Council had pitched upon that particular week for a grand repainting of signposts and had reached the preliminary stage of laying a couple of thick coats of gleaming white paint over all the lettering. At intervals the patient Bunter unpacked himself from the back seat and climbed one of these uncommunicative guides to peer at its blank surface with a torcha process which reminded Parker of Alan Quartermaine trying to trace the features of the departed Kings of the Kukuanas under their calcareous shrouds of stalactite. One of the posts turned out to be in the wetpaint stage, which added to the depression of the party. Finally, after several misdirections, blind alleys and reversings back to the main road, they came to a fourways. The signpost here must have been in extra need of repairs, for its arms had been removed bodily; it stood, stark and ghastlya long, livid finger erected in wild protest to the unsympathetic heavens. Its starting to rain, observed Parker, conversationally. Look here, Charles, if youre going to bear up cheerfully and be the life and soul of the expedition, say so and have done with it. Ive got a good, heavy spanner handy under the seat, and Bunter can help to bury the body. I think this must be Brushwood Cross, resumed Parker, who had the map on his knee. If so, and if its not Covert Corner, which I thought we passed half an hour ago, one of these roads leads directly to Crofton. That would be highly encouraging if we only knew which road we were on. We can always try them in turn, and come back if we find were going wrong. They bury suicides at crossroads, replied Wimsey, dangerously. Theres a man sitting under that tree, pursued Parker. We can ask him. Hes lost his way too, or he wouldnt be sitting there, retorted the other. People dont sit about in the rain for fun. At this moment the man observed their approach and, rising, advanced to meet them with raised, arresting hand. Wimsey brought the car to a standstill. Excuse me, said the stranger, who turned out to be a youth in motorcycling kit, but could you give me a hand with my bus? Whats the matter with her? Well, she wont go. I guessed as much, said Wimsey. Though why she should wish to linger in a place like this beats me. He got out of the car, and the youth, diving into the hedge, produced the patient for inspection. Did you tumble there or put her there? inquired Wimsey, eyeing the machine distastefully. I put her there. Ive been kicking the starter for hours but nothing happened, so I thought Id wait till somebody came along. I see. What is the matter, exactly? I dont know. She was going beautifully and then she conked out suddenly. Have you run out of petrol? Oh, no. Im sure theres plenty in. Plug all right? I dont know. The youth looked unhappy. Its only my second time out, you see. Oh! wellthere cant be much wrong. Well just make sure about the petrol first, said Wimsey, more cheerfully. He unscrewed the fillercap and turned his torch upon the interior of the tank. Seems all right. He bent over again, whistling, and replaced the cap. Lets give her another kick for luck and then well look at the plug. The young man, thus urged, grasped the handlebars, and with the energy of despair delivered a kick which would have done credit to an army mule. The engine roared into life in a fury of vibration, racing heartrendingly. Good God! said the youth, its a miracle. Lord Peter laid a gentle hand on the throttlelever and the shattering bellow calmed into a grateful purr. What did you do to it? demanded the cyclist. Blew through the fillercap, said his lordship with a grin. Airlock in the feed, old son, thats all. Im frightfully grateful. Thats all right. Look here, can you tell us the way to Crofton? Sure. Straight down here. Im going there, as a matter of fact. Thank Heaven. Lead and I follow, as Sir Galahad says. How far? Five miles. Decent inn? My governor keeps the FoxandHounds. Would that do? Wed give you awfully decent grub. Sorrow vanquished, labour ended, Jordan passed. Buzz off, my lad. No, Charles, I will not wait while you put on a Burberry. Back and side go bare, go bare, hand and foot go cold, so bellygod send us good ale enough, whether it be new or old. The starter hummedthe youth mounted his machine and led off down the lane after one alarming wobbleWimsey slipped in the clutch and followed in his wake. The FoxandHounds turned out to be one of those pleasant, oldfashioned inns where everything is upholstered in horsehair and it is never too late to obtain a good meal of cold roast sirloin and homegrown salad. The landlady, Mrs. Piggin, served the travellers herself. She wore a decent black satin dress and a front of curls of the fashion favoured by the Royal Family. Her round, cheerful face glowed in the firelight, seeming to reflect the radiance of the scarletcoated huntsmen who galloped and leapt and fell on every wall through a series of sporting prints. Lord Peters mood softened under the influence of the atmosphere and the houses excellent ale, and by a series of inquiries directed to the huntingseason, just concluded, the neighbouring families and the price of horseflesh, he dexterously led the conversation round to the subject of the late Miss Clara Whittaker. Oh, dear, yes, said Mrs. Piggin, to be sure, we knew Miss Whittaker. Everybody knew her in these parts. A wonderful old lady she was. Theres a many of her horses still in the country. Mr. Cleveland, he bought the best part of the stock, and is doin well with them. Fine honest stock she bred, and they all used to say she was a woman of wonderful judgment with a horseor a man either. Nobody ever got the better of her twice, and very few, once. Ah! said Lord Peter, sagaciously. I remember her well, riding to hounds when she was well over sixty, went on Mrs. Piggin, and she wasnt one to wait for a gap, neither. Now Miss Dawsonthat was her friend as lived with herover at the Manor beyond the stone bridgeshe was more timidlike. Shed go by the gates, and we often used to say shed never be riding at all, but for bein that fond of Miss Whittaker and not wanting to let her out of her sight. But there, we cant all be alike, can we, sir?and Miss Whittaker was altogether out of the way. They dont make them like that nowadays. Not but what these modern girls are good goers, many of them, and does a lot of things as would have been thought very fast in the old days, but Miss Whittaker had the knowledge as well. Bought her own horses and physicked em and bred em, and needed no advice from anybody. She sounds a wonderful old girl, said Wimsey, heartily. Id have liked to know her. Ive got some friends who knew Miss Dawson quite wellwhen she was living in Hampshire, you know. Indeed, sir? Well, thats strange, isnt it? She was a very kind, nice lady. We heard shed died, too. Of this cancer, was it? Thats a terrible thing, poor soul. And fancy you being connected with her, so to speak. I expect youd be interested in some of our photographs of the Crofton Hunt. Jim? Hullo! Show these gentlemen the photographs of Miss Whittaker and Miss Dawson. Theyre acquainted with some friends of Miss Dawson down in Hampshire. Step this wayif youre sure you wont take anything more, sir. Mrs. Piggin led the way into a cosy little private bar, where a number of huntinglooking gentlemen were enjoying a final glass before closingtime. Mr. Piggin, stout and genial as his wife, moved forward to do the honours. Whatll you have, gentlemen?Joe, two pints of the winter ale. And fancy you knowing our Miss Dawson. Dear me, the worlds a very small place, as I often says to my wife. Heres the last group as was ever took of them, when the meet was held at the Manor in 1918. Of course, youll understand, it wasnt a regular meet, like, owing to the War and the gentlemen being away and the horses toowe couldnt keep things up regular like in the old days. But what with the foxes gettin so terrible many, and the packs all going to the dogsha! ha!thats what I often used to say in this barthe ounds is going to the dogs, I says. Very good, they used to think it. Theres many a gentleman has laughed at me sayin thatthe ounds, I says, is goin to the dogswell, as I was sayin, Colonel Fletcher and some of the older gentlemen, they says, we must carry on somehow, they says, and so they ad one or two scratch meets as you might say, just to keep the pack from fallin to pieces, as you might say. And Miss Whittaker, she says, Ave the meet at the Manor, Colonel, she says, its the last meet Ill ever see, perhaps, she says. And so it was, poor lady, for she ad a stroke in the New Year. She died in 1922. Thats er, sitting in the ponycarriage and Miss Dawson beside er. Of course, Miss Whittaker ad ad to give up riding to ounds some years before. She was gettin on, but she always followed in the trap, up to the very last. Andsome old lady, aint she, sir? Lord Peter and Parker looked with considerable interest at the rather grim old woman sitting so uncompromisingly upright with the reins in her hand. A dour, weatherbeaten old face, but certainly handsome still, with its large nose and straight, heavy eyebrows. And beside her, smaller, plumper and more feminine, was the Agatha Dawson whose curious death had led them to this quiet country place. She had a sweet, smiling faceless dominating than that of her redoubtable friend, but full of spirit and character. Without doubt they had been a remarkable pair of old ladies. Lord Peter asked a question or two about the family. Well, sir, I cant say as I knows much about that. We always understood as Miss Whittaker had quarrelled with her people on account of comin here and settin up for herself. It wasnt usual in them days for girls to leave home the way it is now. But if youre particularly interested, sir, theres an old gentleman here as can tell you all about the Whittakers and the Dawsons too, and thats Ben Cobling. He was Miss Whittakers groom for forty years, and he married Miss Dawsons maid as come with her from Norfolk. Eightysix e was, last birthday, but a grand old fellow still. We thinks a lot of Ben Cobling in these parts. Im and his wife lives in the little cottage what Miss Whittaker left them when she died. If youd like to go round and see them tomorrow, sir, youll find Bens memory as good as ever it was. Excuse me, sir, but its time. I must get em out of the bar.Time, gentlemen, please! Three and eightpence, sir, thank you, sir. Hurry up, gentlemen, please. Now then, Joe, look sharp. Great place, Crofton, said Lord Peter, when he and Parker were left alone in a great, lowceilinged bedroom, where the sheets smelt of lavender. Ben Coblings sure to know all about Cousin Hallelujah. Im looking forward to Ben Cobling. XII A Tale of Two Spinsters The power of perpetuating our property in our families is one of the most valuable and interesting circumstances belonging to it. Burke Reflections on the Revolution The rainy night was followed by a sunstreaked morning. Lord Peter, having wrapped himself affectionately round an abnormal quantity of bacon and eggs, strolled out to bask at the door of the FoxandHounds. He filled a pipe slowly and meditated. Within, a cheerful bustle in the bar announced the near arrival of opening time. Eight ducks crossed the road in Indian file. A cat sprang up upon the bench, stretched herself, tucked her hind legs under her and coiled her tail tightly round them as though to prevent them from accidentally working loose. A groom passed, riding a tall bay horse and leading a chestnut with a hogged mane; a spaniel followed them, running ridiculously, with one ear flopped insideout over his foolish head. Lord Peter said, Hah! The inndoor was set hospitably open by the barman, who said, Good morning, sir; fine morning, sir, and vanished within again. Lord Peter said, Umph. He uncrossed his right foot from over his left and straddled happily across the threshold. Round the corner by the churchyard wall a little bent figure hove into sightan aged man with a wrinkled face and legs incredibly bowed, his spare shanks enclosed in leather gaiters. He advanced at a kind of brisk totter and civilly bared his ancient head before lowering himself with an audible creak on to the bench beside the cat. Good morning, sir, said he. Good morning, said Lord Peter. A beautiful day. That it be, sir, that it be, said the old man, heartily. When I sees a beautiful May day like this, I pray the Lord Hell spare me to live in this wonderful world of His a few years longer. I do indeed. You look uncommonly fit, said his lordship, I should think there was every chance of it. Im still very hearty, sir, thank you, though Im eightyseven next Michaelmas. Lord Peter expressed a proper astonishment. Yes, sir, eightyseven, and if it wasnt for the rheumatics Id have nothin to complain on. Im stronger maybe than what I look. I knows Im a bit bent, sir, but thats the osses, sir, more than age. Regular brought up with osses Ive been all my life. Worked with em, slept with emlived in a stable, you might say, sir. You couldnt have better company, said Lord Peter. Thats right, sir, you couldnt. My wife always used to say she was jealous of the osses. Said I preferred their conversation to hers. Well, maybe she was right, sir. A oss never talks no foolishness, I says to her, and thats more than you can always say of women, aint it, sir? It is indeed, said Wimsey. What are you going to have? Thank you, sir, Ill have my usual pint of bitter. Jim knows. Jim! Always start the day with a pint of bitter, sir. Its olesomer than tea to my mind and dont fret the coats of the stomach. I dare say youre right, said Wimsey. Now you mention it, there is something fretful about tea. Mr. Piggin, two pints of bitter, please, and will you join us? Thank you, my lord, said the landlord. Joe! Two large bitters and a Guinness. Beautiful morning, my lordmorning, Mr. CoblingI see youve made each others acquaintance already. By Jove! so this is Mr. Cobling. Im delighted to see you. I wanted particularly to have a chat with you. Indeed, sir? I was telling this gentlemanLord Peter Wimsey his name isas you could tell him all about Miss Whittaker and Miss Dawson. He knows friends of Miss Dawsons. Indeed? Ah! There aint much I couldnt tell you about them ladies. And proud Id be to do it. Fifty years I was with Miss Whittaker. I come to her as undergroom in old Johnny Blackthornes time, and stayed on as headgroom after he died. A rare young lady she was in them days. Deary me. Straight as a switch, with a fine, high colour in her cheeks and shiny black hairjust like a beautiful twoyearold filly she was. And very sperrited. Wonnerful sperrited. There was a many gentlemen as would have been glad to hitch up with her, but she was never broke to harness. Like dirt, she treated em. Wouldnt look at em, except it might be the grooms and stablehands in a matter of osses. And in the way of business, of course. Well, there is some creatures like that. I ad a terrierbitch that way. Great ratter she was. But a business womannothin else. I tried er with all the dogs I could lay and to, but it werent no good. Bloodshed there was an sich a rowyou never eard. The Lord makes a few on em that way to suit Is own purposes, I suppose. There aint no arguin with females. Lord Peter said Ah! The ale went down in silence. Mr. Piggin roused himself presently from contemplation to tell a story of Miss Whittaker in the huntingfield. Mr. Cobling capped this by another. Lord Peter said Ah! Parker then emerged and was introduced, and Mr. Cobling begged the privilege of standing a round of drinks. This ritual accomplished, Mr. Piggin begged the company would be his guests for a third round, and then excused himself on the plea of customers to attend to. He went in, and Lord Peter, by skilful and maddeningly slow degrees, began to work his way back to the history of the Dawson family. Parkereducated at BarrowinFurness grammar school and with his wits further sharpened in the London police serviceendeavoured now and again to get matters along faster by a brisk question. The result, every time, was to make Mr. Cobling lose the thread of his remarks and start him off into a series of interminable sidetracks. Wimsey kicked his friend viciously on the anklebone to keep him quiet, and with endless patience worked the conversation back to the main road again. At the end of an hour or so, Mr. Cobling explained that his wife could tell them a great deal more about Miss Dawson than what he could, and invited them to visit his cottage. This invitation being accepted with alacrity, the party started off, Mr. Cobling explaining to Parker that he was eightyseven come next Michaelmas, and hearty still, indeed, stronger than he appeared, bar the rheumatics that troubled him. Im not saying as Im not bent, said Mr. Cobling, but thats more the work of the osses. Regular lived with osses all my life Dont look so fretful, Charles, murmured Wimsey in his ear, it must be the tea at breakfastit frets the coats of the stomach. Mrs. Cobling turned out to be a delightful old lady, exactly like a driedup pippin and only two years younger than her husband. She was entranced at getting an opportunity to talk about her darling Miss Agatha. Parker, thinking it necessary to put forward some reason for the inquiry, started on an involved explanation, and was kicked again. To Mrs. Cobling, nothing could be more natural than that all the world should be interested in the Dawsons, and she prattled gaily on without prompting. She had been in the Dawson family service as a girlalmost born in it as you might say. Hadnt her mother been housekeeper to Mr. Henry Dawson, Miss Agathas papa, and to his father before him? She herself had gone to the big house as stillroom maid when she wasnt but fifteen. That was when Miss Harriet was only three years oldher as afterwards married Mr. James Whittaker. Yes, and shed been there when the rest of the family was born. Mr. Stephenhim as should have been the heirah, dear! only the trouble came and that killed his poor father and there was nothing left. Yes, a sad business that was. Poor Mr. Henry speculated with somethingMrs. Cobling wasnt clear what, but it was all very wicked and happened in London where there were so many wicked peopleand the long and the short was, he lost it all, poor gentleman, and never held up his head again. Only fiftyfour he was when he died; such a fine upright gentleman with a pleasant word for everybody. And his wife didnt live long after him, poor lamb. She was a Frenchwoman and a sweet lady, but she was very lonely in England, having no family and her two sisters walled up alive in one of them dreadful Romish Convents. And what did Mr. Stephen do when the money went? asked Wimsey. Him? Oh, he went into businessa strange thing that did seem, though I have heard tell as old Barnabas Dawson, Mr. Henrys grandfather that was, was nought but a grocer or something of thatand they do say, dont they, that from shirtsleeves to shirtsleeves is three generations? Still, it was very hard on Mr. Stephen, as had always been brought up to have everything of the best. And engaged to be married to a beautiful lady, too, and a very rich heiress. But it was all for the best, for when she heard Mr. Stephen was a poor man after all, she threw him over, and that showed she had no heart in her at all. Mr. Stephen never married till he was over forty, and then it was a lady with no family at allnot lawful, that is, though she was a dear, sweet girl and made Mr. Stephen a most splendid wifeshe did indeed. And Mr. John, he was their only son. They thought the world of him. It was a terrible day when the news came that he was killed in the War. A cruel business that was, sir, wasnt it?and nobody the better for it as I can see, but all these shocking hard taxes, and the price of everything gone up so, and so many out of work. So he was killed? That must have been a terrible grief to his parents. Yes, sir, terrible. Oh, it was an awful thing altogether, sir, for poor Mr. Stephen, as had had so much trouble all his life, he went out of his poor mind and shot hisself. Out of his mind he must have been, sir, to do itand what was more dreadful still, he shot his dear lady as well. You may remember it, sir. There was pieces in the paper about it. I seem to have some vague recollection of it, said Peter, quite untruthfully, but anxious not to seem to belittle the local tragedy. And young Johnhe wasnt married, I suppose. No, sir. That was very sad, too. He was engaged to a young ladya nurse in one of the English hospitals, as we understood, and he was hoping to get back and be married to her on his next leave. Everything did seem to go all wrong together them terrible years. The old lady sighed, and wiped her eyes. Mr. Stephen was the only son, then? Well, not exactly, sir. There was the darling twins. Such pretty children, but they only lived two days. They come four years after Miss Harriether as married Mr. James Whittaker. Yes, of course. That was how the families became connected. Yes, sir. Miss Agatha and Miss Harriet and Miss Clara Whittaker was all at the same school together, and Mrs. Whittaker asked the two young ladies to go and spend their holidays with Miss Clara, and that was when Mr. James fell in love with Miss Harriet. She wasnt as pretty as Miss Agatha, to my thinking, but she was livelier and quickerand then, of course, Miss Agatha was never one for flirting and foolishness. Often she used to say to me, Betty, she said, I mean to be an old maid and so does Miss Clara, and were going to live together and be ever so happy, without any stupid, tiresome gentlemen. And so it turned out, sir, as you know, for Miss Agatha, for all she was so quiet, was very determined. Once shed said a thing, you couldnt turn her from itnot with reasons, nor with threats, nor with coaxingsnothing! Manys the time Ive tried when she was a childfor I used to give a little help in the nursery sometimes, sir. You might drive her into a temper or into the sulks, but you couldnt make her change her little mind, even then. There came to Wimseys mind the picture of the stricken, helpless old woman, holding to her own way in spite of her lawyers reasoning and her nieces subterfuge. A remarkable old lady, certainly, in her way. I suppose the Dawson family has practically died out, then, he said. Oh, yes, sir. Theres only Miss Mary nowand shes a Whittaker, of course. She is Miss Harriets granddaughter, Mr. Charles Whittakers only child. She was left all alone, too, when she went to live with Miss Dawson. Mr. Charles and his wife was killed in one of these dreadful motorsdear, dearit seemed we was fated to have nothing but one tragedy after another. Just to think of Ben and me outliving them all. Cheer up, Mother, said Ben, laying his hand on hers. The Lord have been wonderful good to us. That He have. Three sons we have, sir, and two daughters, and fourteen grandchildren and three greatgrandchildren. Maybe youd like to see their pictures, sir. Lord Peter said he should like to very much, and Parker made confirmatory noises. The lifehistories of all the children and descendants were detailed at suitable length. Whenever a pause seemed discernible, Parker would mutter hopefully in Wimseys ear, How about Cousin Hallelujah? but before a question could be put, the interminable family chronicle was resumed. And for Gods sake, Charles, whispered Peter, savagely, when Mrs. Cobling had risen to hunt for the shawl which Grandson William had sent home from the Dardanelles, dont keep saying Hallelujah at me! Im not a revival meeting. The shawl being duly admired, the conversation turned upon foreign parts, natives and black people generally, following on which, Lord Peter added carelessly By the way, hasnt the Dawson family got some sort of connections in those foreign countries, somewhere? Well, yes, said Mrs. Cobling, in rather a shocked tone. There had been Mr. Paul, Mr. Henrys brother. But he was not mentioned much. He had been a terrible shock to his family. In facta gasp here, and a lowering of the voicehe had turned Papist and becomea monk! (Had he become a murderer, apparently, he could hardly have done worse.) Mr. Henry had always blamed himself very much in the matter. How was it his fault? Well, of course, Mr. Henrys wifemy dear mistress, you see, sirshe was French, as I told you, and of course, she was a Papist. Being brought up that way, she wouldnt know any better, naturally, and she was very young when she was married. But Mr. Henry soon taught her to be a Christian, and she put away her idolatrous ideas and went to the parish church. But Mr. Paul, he fell in love with one of her sisters, and the sister had been vowed to religion, as they called it, and had shut herself up in a nunnery. And then Mr. Paul had broken his heart and gone over to the Scarlet Woman andagain the pause and the hushbecome a monk. A terrible todo it made. And hed lived to be a very old man, and for all Mrs. Cobling knew was living yet, still in the error of his ways. If hes alive, murmured Parker, hes probably the real heir. Hed be Agatha Dawsons uncle and her nearest relation. Wimsey frowned and returned to the charge. Well, it couldnt have been Mr. Paul I had in mind, he said, because this sort of relation of Miss Agatha Dawsons that I heard about was a real foreignerin fact, a very darkcomplexioned manalmost a black man, or so I was told. Black? cried the old ladyoh, no, sirthat couldnt be. Unlessdear Lord a mercy, it couldnt be that, surely! Ben, do you think it could be that?Old Simon, you know? Ben shook his head. I never heard tell much about him. Nor nobody did, replied Mrs. Cobling, energetically. He was a long way back, but they had tales of him in the family. Wicked Simon, they called him. He sailed away to the Indies, many years ago, and nobody knew what became of him. Wouldnt it be a queer thing, like, if he was to have married a black wife out in them parts, and this was hisoh, dearhis grandson it ud have to be, if not his greatgrandson, for he was Mr. Henrys uncle, and thats a long time ago. This was disappointing. A grandson of old Simons would surely be too distant a relative to dispute Mary Whittakers title. However Thats very interesting, said Wimsey. Was it the East Indies or the West Indies he went to, I wonder? Mrs. Cobling didnt know, but she believed it was something to do with America. Its a pity as Mr. Probyn aint in England any longer. He could have told you more about the family than what I can. But he retired last year and went away to Italy or some such place. Who was he? He was Miss Whittakers solicitor, said Ben, and he managed all Miss Dawsons business, too. A nice gentleman he was, but uncommon sharpha, ha! Never gave nothing away. But thats lawyers all the world over, added he, shrewdly, take all and give nothing. Did he live in Crofton? No, sir, in Croftover Magna, twelve miles from here. Pointer Winkin have his business now, but theyre young men, and I dont know much about them. Having by this time heard all the Coblings had to tell, Wimsey and Parker gradually disentangled themselves and took their leave. Well, Cousin Hallelujahs a washout, said Parker. Possiblypossibly not. There may be some connection. Still, I certainly think the disgraceful and papistical Mr. Paul is more promising. Obviously Mr. Probyn is the bird to get hold of. You realise who he is? Hes the mysterious solicitor, I suppose. Of course he is. He knows why Miss Dawson ought to have made her will. And were going straight off to Croftover Magna to look up Messrs. Pointer Winkin, and see what they have to say about it. Unhappily, Messrs. Pointer Winkin had nothing to say whatever. Miss Dawson had withdrawn her affairs from Mr. Probyns hands and had lodged all the papers with her new solicitor. Messrs. Pointer Winkin had never had any connection with the Dawson family. They had no objection, however, to furnishing Mr. Probyns addressVilla Bianca, Fiesole. They regretted that they could be of no further assistance to Lord Peter Wimsey and Mr. Parker. Good morning. Short and sour, was his lordships comment. Well, wellwell have a spot of lunch and write a letter to Mr. Probyn and another to my good friend Bishop Lambert of the Orinoco Mission to get a line on Cousin Hallelujah. Smile, smile, smile. As Ingoldsby says The breezes are blowing a race, a race! The breezes are blowingwe near the chase! Do ye ken John Peel? Likewise, knowst thou the land where blooms the citronflower? Well, never mind if you dontyou can always look forward to going there for your honeymoon. XIII Hallelujah Our ancestors are very good kind of folks, but they are the last people I should choose to have a visiting acquaintance with. Sheridan The Rivals That excellent prelate, Bishop Lambert of the Orinoco Mission, proved to be a practical and kind man. He did not personally know the Rev. Hallelujah Dawson, but thought he might belong to the Tabernacle Missiona Nonconformist body which was doing a very valuable work in those parts. He would himself communicate with the London Headquarters of this community and let Lord Peter know the result. Two hours later, Bishop Lamberts secretary had duly rung up the Tabernacle Mission and received the very satisfactory information that the Rev. Hallelujah Dawson was in England, and, indeed, available at their Mission House in Stepney. He was an elderly minister, living in very reduced circumstancesin fact, the Bishop rather gathered that the story was a sad one.Oh, not at all, pray, no thanks. The Bishops poor miserable slave of a secretary did all the work.

Very glad to hear from Lord Peter, and was he being good? Ha, ha! and when was he coming to dine with the Bishop? Lord Peter promptly gathered up Parker and swooped down with him upon the Tabernacle Mission, before whose dim and grim frontage Mrs. Merdles long black bonnet and sweeping copper exhaust made an immense impression. The small fry of the neighbourhood had clustered about her and were practising horn solos almost before Wimsey had rung the bell. On Parkers threatening them with punishment and casually informing them that he was a policeofficer, they burst into ecstasies of delight, and joining hands, formed a ringoroses round him, under the guidance of a sprightly young woman of twelve years old or thereabouts. Parker made a few harassed darts at them, but the ring only broke up, shrieking with laughter, and reformed, singing. The Mission door opened at the moment, displaying this undignified exhibition to the eyes of a lank young man in spectacles, who shook a long finger disapprovingly and said, Now, you children, without the slightest effect and apparently without the faintest expectation of producing any. Lord Peter explained his errand. Oh, come in, please, said the young man, who had one finger in a book of theology. Im afraid your frienderthis is rather a noisy district. Parker shook himself free from his tormentors, and advanced, breathing threatenings and slaughter, to which the enemy responded by a derisive blast of the horn. Theyll run those batteries down, said Wimsey. You cant do anything with the little devils, growled Parker. Why dont you treat them as human beings? retorted Wimsey. Children are creatures of like passions with politicians and financiers. Here, Esmeralda! he added, beckoning to the ringleader. The young woman put her tongue out and made a rude gesture, but observing the glint of coin in the outstretched hand, suddenly approached and stood challengingly before them. Look here, said Wimsey, heres half a crownthirty pennies, you know. Any use to you? The child promptly proved her kinship with humanity. She became abashed in the presence of wealth, and was silent, rubbing one dusty shoe upon the calf of her stocking. You appear, pursued Lord Peter, to be able to keep your young friends in order if you choose. I take you, in fact, for a woman of character. Very well, if you keep them from touching my car while Im in the house, you get this halfcrown, see? But if you let em blow the horn, I shall hear it. Every time the horn goes, you lose a penny, got that? If the horn blows six times, you only get two bob. If I hear it thirty times, you dont get anything. And I shall look out from time to time, and if I see anybody mauling the car about or sitting in it, then you dont get anything. Do I make myself clear? I takes care o yer car fer arf a crahn. An ef the orn goes, you docks a copper orf of it. Thats right. Right you are, mister. Ill see none on em touches it. Good girl. Now, sir. The spectacled young man led them into a gloomy little waitingroom, suggestive of a railway station and hung with Old Testament prints. Ill tell Mr. Dawson youre here, said he, and vanished, with the volume of theology still clutched in his hand. Presently a shuffling step was heard on the coconut matting, and Wimsey and Parker braced themselves to confront the villainous claimant. The door, however, opened to admit an elderly West Indian, of so humble and inoffensive an appearance that the hearts of the two detectives sank into their boots. Anything less murderous could scarcely be imagined, as he stood blinking nervously at them from behind a pair of steelrimmed spectacles, the frames of which had at one time been broken and bound with twine. The Rev. Hallelujah Dawson was undoubtedly a man of colour. He had the pleasant, slightly aquiline features and brownolive skin of the Polynesian. His hair was scanty and greyishnot woolly, but closely curled. His stooping shoulders were clad in a threadbare clerical coat. His black eyes, yellow about the whites and slightly protruding, rolled amiably at them, and his smile was open and frank. You asked to see me? he began, in perfect English, but with the soft native intonation. I think I have not the pleasure? How do you do, Mr. Dawson? Yes. We areermakin certain inquirieserin connection with the family of the Dawsons of Crofton in Warwickshire, and it has been suggested that you might be able to enlighten us, what? as to their West Indian connectionsif you would be so good. Ah, yes! The old man drew himself up slightly. I am myselfin a waya descendant of the family. Wont you sit down? Thank you. We thought you might be. You do not come from Miss Whittaker? There was something eager, yet defensive in the tone. Wimsey, not quite knowing what was behind it, chose the discreeter part. Oh, no. We arepreparin a work on County Families, dont you know. Tombstones and genealogies and that sort of thing. Oh!yesI hoped perhaps The mild tones died away in a sigh. But I shall be very happy to help you in any way. Well, the question now is, what became of Simon Dawson? We know that he left his family and sailed for the West Indies inah!in seventeen Eighteen hundred and ten, said the old man, with surprising quickness. Yes. He got into trouble when he was a lad of sixteen. He took up with bad men older than himself, and became involved in a very terrible affair. It had to do with gaming, and a man was killed. Not in a duelin those days that would not have been considered disgracefulthough violence is always displeasing to the Lordbut the man was foully murdered and Simon Dawson and his friends fled from justice. Simon fell in with the pressgang and was carried off to sea. He served fifteen years and was then taken by a French privateer. Later on he escaped andto cut a long story shortgot away to Trinidad under another name. Some English people there were kind to him and gave him work on their sugar plantation. He did well there and eventually became owner of a small plantation of his own. What was the name he went by? Harkaway. I suppose he was afraid that they would get hold of him as a deserter from the Navy if he went by his own name. No doubt he should have reported his escape. Anyway, he liked plantation life and was quite satisfied to stay where he was. I dont suppose he would have cared to go home, even to claim his inheritance. And then, there was always the matter of the murder, you knowthough I dare say they would not have brought that trouble up against him, seeing he was so young when it happened and it was not his hand that did the awful deed. His inheritance? Was he the eldest son, then? No. Barnabas was the eldest, but he was killed at Waterloo and left no family. Then there was a second son, Roger, but he died of smallpox as a child. Simon was the third son. Then it was the fourth son who took the estate? Yes, Frederick. He was Henry Dawsons father. They tried, of course, to find out what became of Simon, but in those days it was very difficult, you understand, to get information from foreign places, and Simon had quite disappeared. So they had to pass him over. And what happened to Simons children? asked Parker. Did he have any? The clergyman nodded, and a deep, dusky flush showed under his dark skin. I am his grandson, he said, simply. That is why I came over to England. When the Lord called me to feed His lambs among my own people, I was in quite good circumstances. I had the little sugar plantation which had come down to me through my father, and I married and was very happy. But we fell on bad timesthe sugar crop failed, and our little flock became smaller and poorer and could not give so much support to their minister. Besides, I was getting too old and frail to do my workand I have a sick wife, too, and God has blessed us with many daughters, who needed our care. I was in great straits. And then I came upon some old family papers belonging to my grandfather, Simon, and learned that his name was not Harkaway but Dawson, and I thought, maybe I had a family in England and that God would yet raise up a table in the wilderness. Accordingly, when the time came to send a representative home to our London Headquarters, I asked permission to resign my ministry out there and come over to England. Did you get into touch with anybody? Yes. I went to Croftonwhich was mentioned in my grandfathers lettersand saw a lawyer in the town therea Mr. Probyn of Croftover. You know him? Ive heard of him. Yes. He was very kind, and very much interested to see me. He showed me the genealogy of the family, and how my grandfather should have been the heir to the property. But the property had been lost by that time, had it not? Yes. And, unfortunatelywhen I showed him my grandmothers marriage certificate, hehe told me that it was no certificate at all. I fear that Simon Dawson was a sad sinner. He took my grandmother to live with him, as many of the planters did take women of colour, and he gave her a document which was supposed to be a certificate of marriage signed by the Governor of the country. But when Mr. Probyn inquired into it, he found that it was all a sham, and no such governor had ever existed. It was distressing to my feelings as a Christian, of coursebut since there was no property, it didnt make any actual difference to us. That was bad luck, said Peter, sympathetically. I called resignation to my aid, said the old Indian, with a dignified little bow. Mr. Probyn was also good enough to send me with a letter of introduction to Miss Agatha Dawson, the only surviving member of our family. Yes, she lived at Leahampton. She received me in the most charming way, and when I told her who I wasacknowledging, of course, that I had not the slightest claim upon hershe was good enough to make me an allowance of 100 a year, which she continued till her death. Was that the only time you saw her? Oh, yes. I would not intrude upon her. It could not be agreeable to her to have a relative of my complexion continually at her house, said the Rev. Hallelujah, with a kind of proud humility. But she gave me lunch, and spoke very kindly. Andforgive my askinhope it isnt impertinentbut does Miss Whittaker keep up the allowance? Well, noIperhaps I should not expect it, but it would have made a great difference to our circumstances. And Miss Dawson rather led me to hope that it might be continued. She told me that she did not like the idea of making a will, but, she said, It is not necessary at all, Cousin Hallelujah, Mary will have all my money when I am gone, and she can continue the allowance on my behalf. But perhaps Miss Whittaker did not get the money after all? Oh, yes, she did. It is very odd. She may have forgotten about it. I took the liberty of writing her a few words of spiritual comfort when her aunt died. Perhaps that did not please her. Of course, I did not write again. Yet I am loath to believe that she has hardened her heart against the unfortunate. No doubt there is some explanation. No doubt, said Lord Peter. Well, Im very grateful to you for your kindness. That has quite cleared up the little matter of Simon and his descendants. Ill just make a note of the names and dates, if I may. Certainly. I will bring you the paper which Mr. Probyn kindly made out for me, showing the whole of the family. Excuse me. He was not gone long, and soon reappeared with a genealogy, neatly typed out on a legallooking sheet of blue paper. Wimsey began to note down the particulars concerning Simon Dawson and his son, Bosun, and his grandson, Hallelujah. Suddenly he put his finger on an entry further along. Look here, Charles, he said. Here is our Father Paulthe bad boy who turned R.C. and became a monk. So he is. Buthes dead, Peterdied in 1922, three years before Agatha Dawson. Yes. We must wash him out. Well, these little setbacks will occur. They finished their notes, bade farewell to the Rev. Hallelujah, and emerged to find Esmeralda valiantly defending Mrs. Merdle against all comers. Lord Peter handed over the halfcrown and took delivery of the car. The more I hear of Mary Whittaker, he said, the less I like her. She might at least have given poor old Cousin Hallelujah his hundred quid. Shes a rapacious female, agreed Parker. Well, anyway, Father Pauls safely dead, and Cousin Hallelujah is illegitimately descended. So theres an end of the longlost claimant from overseas. Damn it all! cried Wimsey, taking both hands from the steeringwheel and scratching his head, to Parkers extreme alarm, that strikes a familiar chord. Now where in thunder have I heard those words before? XIV Sharp Quillets of the Law Things done without examplein their issue Are to be feared. Henry VIII I, 2 Murbles is coming round to dinner tonight, Charles, said Wimsey. I wish youd stop and have grub with us too. I want to put all this family history business before him. Where are you dining? Oh, at the flat. Im sick of restaurant meals. Bunter does a wonderful bloody steak and there are new peas and potatoes and genuine English grass. Gerald sent it up from Denver specially. You cant buy it. Come along. Ye olde English fare, dont you know, and a bottle of what Pepys calls Ho Bryon. Do you good. Parker accepted. But he noticed that, even when speaking on his beloved subject of food, Wimsey was vague and abstracted. Something seemed to be worrying at the back of his mind, and even when Mr. Murbles appeared, full of mild legal humour, Wimsey listened to him with extreme courtesy indeed, but with only half his attention. They were partly through dinner when, apropos of nothing, Wimsey suddenly brought his fist down on the mahogany with a crash that startled even Bunter, causing him to jerk a great crimson splash of the Haut Brion over the edge of the glass upon the tablecloth. Got it! said Lord Peter. Bunter in a low shocked voice begged his lordships pardon. Murbles, said Wimsey, without heeding him, isnt there a new Property Act? Why, yes, said Mr. Murbles, in some surprise. He had been in the middle of a story about a young barrister and a Jewish pawnbroker when the interruption occurred, and was a little put out. I knew Id read that sentence somewhereyou know, Charlesabout doing away with the longlost claimant from overseas. It was in some paper or other about a couple of years ago, and it had to do with the new Act. Of course, it said what a blow it would be to romantic novelists. Doesnt the Act wash out the claims of distant relatives, Murbles? In a sense, it does, replied the solicitor. Not, of course, in the case of entailed property, which has its own rules. But I understand you to refer to ordinary personal property or real estate not entailed. Yeswhat happens to that, now, if the owner of the property dies without making a will? It is rather a complicated matter, began Mr. Murbles. Well, look here, first of allbefore the jolly old Act was passed, the nextofkin got it all, didnt heno matter if he was only a seventh cousin fifteen times removed? In a general way, that is correct. If there was a husband or wife Wash out the husband and wife. Suppose the person is unmarried and has no near relations living. It would have gone To the nextofkin, whoever that was, if he or she could be traced. Even if you had to burrow back to William the Conqueror to get at the relationship? Always supposing you could get a clear record back to so very early a date, replied Mr. Murbles. It is, of course, in the highest degree improbable Yes, yes, I know, sir. But what happens now in such a case? The new Act makes inheritance on intestacy very much simpler, said Mr. Murbles, setting his knife and fork together, placing both elbows on the table and laying the indexfinger of his right hand against his left thumb in a gesture of tabulation. I bet it does, interpolated Wimsey. I know what an Act to make things simpler means. It means that the people who drew it up dont understand it themselves and that every one of its clauses needs a lawsuit to disentangle it. But do go on. Under the new Act, pursued Mr. Murbles, one half of the property goes to the husband and wife, if living, and subject to his or her lifeinterest, then all to the children equally. But if there be no spouse and no children, then it goes to the father or mother of the deceased. If the father and mother are both dead, then everything goes to the brothers and sisters of the whole blood who are living at the time, but if any brother or sister dies before the intestate, then to his or her issue. In case there are no brothers or sisters of the Stop, stop! you neednt go any further. Youre absolutely sure of that? It goes to the brothers or sisters issue? Yes. That is to say, if it were you that died intestate and your brother Gerald and your sister Mary were already dead, your money would be equally divided among your nieces and nephews. Yes, but suppose they were already dead toosuppose Id gone tediously living on till Id nothing left but greatnephews and greatnieceswould they inherit? Whywhy, yes, I suppose they would, said Mr. Murbles, with less certainty, however. Oh, yes, I think they would. Clearly they would, said Parker, a little impatiently, if it says to the issue of the deceaseds brothers and sisters. Ah! but we must not be precipitate, said Mr. Murbles, rounding upon him. To the lay mind, doubtless, the word issue appears a simple one. But in law(Mr. Murbles, who up till this point had held the indexfinger of the righthand poised against the ringfinger of the left, in recognition of the claims of the brothers and sisters of the halfblood, now placed his left palm upon the table and wagged his right indexfinger admonishingly in Parkers direction)in law the word may bear one of two, or indeed several, interpretations, according to the nature of the document in which it occurs and the date of that document. But in the new Act urged Lord Peter. I am not, particularly, said Mr. Murbles, a specialist in the law concerning property, and I should not like to give a decided opinion as to its interpretation, all the more as, up to the present, no case has come before the Courts bearing on the present issueno pun intended, ha, ha, ha! But my immediate and entirely tentative opinionwhich, however, I should advise you not to accept without the support of some weightier authoritywould be, I think, that issue in this case means issue ad infinitum, and that therefore the greatnephews and greatnieces would be entitled to inherit. But there might be another opinion? Yesthe question is a complicated one What did I tell you? groaned Peter. I knew this simplifying Act would cause a shockin lot of muddle. May I ask, said Mr. Murbles, exactly why you want to know all this? Why, sir, said Wimsey, taking from his pocketbook the genealogy of the Dawson family which he had received from the Rev. Hallelujah Dawson, here is the point. We have always talked about Mary Whittaker as Agatha Dawsons niece; she was always called so and she speaks of the old lady as her aunt. But if you look at this, you will see that actually she was no nearer to her than greatniece she was the granddaughter of Agathas sister Harriet. Quite true, said Mr. Murbles, but still, she was apparently the nearest surviving relative, and since Agatha Dawson died in 1925, the money passed without any question to Mary Whittaker under the old Property Act. Theres no ambiguity there. No, said Wimsey, none whatever, thats the point. But Good God! broke in Parker, I see what youre driving at. When did the new Act come into force, sir? In January, 1926, replied Mr. Murbles. And Miss Dawson died, rather unexpectedly, as we know, in November, 1925, went on Peter. But supposing she had lived, as the doctor fully expected her to do, till February or March, 1926are you absolutely positive, sir, that Mary Whittaker would have inherited then? Mr. Murbles opened his mouth to speakand shut it again. He rubbed his hands very slowly the one over the other. He removed his eyeglasses and resettled them more firmly on his nose. Then You are quite right, Lord Peter, he said in a grave tone, this is a very serious and important point. Much too serious for me to give an opinion on. If I understand you rightly, you are suggesting that any ambiguity in the interpretation of the new Act might provide an interested party with a very good and sufficient motive for hastening the death of Agatha Dawson. I do mean exactly that. Of course, if the greatniece inherits anyhow, the old lady might as well die under the new Act as under the old. But if there was any doubt about ithow tempting, dont you see, to give her a little push over the edge, so as to make her die in 1925. Especially as she couldnt live long anyhow, and there were no other relatives to be defrauded. That reminds me, put in Parker, suppose the greatniece is excluded from the inheritance, where does the money go? It goes to the Duchy of Lancasteror in other words, to the Crown. In fact, said Wimsey, to no one in particular. Upon my soul, I really cant see that its very much of a crime to bump a poor old thing off a bit previously when shes sufferin horribly, just to get the money she intends you to have. Why the devil should the Duchy of Lancaster have it? Who cares about the Duchy of Lancaster? Its like defrauding the Income Tax. Ethically, observed Mr. Murbles, there may be much to be said for your point of view. Legally, I am afraid, murder is murder, however frail the victim or convenient the result. And Agatha Dawson didnt want to die, added Parker, she said so. No, said Wimsey, thoughtfully, and I suppose she had a right to an opinion. I think, said Mr. Murbles, that before we go any further, we ought to consult a specialist in this branch of the law. I wonder whether Towkington is at home. He is quite the ablest authority I could name. Greatly as I dislike that modern invention, the telephone, I think it might be advisable to ring him up. Mr. Towkington proved to be at home and at liberty. The case of the greatniece was put to him over the phone. Mr. Towkington, taken at a disadvantage without his authorities, and hazarding an opinion on the spur of the moment, thought that in all probability the greatniece would be excluded from the succession under the new Act. But it was an interesting point, and he would be glad of an opportunity to verify his references. Would not Mr. Murbles come round and talk it over with him? Mr. Murbles explained that he was at that moment dining with two friends who were interested in the question. In that case, would not the two friends also come round and see Mr. Towkington? Towkington has some very excellent port, said Mr. Murbles, in a cautious aside, and clapping his hand over the mouthpiece of the telephone. Then why not go and try it? said Wimsey, cheerfully. Its only as far as Grays Inn, continued Mr. Murbles. All the better, said Lord Peter. Mr. Murbles released the telephone and thanked Mr. Towkington. The party would start at once for Grays Inn. Mr. Towkington was heard to say, Good, good, in a hearty manner before ringing off. On their arrival at Mr. Towkingtons chambers the oak was found to be hospitably unsported, and almost before they could knock, Mr. Towkington himself flung open the door and greeted them in a loud and cheerful tone. He was a large, square man with a florid face and a harsh voice. In court, he was famous for a way of saying, Come now, as a preface to tying recalcitrant witnesses into tight knots, which he would then proceed to slash open with a brilliant confutation. He knew Wimsey by sight, expressed himself delighted to meet Inspector Parker, and bustled his guests into the room with jovial shouts. Ive been going into this little matter while you were coming along, he said. Awkward, eh? ha! Astonishing thing that people cant say what they mean when they draw Acts, eh? ha! Why do you suppose it is, Lord Peter, eh? ha! Come now! I suspect its because Acts are drawn up by lawyers, said Wimsey with a grin. To make work for themselves, eh? I daresay youre right. Even lawyers must live, eh? ha! Very good. Well now, Murbles, lets just have this case again, in greater detail, dyou mind? Mr. Murbles explained the matter again, displaying the genealogical table and putting forward the point as regards a possible motive for murder. Eh, ha! exclaimed Mr. Towkington, much delighted, thats goodvery goodyour idea, Lord Peter? Very ingenious. Too ingenious. The dock at the Old Bailey is peopled by gentlemen who are too ingenious. Ha! Come to a bad end one of these days, young man. Eh? Yeswell, now, Murbles, the question here turns on the interpretation of the word issueyou grasp that, eh, ha! Yes. Well, you seem to think it means issue ad infinitum. How do you make that out, come now? I didnt say I thought it did; I said I thought it might, remonstrated Mr. Murbles, mildly. The general intention of the Act appears to be to exclude any remote kin where the common ancestor is further back than the grandparentsnot to cut off the descendants of the brothers and sisters. Intention? snapped Mr. Towkington. Im astonished at you, Murbles! The law has nothing to do with good intentions. What does the Act say? It says, To the brothers and sisters of the whole blood and their issue. Now, in the absence of any new definition, I should say that the word is here to be construed as before the Act it was construed on intestacyin so far, at any rate, as it refers to personal property, which I understand the property in question to be, eh? Yes, said Mr. Murbles. Then I dont see that you and your greatniece have a leg to stand oncome now! Excuse me, said Wimsey, but dyou mindI know lay people are awful ignorant nuisancesbut if you would be so good as to explain what the beastly word did or does mean, it would be frightfully helpful, dont you know. Ha! Well, its like this, said Mr. Towkington, graciously. Before 1837 Queen Victoria, I know, said Peter, intelligently. Quite so. At the time when Queen Victoria came to the throne, the word issue had no legal meaningno legal meaning at all. You surprise me! You are too easily surprised, said Mr. Towkington. Many words have no legal meaning. Others have a legal meaning very unlike their ordinary meaning. For example, the word daffydowndilly. It is a criminal libel to call a lawyer a daffydowndilly. Ha! Yes, I advise you never to do such a thing. No, I certainly advise you never to do it. Then again, words which are quite meaningless in your ordinary conversation may have a meaning in law. For instance, I might say to a young man like yourself, You wish to leave suchandsuch property to soandso. And you would very likely reply, Oh, yes, absolutelymeaning nothing in particular by that. But if you were to write in your will, I leave suchandsuch property to soandso absolutely, then that word would bear a definite legal meaning, and would condition your bequest in a certain manner, and might even prove an embarrassment and produce results very far from your actual intentions. Eh, ha! You see? Quite. Very well. Prior to 1837, the word issue meant nothing. A grant to A. and his issue merely gave A. a life estate. Ha! But this was altered by the Wills Act of 1837. As far as a will was concerned, put in Mr. Murbles. Precisely. After 1837, in a will, issue means heirs of the bodythat is to say, issue ad infinitum. In a deed, on the other hand, issue retained its old meaningor lack of meaning, eh, ha! You follow? Yes, said Mr. Murbles, and on intestacy of personal property I am coming to that, said Mr. Towkington. the word issue continued to mean heirs of the body, and that held good till 1926. Stop! said Mr. Towkington, issue of the child or children of the deceased certainly meant issue ad infinitumbutissue of any person not a child of the deceased only meant the child of that person and did not include other descendants. And that undoubtedly held good till 1926. And since the new Act contains no statement to the contrary, I think we must presume that it continues to hold good. Ha! Come now! In the case before us, you observe that the claimant is not the child of the deceased nor issue of the child of the deceased; nor is she the child of the deceaseds sister. She is merely the grandchild of the deceased sister of the deceased. Accordingly, I think she is debarred from inheriting under the new Act, eh? ha! I see your point, said Mr. Murbles. And moreover, went on Mr. Towkington, after 1925, issue in a will or deed does not mean issue ad infinitum. That at least is clearly stated, and the Wills Act of 1837 is revoked on that point. Not that that has any direct bearing on the question. But it may be an indication of the tendency of modern interpretation, and might possibly affect the mind of the court in deciding how the word issue was to be construed for the purposes of the new Act. Well, said Mr. Murbles, I bow to your superior knowledge. In any case, broke in Parker, any uncertainty in the matter would provide as good a motive for murder as the certainty of exclusion from inheritance. If Mary Whittaker only thought she might lose the money in the event of her greataunts surviving into 1926, she might quite well be tempted to polish her off a little earlier, and make sure. Thats true enough, said Mr. Murbles. Shrewd, very shrewd, ha! added Mr. Towkington. But you realise that all this theory of yours depends on Mary Whittakers having known about the new Act and its probable consequences as early as October, 1925, eh, ha! Theres no reason why she shouldnt, said Wimsey. I remember reading an article in the Evening Banner, I think it was, some months earlierabout the time when the Act was having its second reading. Thats what put the thing into my headI was trying to remember all evening where Id seen that thing about washing out the longlost heir, you know. Mary Whittaker may easily have seen it too. Well, shed probably have taken advice about it if she did, said Mr. Murbles. Who is her usual man of affairs? Wimsey shook his head. I dont think shed have asked him, he objected. Not if she was wise, that is. You see, if she did, and he said she probably wouldnt get anything unless Miss Dawson either made a will or died before January, 1926, and if after that the old lady did unexpectedly pop off in October, 1925, wouldnt the solicitorjohnnie feel inclined to ask questions? It wouldnt be safe, dont yknow. I xpect she went to some stranger and asked a few innocent little questions under another name, what? Probably, said Mr. Towkington. You show a remarkable disposition for crime, dont you, eh? Well, if I did go in for it, Id take reasonable precautions, retorted Wimsey. S wonderful, of course, the tomfool things murderers do do. But I have the highest opinion of Miss Whittakers brains. I bet she covered her tracks pretty well. You dont think Mr. Probyn mentioned the matter, suggested Parker, the time he went down and tried to get Miss Dawson to make her will. I dont, said Wimsey, with energy, but Im pretty certain he tried to explain matters to the old lady, only she was so terrified of the very idea of a will she wouldnt let him get a word in. But I fancy old Probyn was too downy a bird to tell the heir that her only chance of gettin the dollars was to see that her greataunt died off before the Act went through. Would you tell anybody that, Mr. Towkington? Not if I knew it, said that gentleman, grinning. It would be highly undesirable, agreed Mr. Murbles. Anyway, said Wimsey, we can easily find out. Probyns in ItalyI was going to write to him, but perhaps youd better do it, Murbles. And, in the meanwhile, Charles and I will think up a way to find whoever it was that did give Miss Whittaker an opinion on the matter.

Youre not forgetting, I suppose, said Parker, rather dryly, that before pinning down a murder to any particular motive, it is usual to ascertain that a murder has been committed? So far, all we know is that, after a careful postmortem analysis, two qualified doctors have agreed that Miss Dawson died a natural death. I wish you wouldnt keep on saying the same thing, Charles. It bores me so. Its like the Raven never flitting which, as the poet observes, still is sitting, still is sitting, inviting one to heave the pallid bust of Pallas at him and have done with it. You wait till I publish my epochmaking work The Murderers VadeMecum, or 101 Ways of Causing Sudden Death. Thatll show you Im not a man to be trifled with. Oh, well! said Parker. But he saw the Chief Commissioner next morning and reported that he was at last disposed to take the Dawson case seriously. XV Temptation of St. Peter Pierrot Scaramel, I am tempted. Scaramel Always yield to temptation. L. Housuan Prunella As Parker came out from the Chief Commissioners room, he was caught by an officer. Theres been a lady on the phone to you, he said. I told her to ring up at 1030. Its about that now. What name? A Mrs. Forrest. She wouldnt say what she wanted. Odd, thought Parker. His researches in the matter had been so unfruitful that he had practically eliminated Mrs. Forrest from the Gotobed mysterymerely keeping her filed, as it were, in the back of his mind for future reference. It occurred to him, whimsically, that she had at length discovered the absence of one of her wineglasses and was ringing him up in a professional capacity. His conjectures were interrupted by his being called to the telephone to answer Mrs. Forrests call. Is that DetectiveInspector Parker?Im so sorry to trouble you, but could you possibly give me Mr. Templetons address? Templeton? said Parker, momentarily puzzled. Wasnt it Templetonthe gentleman who came with you to see me? Oh, yes, of courseI beg your pardonIthe matter had slipped my memory. Eryou want his address? I have some information which I think he will be glad to hear. Oh, yes. You can speak quite freely to me, you know, Mrs. Forrest. Not quite freely, purred the voice at the other end of the wire, you are rather official, you know. I should prefer just to write to Mr. Templeton privately, and leave it to him to take up with you. I see. Parkers brain worked briskly. It might be inconvenient to have Mrs. Forrest writing to Mr. Templeton at 110A, Piccadilly. The letter might not be delivered. Or, if the lady were to take it into her head to call and discovered that Mr. Templeton was not known to the porter, she might take alarm and bottle up her valuable information. I think, said Parker, I ought not, perhaps, to give you Mr. Templetons address without consulting him. But you could phone him Oh, yes, that would do. Is he in the book? Nobut I can give you his private number. Thank you very much. Youll forgive my bothering you. No trouble at all. And he named Lord Peters number. Having rung off, he waited a moment and then called the number himself. Look here, Wimsey, he said, Ive had a call from Mrs. Forrest. She wants to write to you. I wouldnt give the address, but Ive given her your number, so if she calls and asks for Mr. Templeton, you will remember who you are, wont you? Rightyho! Wonder what the fair lady wants. Its probably occurred to her that she might have told a better story, and she wants to work off a few additions and improvements on you. Then shell probably give herself away. The rough sketch is frequently so much more convincing than the workedup canvas. Quite so. I couldnt get anything out of her myself. No. I expect shes thought it over and decided that its rather unusual to employ Scotland Yard to ferret out the whereabouts of errant husbands. She fancies theres something up, and that Im a nice softheaded imbecile whom she can easily pump in the absence of the official Cerberus. Probably. Well, youll deal with the matter. Im going to make a search for that solicitor. Rather a vague sort of search, isnt it? Well, Ive got an idea which may work out. Ill let you know if I get any results. Mrs. Forrests call duly came through in about twenty minutes time. Mrs. Forrest had changed her mind. Would Mr. Templeton come round and see her that eveningabout 9 oclock, if that was convenient? She had thought the matter over and preferred not to put her information on paper. Mr. Templeton would be very happy to come round. He had no other engagement. It was no inconvenience at all. He begged Mrs. Forrest not to mention it. Would Mr. Templeton be so very good as not to tell anybody about his visit? Mr. Forrest and his sleuths were continually on the watch to get Mrs. Forrest into trouble, and the decree absolute was due to come up in a months time. Any trouble with the Kings Proctor would be positively disastrous. It would be better if Mr. Templeton would come by Underground to Bond Street, and proceed to the flats on foot, so as not to leave a car standing outside the door or put a taxidriver into a position to give testimony against Mrs. Forrest. Mr. Templeton chivalrously promised to obey these directions. Mrs. Forrest was greatly obliged, and would expect him at nine oclock. Bunter! My lord. I am going out tonight. Ive been asked not to say where, so I wont. On the other hand, Ive got a kind of feelin that its unwise to disappear from mortal ken, so to speak. Anything might happen. One might have a stroke, dont you know. So Im going to leave the address in a sealed envelope. If I dont turn up before tomorrow mornin, I shall consider myself absolved from all promises, what? Very good, my lord. And if Im not to be found at that address, there wouldnt be any harm in tryinsay Epping Forest, or Wimbledon Common. Quite so, my lord. By the way, you made the photographs of those fingerprints I brought you some time ago? Oh, yes, my lord. Because possibly Mr. Parker may be wanting them presently for some inquiries he will be making. I quite understand, my lord. Nothing whatever to do with my excursion tonight, you understand. Certainly not, my lord. And now you might bring me Christies catalogue. I shall be attending a sale there and lunching at the club. And, detaching his mind from crime, Lord Peter bent his intellectual and financial powers to outbidding and breaking a ring of dealers, an exercise very congenial to his mischievous spirit. Lord Peter duly fulfilled the conditions imposed upon him, and arrived on foot at the block of flats in South Audley Street. Mrs. Forrest, as before, opened the door to him herself. It was surprising, he considered, that, situated as she was, she appeared to have neither maid nor companion. But then, he supposed, a chaperon, however disarming of suspicion in the eyes of the world, might prove venal. On the whole, Mrs. Forrests principle was a sound one no accomplices. Many transgressors, he reflected, had died because they never knew These simple little rules and few. Mrs. Forrest apologised prettily for the inconvenience to which she was putting Mr. Templeton. But I never know when I am not spied upon, she said. It is sheer spite, you know. Considering how my husband has behaved to me, I think it is monstrousdont you? Her guest agreed that Mr. Forrest must be a monster, Jesuitically, however, reserving the opinion that the monster might be a fabulous one. And now you will be wondering why I have brought you here, went on the lady. Do come and sit on the sofa. Will you have whisky or coffee? Coffee, please. The fact is, said Mrs. Forrest, that Ive had an idea since I saw you. Iyou know, having been much in the same position myself (with a slight laugh) I felt so much for your friends wife. Sylvia, put in Lord Peter with commendable promptitude. Oh, yes. Shocking temper and so on, but possibly some provocation. Yes, yes, quite. Poor woman. Feels thingsextra sensitivehighlystrung and all that, dont you know. Quite so. Mrs. Forrest nodded her fantastically turbanned head. Swathed to the eyebrows in gold tissue, with only two flat crescents of yellow hair plastered over her cheekbones, she looked, in an exotic smokingsuit of embroidered tissue, like a young prince out of the Arabian Nights. Her heavily ringed hands busied themselves with the coffeecups. WellI felt that your inquiries were really serious, you know, and though, as I told you, it had nothing to do with me, I was interested and mentioned the matter in a letter toto my friend, you see, who was with me that night. Just so, said Wimsey, taking the cup from her, yeserthat was veryerit was kind of you to be interested. Hemy friendis abroad at the moment. My letter had to follow him, and I only got his reply today. Mrs. Forrest took a sip or two of coffee as though to clear her recollection. His letter rather surprised me. He reminded me that after dinner he had felt the room rather close, and had opened the sittingroom windowthat window, therewhich overlooks South Audley Street. He noticed a car standing therea small closed one, black or dark blue or some such colour. And while he was looking idly at itthe way one does, you knowhe saw a man and woman come out of this block of flatsnot this door, but one or two along to the leftand get in and drive off. The man was in evening dress and he thought it might have been your friend. Lord Peter, with his coffeecup at his lips, paused and listened with great attention. Was the girl in evening dress, too? Nothat struck my friend particularly. She was in just a plain little dark suit, with a hat on. Lord Peter recalled to mind as nearly as possible Bertha Gotobeds costume. Was this going to be real evidence at last? Ththats very interesting, he stammered. I suppose your friend couldnt give any more exact details of the dress? No, replied Mrs. Forrest, regretfully, but he said the mans arm was round the girl as though she was feeling tired or unwell, and he heard him say, Thats rightthe fresh air will do you good. But youre not drinking your coffee. I beg your pardon Wimsey recalled himself with a start. I was dreaminputtin two and two together, as you might say. So he was along here all the timethe artful beggar. Oh, the coffee. Dyou mind if I put this away and have some without sugar? Im so sorry. Men always seem to take sugar in black coffee. Give it to meIll empty it away. Allow me. There was no slopbasin on the little table, but Wimsey quickly got up and poured the coffee into the windowbox outside. Thats all right. How about another cup for you? Thank youI oughtnt to take it really, it keeps me awake. Just a drop. Oh, well, if you like. She filled both cups and sat sipping quietly. Wellthats all, really, but I thought perhaps I ought to let you know. It was very good of you, said Wimsey. They sat talking a little longerabout plays in Town (I go out very little, you know, its better to keep oneself out of the limelight on these occasions), and books (I adore Michael Arlen). Had she read Young Men in Love yet? Noshe had ordered it from the library. Wouldnt Mr. Templeton have something to eat or drink? Really? A brandy? A liqueur? No, thank you. And Mr. Templeton felt he really ought to be slippin along now. Nodont go yetI get so lonely, these long evenings. There was a desperate kind of appeal in her voice. Lord Peter sat down again. She began a rambling and rather confused story about her friend. She had given up so much for the friend. And now that her divorce was really coming off, she had a terrible feeling that perhaps the friend was not as affectionate as he used to be. It was very difficult for a woman, and life was very hard. And so on. As the minutes passed, Lord Peter became uncomfortably aware that she was watching him. The words tumbled outhurriedly, yet lifelessly, like a set task, but her eyes were the eyes of a person who expects something. Something alarming, he decided, yet something she was determinded to have. It reminded him of a man waiting for an operationkeyed up to itknowing that it will do him goodyet shrinking from it with all his senses. He kept up his end of the fatuous conversation. Behind a barrage of smalltalk, his mind ran quickly to and fro, analysing the position, getting the range Suddenly he became aware that she was tryingclumsily, stupidly and as though in spite of herselfto get him to make love to her. The fact itself did not strike Wimsey as odd. He was rich enough, wellbred enough, attractive enough and man of the world enough to have received similar invitations fairly often in his thirtyseven years of life. And not always from experienced women. There had been those who sought experience as well as those qualified to bestow it. But so awkward an approach by a woman who admitted to already possessing a husband and a lover was a phenomenon outside his previous knowledge. Moreover, he felt that the thing would be a nuisance. Mrs. Forrest was handsome enough, but she had not a particle of attraction for him. For all her makeup and her somewhat outspoken costume, she struck him as spinsterisheven epicene. That was the thing which puzzled him during their previous interview. Parkera young man of rigid virtue and limited worldly knowledgewas not sensitive to these emanations. But Wimsey had felt her as something essentially sexless, even then. And he felt it even more strongly now. Never had he met a woman in whom the great It, eloquently hymned by Mrs. Elinor Glyn, was so completely lacking. Her bare shoulder was against him now, marking his broadcloth with white patches of powder. Blackmail was the first explanation that occurred to him. The next move would be for the fabulous Mr. Forrest, or someone representing him, to appear suddenly in the doorway, aglow with virtuous wrath and outraged sensibilities. A very pretty little trap, thought Wimsey, adding aloud, Well, I really must be getting along. She caught him by the arm. Dont go. There was no caress in the touchonly a kind of desperation. He thought, If she really made a practice of this, she would do it better. Truly, he said, I oughtnt to stay longer. It wouldnt be safe for you. Ill risk it, she said. A passionate woman might have said it passionately. Or with a brave gaiety. Or challengingly. Or alluringly. Or mysteriously. She said it grimly. Her fingers dug at his arm. Well, damn it all, Ill risk it, thought Wimsey. I must and will know what its all about. Poor little woman. He coaxed into his voice the throaty, fatuous tone of the man who is preparing to make an amorous fool of himself. He felt her body stiffen as he slipped his arm round her, but she gave a little sigh of relief. He pulled her suddenly and violently to him, and kissed her mouth with a practised exaggeration of passion. He knew then. No one who has ever encountered it can ever again mistake that awful shrinking, that uncontrollable revulsion of the flesh against a caress that is nauseous. He thought for a moment that she was going to be actually sick. He released her gently, and stood uphis mind in a whirl, but somehow triumphant. His first instinct had been right, after all. That was very naughty of me, he said, lightly. You made me forget myself. You will forgive me, wont you? She nodded, shaken. And I really must toddle. Its gettin frightfully late and all that. Wheres my hat? Ah, yes, in the hall. Now, goodbye, Mrs. Forrest, an take care of yourself. An thank you ever so much for telling me about what your friend saw. You are really going? She spoke as though she had lost all hope. In Gods name, thought Wimsey, what does she want? Does she suspect that Mr. Templeton is not everything that he seems? Does she want me to stay the night so that she can get a look at the laundrymark on my shirt? Should I suddenly save the situation for her by offering her Lord Peter Wimseys visitingcard? His brain toyed freakishly with the thought as he babbled his way to the door. She let him go without further words. As he stepped into the hall he turned and looked at her. She stood in the middle of the room, watching him, and on her face was such a fury of fear and rage as turned his blood to water. XVI A CastIron Alibi Oh, Sammy, Sammy, why vornt there an alleybi? Pickwick Papers Miss Whittaker and the youngest Miss Findlater had returned from their expedition. Miss Climpson, most faithful of sleuths, and carrying Lord Peters letter of instructions in the pocket of her skirt like a talisman, had asked the youngest Miss Findlater to tea. As a matter of fact, Miss Climpson had become genuinely interested in the girl. Silly affectation and gush, and a parrotrepetition of the shibboleths of the modern school were symptoms that the experienced spinster well understood. They indicated, she thought, a real unhappiness, a real dissatisfaction with the narrowness of life in a country town. And besides this, Miss Climpson felt sure that Vera Findlater was being preyed upon, as she expressed it to herself, by the handsome Mary Whittaker. It would be a mercy for the girl, thought Miss Climpson, if she could form a genuine attachment to a young man. It is natural for a schoolgirl to be schwrmerischin a young woman of twentytwo it is thoroughly undesirable. That Whittaker woman encourages itshe would, of course. She likes to have someone to admire her and run her errands. And she prefers it to be a stupid person, who will not compete with her. If Mary Whittaker were to marry, she would marry a rabbit. (Miss Climpsons active mind quickly conjured up a picture of the rabbitfairhaired and a little paunchy, with a habit of saying, Ill ask the wife. Miss Climpson wondered why Providence saw fit to create such men. For Miss Climpson, men were intended to be masterful, even though wicked or foolish. She was a spinster made and not borna perfectly womanly woman.) But, thought Miss Climpson, Mary Whittaker is not of the marrying sort. She is a professional woman by nature. She has a profession, by the way, but she does not intend to go back to it. Probably nursing demands too much sympathyand one is under the authority of the doctors. Mary Whittaker prefers to control the lives of chicken. Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven. Dear me! I wonder if it is uncharitable to compare a fellowbeing to Satan. Only in poetry, of courseI daresay that makes it not so bad. At any rate, I am certain that Mary Whittaker is doing Vera Findlater no good. Miss Climpsons guest was very ready to tell about their month in the country. They had toured round at first for a few days, and then they had heard of a delightful poultry farm which was for sale, near Orpington in Kent. So they had gone down to have a look at it, and found that it was to be sold in about a fortnights time. It wouldnt have been wise, of course, to take it over without some inquiries, and by the greatest good fortune they found a dear little cottage to let, furnished, quite close by. So they had taken it for a few weeks, while Miss Whittaker looked round and found out about the state of the poultry business in that district, and so on. They had enjoyed it so, and it was delightful keeping house together, right away from all the silly people at home. Of course, I dont mean you, Miss Climpson. You come from London and are so much more broadminded. But I simply cant stick the Leahampton lot, nor can Mary. It is very delightful, said Miss Climpson, to be free from the conventions, Im sureespecially if one is in company with a kindred spirit. Yesof course Mary and I are tremendous friends, though she is so much cleverer than I am. Its absolutely settled that were to take the farm and run it together. Wont it be wonderful? Wont you find it rather dull and lonelyjust you two girls together? You mustnt forget that youve been accustomed to see quite a lot of young people in Leahampton. Shant you miss the tennisparties, and the young men, and so on? Oh, no! If you only knew what a stupid lot they are! Anyway, Ive no use for men! Miss Findlater tossed her head. They havent got any ideas. And they always look on women as sort of pets or playthings. As if a woman like Mary wasnt worth fifty of them! You should have heard that Markham man the other daytalking politics to Mr. Tredgold, so that nobody could get a word in edgeways, and then saying, Im afraid this is a very dull subject of conversation for you, Miss Whittaker, in his condescending way. Mary said in that quiet way of hers, Oh, I think the subject is anything but dull, Mr. Markham. But he was so stupid, he couldnt even grasp that and said, One doesnt expect ladies to be interested in politics, you know. But perhaps you are one of the modern young ladies who want the flappers vote. Ladies, indeed! Why are men so insufferable when they talk about ladies? I think men are apt to be jealous of women, replied Miss Climpson, thoughtfully, and jealousy does make people rather peevish and illmannered. I suppose that when one would like to despise a set of people and yet has a horrid suspicion that one cant genuinely despise them, it makes one exaggerate ones contempt for them in conversation. That is why, my dear, I am always very careful not to speak sneeringly about meneven though they often deserve it, you know. But if I did, everybody would think I was an envious old maid, wouldnt they? Well, I mean to be an old maid, anyhow, retorted Miss Findlater. Mary and I have quite decided that. Were interested in things, not in men. Youve made a good start at finding out how its going to work, said Miss Climpson. Living with a person for a month is an excellent test. I suppose you had somebody to do the housework for you. Not a soul. We did every bit of it, and it was great fun. Im ever so good at scrubbing floors and laying fires and things, and Marys a simply marvellous cook. It was such a change from having the servants always bothering round like they do at home. Of course, it was quite a modern, laboursaving cottageit belongs to some theatrical people, I think. And what did you do when you werent inquiring into the poultry business? Oh, we ran round in the car and saw places and attended markets. Markets are frightfully amusing, with all the funny old farmers and people. Of course, Id often been to markets before, but Mary made it all so interestingand then, too, we were picking up hints all the time for our own marketing later on. Did you run up to Town at all? No. I should have thought youd have taken the opportunity for a little jaunt. Mary hates Town. I thought you rather enjoyed a run up now and then. Im not keen. Not now. I used to think I was, but I expect that was only the sort of spiritual restlessness one gets when one hasnt an object in life. Theres nothing in it. Miss Findlater spoke with the air of a disillusioned rake, who has sucked lifes orange and found it dead sea fruit. Miss Climpson did not smile. She was accustomed to the role of confidante. So you were togetherjust you twoall the time? Every minute of it. And we werent bored with one another a bit. I hope your experiment will prove very successful, said Miss Climpson. But when you really start on your life together, dont you think it would be wise to arrange for a few breaks in it? A little change of companionship is good for everybody. Ive known so many happy friendships spoilt by people seeing too much of one another. They couldnt have been real friendships, then, asserted the girl, dogmatically. Mary and I are absolutely happy together. Still, said Miss Climpson, if you dont mind an old woman giving you a word of warning, I should be inclined not to keep the bow always bent. Suppose Miss Whittaker, for instance, wanted to go off and have a day in Town on her own, sayor go to stay with friendsyou would have to learn not to mind that. Of course I shouldnt mind. Why she checked herself. I mean, Im quite sure that Mary would be every bit as loyal to me as I am to her. Thats right, said Miss Climpson. The longer I live, my dear, the more certain I become that jealousy is the most fatal of feelings. The Bible calls it cruel as the grave, and Im sure that is so. Absolute loyalty, without jealousy, is the essential thing. Yes. Though naturally one would hate to think that the person one was really friends with was putting another person in ones place Miss Climpson, you do believe, dont you, that a friendship ought to be fiftyfifty? That is the ideal friendship, I suppose, said Miss Climpson, thoughtfully, but I think it is a very rare thing. Among women, that is. I doubt very much if Ive ever seen an example of it. Men, I believe, find it easier to give and take in that wayprobably because they have so many outside interests. Mens friendshipsoh yes! I know one hears a lot about them. But half the time, I dont believe theyre real friendships at all. Men can go off for years and forget all about their friends. And they dont really confide in one another. Mary and I tell each other all our thoughts and feelings. Men seem just content to think each other good sorts without ever bothering about their inmost selves. Probably thats why their friendships last so well, replied Miss Climpson. They dont make such demands on one another. But a great friendship does make demands, cried Miss Findlater eagerly. Its got to be just everything to one. Its wonderful the way it seems to colour all ones thoughts. Instead of being centred in oneself, ones centred in the other person. Thats what Christian love meansones ready to die for the other person. Well, I dont know, said Miss Climpson. I once heard a sermon about that from a most splendid priestand he said that that kind of love might become idolatry if one wasnt very careful. He said that Miltons remark about Eveyou know, he for God only, she for God in himwas not congruous with Catholic doctrine. One must get the proportions right, and it was out of proportion to see everything through the eyes of another fellowcreature. One must put God first, of course, said Miss Findlater, a little formally. But if the friendship is mutualthat was the pointquite unselfish on both sides, it must be a good thing. Love is always good, when its the right kind, agreed Miss Climpson, but I dont think it ought to be too possessive. One has to train oneself she hesitated, and went on courageouslyand in any case, my dear, I cannot help feeling that it is more naturalmore proper, in a sensefor a man and woman to be all in all to one another than for two persons of the same sex. Erafter all, it is aa fruitful affection, said Miss Climpson, boggling a trifle at this idea, andand all that, you know, and I am sure that when the right man comes along for you Bother the right man! cried Miss Findlater, crossly. I do hate that kind of talk. It makes one feel dreadfullike a prize cow or something. Surely, we have got beyond that point of view in these days. Miss Climpson perceived that she had let her honest zeal outrun her detective discretion. She had lost the goodwill of her informant, and it was better to change the conversation. However, she could assure Lord Peter now of one thing. Whoever the woman was that Mrs. Cropper had seen at Liverpool, it was not Miss Whittaker. The attached Miss Findlater, who had never left her friends side, was sufficient guarantee of that. XVII The Country Lawyers Story And he that gives us in these days new lords may give us new laws. Wither Contented Mans Morrice Letter from Mr. Probyn, retired Solicitor, of Villa Bianca, Fiesole to Mr. Murbles, Solicitor, of Staple Inn. Private and confidential Dear Sir, I was much interested in your letter relative to the death of Miss Agatha Dawson, late of Leahampton, and will do my best to answer your inquiries as briefly as possible, always, of course, on the understanding that all information as to the affairs of my late client will be treated as strictly confidential. I make an exception, of course, in favour of the police officer you mention in connection with the matter. You wish to know (1) whether Miss Agatha Dawson was aware that it might possibly prove necessary, under the provisions of the new Act, for her to make a testamentary disposition, in order to ensure that her greatniece, Miss Mary Whittaker, should inherit her personal property. (2) Whether I ever urged her to make this testamentary disposition and what her reply was. (3) Whether I had made Miss Mary Whittaker aware of the situation in which she might be placed, supposing her greataunt to die intestate later than December 31, 1925. In the course of the Spring of 1925, my attention was called by a learned friend to the ambiguity of the wording of certain clauses in the Act, especially in respect of the failure to define the precise interpretation to be placed on the word Issue. I immediately passed in review the affairs of my various clients, with a view to satisfying myself that the proper dispositions had been made in each case to avoid misunderstanding and litigation in case of intestacy. I at once realised that Miss Whittakers inheritance of Miss Dawsons property entirely depended on the interpretation given to the clauses in question. I was aware that Miss Dawson was extremely averse from making a will, owing to that superstitious dread of decease which we meet with so frequently in our profession. However, I thought it my duty to make her understand the question and to do my utmost to get a will signed. Accordingly, I went down to Leahampton and laid the matter before her. This was on March the 14th, or thereaboutsI am not certain to the precise day. Unhappily, I encountered Miss Dawson at a moment when her opposition to the obnoxious idea of making a will was at its strongest. Her doctor had informed her that a further operation would become necessary in the course of the next few weeks, and I could have selected no more unfortunate occasion for intruding the subject of death upon her mind. She resented any such suggestionthere was a conspiracy, she declared, to frighten her into dying under the operation. It appears that that very tactless practitioner of hers had frightened her with a similar suggestion before her previous operation. But she had come through that and she meant to come through this, if only people would not anger and alarm her. Of course, if she had died under the operation, the whole question would have settled itself and there would have been no need of any will. I pointed out that the very reason why I was anxious for the will to be made was that I fully expected her to live on into the following year, and I explained the provisions of the Act once more, as clearly as I could. She retorted that in that case I had no business to come and trouble her about the question at all. It would be time enough when the Act was passed. Naturally, the fool of a doctor had insisted that she was not to be told what her disease wasthey always doand she was convinced that the next operation would make all right and that she would live for years. When I ventured to insistgiving as my reason that we men of law always preferred to be on the safe and cautious side, she became exceedingly angry with me, and practically ordered me out of the house. A few days afterwards I received a letter from her, complaining of my impertinence, and saying that she could no longer feel any confidence in a person who treated her with such inconsiderate rudeness. At her request, I forwarded all her private papers in my possession to Mr. Hodgson, of Leahampton, and I have not held any communication with any member of the family since that date. This answers your first and second questions. With regard to the third I certainly did not think it proper to inform Miss Whittaker that her inheritance might depend upon her greataunts either making a will or else dying before December 31, 1925.

While I know nothing to the young ladys disadvantage, I have always held it inadvisable that persons should know too exactly how much they stand to gain by the unexpected decease of other persons. In case of any unforeseen accident, the heirs may find themselves in an equivocal position, where the fact of their possessing such knowledge mightif made publicbe highly prejudicial to their interests. The most that I thought it proper to say was that if at any time Miss Dawson should express a wish to see me, I should like to be sent for without delay. Of course, the withdrawal of Miss Dawsons affairs from my hands put it out of my power to interfere any further. In October, 1925, feeling that my health was not what it had been, I retired from business and came to Italy. In this country the English papers do not always arrive regularly, and I missed the announcement of Miss Dawsons death. That it should have occurred so suddenly and under circumstances somewhat mysterious, is certainly interesting. You say further that you would be glad of my opinion on Miss Agatha Dawsons mental condition at the time when I last saw her. It was perfectly clear and competentin so far as she was ever competent to deal with business. She was in no way gifted to grapple with legal problems, and I had extreme difficulty in getting her to understand what the trouble was with regard to the new Property Act. Having been brought up all her life to the idea that property went of right to the next of kin, she found it inconceivable that this state of things should ever alter. She assured me that the law would never permit the Government to pass such an Act. When I had reluctantly persuaded her that it would, she was quite sure that no court would be wicked enough to interpret the Act so as to give the money to anybody but Miss Whittaker, when she was clearly the proper person to have it. Why should the Duchy of Lancaster have any right to it? she kept on saying. I dont even know the Duke of Lancaster. She was not a particularly sensible woman, and in the end I was not at all sure that I had made her comprehend the situationquite apart from the dislike she had of pursuing the subject. However, there is no doubt that she was then quite compos mentis. My reason for urging her to make the will before her final operation was, of course, that I feared she might subsequently lose the use of her faculties, orwhich comes to the same thing from a business point of viewmight have to be kept continually under the influence of opiates. Trusting that you will find here the information you require, I remain, Yours faithfully, Thos. Probyn. Mr. Murbles read this letter through twice, very thoughtfully. To even his cautious mind, the thing began to look like the makings of a case. In his neat, elderly hand, he wrote a little note to DetectiveInspector Parker, begging him to call at Staple Inn at his earliest convenience. Mr. Parker, however, was experiencing nothing at that moment but inconvenience. He had been calling on solicitors for two whole days, and his soul sickened at the sight of a brass plate. He glanced at the long list in his hand, and distastefully counted up the scores of names that still remained unticked. Parker was one of those methodical, painstaking people whom the world could so ill spare. When he worked with Wimsey on a case, it was an understood thing that anything lengthy, intricate, tedious and souldestroying was done by Parker. He sometimes felt that it was irritating of Wimsey to take this so much for granted. He felt so now. It was a hot day. The pavements were dusty. Pieces of paper blew about the streets. Buses were grilling outside and stuffy inside. The Express Dairy, where Parker was eating a hurried lunch, seemed full of the odours of fried plaice and boiling teaurns. Wimsey, he knew, was lunching at his club, before running down with Freddy Arbuthnot to see the New Zealanders at somewhere or other. He had seen hima vision of exquisite pale grey, ambling gently along Pall Mall. Damn Wimsey! Why couldnt he have let Miss Dawson rest quietly in her grave? There she was, doing no harm to anybodyand Wimsey must insist on prying into her affairs and bringing the inquiry to such a point that Parker simply had to take official notice of it. Oh well! he supposed he must go on with these infernal solicitors. He was proceeding on a system of his own, which might or might not prove fruitful. He had reviewed the subject of the new Property Act, and decided that if and when Miss Whittaker had become aware of its possible effect on her own expectations, she would at once consider taking legal advice. Her first thought would no doubt be to consult a solicitor in Leahampton, and unless she already had the idea of foul play in her mind, there was nothing to deter her from doing so. Accordingly, Parkers first move had been to run down to Leahampton and interview the three firms of solicitors there. All three were able to reply quite positively that they had never received such an inquiry from Miss Whittaker, or from anybody, during the year 1925. One solicitor, indeedthe senior partner of Hodgson Hodgson, to whom Miss Dawson had entrusted her affairs after her quarrel with Mr. Probynlooked a little oddly at Parker when he heard the question. I assure you, Inspector, he said, that if the point had been brought to my notice in such a way, I should certainly have remembered it, in the light of subsequent events. The matter never crossed your mind, I suppose, said Parker, when the question arose of winding up the estate and proving Miss Whittakers claim to inherit? I cant say it did. Had there been any question of searching for nextofkin it mightI dont say it wouldhave occurred to me. But I had a very clear history of the family connections from Mr. Probyn, the death took place nearly two months before the Act came into force, and the formalities all went through more or less automatically. In fact, I never thought about the Act one way or another in that connection. Parker said he was not surprised to hear it, and favoured Mr. Hodgson with Mr. Towkingtons learned opinion on the subject, which interested Mr. Hodgson very much. And that was all he got at Leahampton, except that he fluttered Miss Climpson very much by calling upon her and hearing all about her interview with Vera Findlater. Miss Climpson walked to the station with him, in the hope that they might meet Miss WhittakerI am sure you would be interested to see herbut they were unlucky. On the whole, thought Parker, it might be just as well. After all, though he would like to see Miss Whittaker, he was not particularly keen on her seeing him, especially in Miss Climpsons company. By the way, he said to Miss Climpson, you had better explain me in some way to Mrs. Budge, or she may be a bit inquisitive. But I have, replied Miss Climpson, with an engaging giggle, when Mrs. Budge said there was a Mr. Parker to see me, of course I realised at once that she mustnt know who you were, so I said, quite quickly, Mr. Parker! Oh, that must be my nephew Adolphus. You dont mind being Adolphus, do you? Its funny, but that was the only name that came into my mind at the moment. I cant think why, for Ive never known an Adolphus. Miss Climpson said Parker, solemnly, you are a marvellous woman, and I wouldnt mind even if youd called me Marmaduke. So here he was, working out his second line of inquiry. If Miss Whittaker did not go to a Leahampton solicitor, to whom would she go? There was Mr. Probyn, of course, but he did not think she would have selected him. She would not have known him at Crofton, of courseshe had never actually lived with her greataunts. She had met him the day he came down to Leahampton to see Miss Dawson. He had not then taken her into his confidence about the object of his visit, but she must have known from what her aunt said that it had to do with the making of a will. In the light of her new knowledge, she would guess that Mr. Probyn had then had the Act in his mind, and had not thought fit to trust her with the facts. If she asked him now, he would probably reply that Miss Dawsons affairs were no longer in his hands, and refer her to Mr. Hodgson. And besides, if she asked the question and anything were to happenMr. Probyn might remember it. No, she would not have approached Mr. Probyn. What then? To the person who has anything to concealto the person who wants to lose his identity as one leaf among the leaves of a forestto the person who asks no more than to pass by and be forgotten, there is one name above others which promises a haven of safety and oblivion. London. Where no one knows his neighbour. Where shops do not know their customers. Where physicians are suddenly called to unknown patients whom they never see again. Where you may lie dead in your house for months together unmissed and unnoticed till the gasinspector comes to look at the meter. Where strangers are friendly and friends are casual. London, whose rather untidy and grubby bosom is the repository of so many odd secrets. Discreet, incurious and allenfolding London. Not that Parker put it that way to himself. He merely thought, Ten to one shed try London. They mostly think theyre safer there. Miss Whittaker knew London, of course. She had trained at the Royal Free. That meant she would know Bloomsbury better than any other district. For nobody knew better than Parker how rarely Londoners move out of their own particular little orbit. Unless, of course, she had at some time during her time at the hospital been recommended to a solicitor in another quarter, the chances were that she would have gone to a solicitor in the Bloomsbury or Holborn district. Unfortunately for Parker, this is a quarter which swarms with solicitors. Grays Inn Road, Grays Inn itself, Bedford Row, Holborn, Lincolns Innthe brass plates grow all about as thick as blackberries. Which was why Parker was feeling so hot, tired and fedup that June afternoon. With an impatient grunt he pushed away his eggy plate, paidatthedeskplease, and crossed the road towards Bedford Row, which he had marked down as his portion for the afternoon. He started at the first solicitors he came to, which happened to be the office of one J. F. Trigg. He was lucky. The youth in the outer office informed him that Mr. Trigg had just returned from lunch, was disengaged, and would see him. Would he walk in? Mr. Trigg was a pleasant, freshfaced man in his early forties. He begged Mr. Parker to be seated and asked what he could do for him. For the thirtyseventh time, Parker started on the opening gambit which he had devised to suit his purpose. I am only temporarily in London, Mr. Trigg, and finding I needed legal advice I was recommended to you by a man I met in a restaurant. He did give me his name, but it has escaped me, and anyway, its of no great importance, is it? The point is this. My wife and I have come up to Town to see her greataunt, who is in a very bad way. In fact, she isnt expected to live. Well, now, the old lady has always been very fond of my wife, dont you see, and it has always been an understood thing that Mrs. Parker was to come into her money when she died. Its quite a tidy bit, and we have beenI wont say looking forward to it, but in a kind of mild way counting on it as something for us to retire upon later on. You understand. There arent any other relations at all, so, though the old lady has often talked about making a will, we didnt worry much, one way or the other, because we took it for granted my wife would come in for anything there was. But we were talking about it to a friend yesterday, and he took us rather aback by saying that there was a new law or something, and that if my wifes greataunt hadnt made a will we shouldnt get anything at all. I think he said it would all go to the Crown. I didnt think that could be right and told him so, but my wife is a bit nervousthere are the children to be considered, you seeand she urged me to get legal advice, because her greataunt may go off at any minute, and we dont know whether there is a will or not. Now, how does a greatniece stand under the new arrangements? The point has not been made very clear, said Mr. Trigg, but my advice to you is, to find out whether a will has been made and if not, to get one made without delay if the testatrix is capable of making one. Otherwise I think there is a very real danger of your wifes losing her inheritance. You seem quite familiar with the question, said Parker, with a smile; I suppose you are always being asked it since this new Act came in? I wouldnt say always. It is comparatively rare for a greatniece to be left as sole nextofkin. Is it? Well, yes, I should think it must be. Do you remember being asked that question in the summer of 1925, Mr. Trigg? A most curious expression came over the solicitors faceit looked almost like alarm. What makes you ask that? You need have no hesitation in answering, said Parker, taking out his official card. I am a police officer and have a good reason for asking. I put the legal point to you first as a problem of my own, because I was anxious to have your professional opinion first. I see. Well, Inspector, in that case I suppose I am justified in telling you all about it. I was asked that question in June, 1925. Do you remember the circumstances? Clearly. I am not likely to forget themor rather, the sequel to them. That sounds interesting. Will you tell the story in your own way and with all the details you can remember? Certainly. Just a moment. Mr. Trigg put his head out into the outer office. Badcock, I am engaged with Mr. Parker and cant see anybody. Now, Mr. Parker, I am at your service. Wont you smoke? Parker accepted the invitation and lit up his wellworn briar, while Mr. Trigg, rapidly smoking cigarette after cigarette, unfolded his remarkable story. XVIII The London Lawyers Story I who am given to novelreading, how often have I gone out with the doctor when the stranger has summoned him to visit the unknown patient in the lonely house This Strange Adventure may lead, in a later chapter, to the revealing of a mysterious crime. The Londoner I think, said Mr. Trigg, that it was on the 15th, or 16th June, 1925, that a lady called to ask almost exactly the same question that you have doneonly that she represented herself as inquiring on behalf of a friend whose name she did not mention. YesI think I can describe her pretty well. She was tall and handsome, with a very clear skin, dark hair and blue eyesan attractive girl. I remember that she had very fine brows, rather straight, and not much colour in her face, and she was dressed in something summery but very neat. I should think it would be called an embroidered linen dressI am not an expert on those thingsand a shady white hat of panama straw. Your recollection seems very clear, said Parker. It is; I have rather a good memory; besides, I saw her on other occasions, as you shall hear. At this first visit she told memuch as you didthat she was only temporarily in Town, and had been casually recommended to me. I told her that I should not like to answer her question offhand. The Act, you may remember, had only recently passed its Final Reading, and I was by no means up in it. Besides, from just skimming through it, I had convinced myself that various important questions were bound to crop up. I told the ladyMiss Grant was the name she gave, by the waythat I should like to take counsels opinion before giving her any advice, and asked if she could call again the following day. She said she could, rose and thanked me, offering me her hand. In taking it, I happened to notice rather an odd scar, running across the backs of all the fingersrather as though a chisel or something had slipped at some time. I noticed it quite idly, of course, but it was lucky for me I did. Miss Grant duly turned up the next day. I had looked up a very learned friend in the interval, and gave her the same opinion that I gave you just now. She looked rather concerned about itin fact, almost more annoyed than concerned. It seems rather unfair, she said, that peoples family money should go away to the Crown like that. After all, a greatniece is quite a near relation, really. I replied that, provided the greatniece could call witnesses to prove that the deceased had always had the intention of leaving her the money, the Crown would, in all probability, allot the estate, or a suitable proportion of it, in accordance with the wishes of the deceased. It would, however, lie entirely within the discretion of the court to do so or not, and, of course, if there had been any quarrel or dispute about the matter at any time, the judge might take an unfavourable view of the greatnieces application. In any case, I added, I dont know that the greatniece is excluded under the ActI only understand that she may be. In any case, there are still six months before the Act comes into force, and many things may happen before then. You mean that Auntie may die, she said, but shes not really dangerously illonly mental, as Nurse calls it. Anyhow, she went away then after paying my fee, and I noticed that the friends greataunt had suddenly become Auntie, and decided that my client felt a certain personal interest in the matter. I fancy she had, said Parker. When did you see her again? Oddly enough, I ran across her in the following December. I was having a quick and early dinner in Soho, before going on to a show. The little place I usually patronise was very full, and I had to sit at a table where a woman was already seated. As I muttered the usual formula about Was anybody sitting there, she looked up, and I promptly recognised my client. Why, how do you do, Miss Grant? I said. I beg your pardon, she replied, rather stiffly. I think you are mistaken. I beg your pardon, said I, stiffer still, my name is Trigg, and you came to consult me in Bedford Row last June. But if I am intruding, I apologise and withdraw. She smiled then, and said, Im sorry, I did not recognise you for the moment. I obtained permission to sit at her table. By way of starting a conversation, I asked whether she had taken any further advice in the matter of the inheritance. She said no, she had been quite content with what I had told her. Still to make conversation, I inquired whether the greataunt had made a will after all. She replied, rather briefly, that it had not been necessary; the old lady had died. I noticed that she was dressed in black, and was confirmed in my opinion that she herself was the greatniece concerned. We talked for some time, Inspector, and I will not conceal from you that I found Miss Grant a very interesting personality. She had an almost masculine understanding. I may say I am not the sort of man who prefers women to be brainless. No, I am rather modern in that respect. If ever I was to take a wife, Inspector, I should wish her to be an intelligent companion. Parker said Mr. Triggs attitude did him great credit. He also made the mental observation that Mr. Trigg would probably not object to marrying a young woman who had inherited money and was unencumbered with relations. It is rare, went on Mr. Trigg, to find a woman with a legal mind. Miss Grant was unusual in that respect. She took a great interest in some case or other that was prominent in the newspapers at the timeI forget now what it wasand asked me some remarkably sensible and intelligent questions. I must say that I quite enjoyed our conversation. Before dinner was over, we had got on to more personal topics, in the course of which I happened to mention that I lived in Golders Green. Did she give you her own address? She said she was staying at the Peveril Hotel in Bloomsbury, and that she was looking for a house in Town. I said that I might possibly hear of something out Hampstead way, and offered my professional services in case she should require them. After dinner I accompanied her back to her hotel, and bade her goodbye in the lounge. She was really staying there, then? Apparently. However, about a fortnight later, I happened to hear of a house in Golders Green that had fallen vacant suddenly. It belonged, as a matter of fact, to a client of mine. In pursuance of my promise, I wrote to Miss Grant at the Peveril. Receiving no reply, I made inquiries there, and found that she had left the hotel the day after our meeting, leaving no address. In the hotel register, she had merely given her address as Manchester. I was somewhat disappointed, but thought no more about the matter. About a month lateron January 26th, to be exact, I was sitting at home reading a book, preparatory to retiring to bed. I should say that I occupy a flat, or rather maisonette, in a small house which has been divided to make two establishments. The people on the ground floor were away at that time, so that I was quite alone in the house. My housekeeper only comes in by the day. The telephone rangI noticed the time. It was a quarter to eleven. I answered it, and a womans voice spoke, begging me to come instantly to a certain house on Hampstead Heath, to make a will for someone who was at the point of death. Did you recognise the voice? No. It sounded like a servants voice. At any rate, it had a strong cockney accent. I asked whether tomorrow would not be time enough, but the voice urged me to hurry or it might be too late. Rather annoyed, I put my things on and went out. It was a most unpleasant night, cold and foggy. I was lucky enough to find a taxi on the nearest rank. We drove to the address, which we had great difficulty in finding, as everything was pitchblack. It turned out to be a small house in a very isolated position on the Heathin fact, there was no proper approach to it. I left the taxi on the road, about a couple of hundred yards off, and asked the man to wait for me, as I was very doubtful of ever finding another taxi in that spot at that time of night. He grumbled a good deal, but consented to wait if I promised not to be very long. I made my way to the house. At first I thought it was quite dark, but presently I saw a faint glimmer in a groundfloor room. I rang the bell. No answer, though I could hear it trilling loudly. I rang again and knocked. Still no answer. It was bitterly cold. I struck a match to be sure I had come to the right house, and then I noticed that the front door was ajar. I thought that perhaps the servant who had called me was so much occupied with her sick mistress as to be unable to leave her to come to the door. Thinking that in that case I might be of assistance to her, I pushed the door open and went in. The hall was perfectly dark, and I bumped against an umbrellastand in entering. I thought I heard a faint voice calling or moaning, and when my eyes had become accustomed to the darkness, I stumbled forward, and saw a dim light coming from a door on the left. Was that the room which you had seen to be illumined from outside? I think so. I called out, May I come in? and a very low, weak voice replied, Yes, please. I pushed the door open and entered a room furnished as a sittingroom. In one corner there was a couch, on which some bedclothes appeared to have been hurriedly thrown to enable it to be used as a bed. On the couch lay a woman, all alone. I could only dimly make her out. There was no light in the room except a small oillamp, with a green shade so tilted as to keep the light from the sick womans eyes. There was a fire in the grate, but it had burnt low. I could see, however, that the womans head and face were swathed in white bandages. I put out my hand and felt for the electric switch, but she called out No light, pleaseit hurts me. How did she see you put your hand to the switch? Well, said Mr. Trigg, that was an odd thing. She didnt speak, as a matter of fact, till I had actually clicked the switch down. But nothing happened. The light didnt come on. Really? No. I supposed that the bulb had been taken away or had gone phut. However, I said nothing, and came up to the bed. She said in a sort of halfwhisper, Is that the lawyer? I said, Yes, and asked what I could do for her. She said, I have had a terrible accident. I cant live. I want to make my will quickly. I asked whether there was nobody with her. Yes, yes, she said in a hurried way, my servant will be back in a moment. She has gone to look for a doctor. But, I said, couldnt she have rung up? You are not fit to be left alone. We couldnt get through to one, she replied, its all right. She will be here soon. Dont waste time. I must make my will. She spoke in a dreadful, gasping way, and I felt that the best thing would be to do what she wanted, for fear of agitating her. I drew a chair to the table where the lamp was, got out my fountain pen and a printed willform with which I had provided myself, and expressed myself ready to receive her instructions. Before beginning, she asked me to give her a little brandy and water from a decanter which stood on the table. I did so, and she took a small sip, which seemed to revive her. I placed the glass near her hand, and at her suggestion mixed another glass for myself. I was very glad of it, for, as I said, it was a beast of a night, and the room was cold. I looked round for some extra coals to put on the fire, but could see none. That, said Parker, is extremely interesting and suggestive. I thought it queer at the time. But the whole thing was queer. Anyway, I then said I was ready to begin. She said, You may think I am a little mad, because my head has been so hurt. But I am quite sane. But he shant have a penny of the money. I asked her if someone had attacked her. She replied, My husband. He thinks he has killed me. But I am going to live long enough to will the money away. She then said that her name was Mrs. Marion Mead, and proceeded to make a will, leaving her estate, which amounted to about 10,000, among various legatees, including a daughter and three or four sisters. It was rather a complicated will, as it included various devices for tying up the daughters money in a trust, so as to prevent her from ever handing over any of it to the father. Did you make a note of the names and addresses of the people involved? I did, but, as you will see later on, I could make no use of them. The testatrix was certainly clearheaded enough about the provisions of the will, though she seemed terribly weak, and her voice never rose above a whisper after that one time when she had called to me not to turn on the light. At length I finished my notes of the will, and started to draft it out on to the proper form. There were no signs of the servants return, and I began to be really anxious. Also the extreme coldor something elseadded to the fact that it was now long past my bedtime, was making me appallingly sleepy. I poured out another stiff little dose of the brandy to warm me up, and went on writing out the will. When I had finished I said How about signing this? We need another witness to make it legal. She said, My servant must be here in a minute or two. I cant think what has happened to her. I expect she has missed her way in the fog, I said. However, I will wait a little longer. I cant go and leave you like this. She thanked me feebly, and we sat for some time in silence. As time went on, I began to feel the situation to be increasingly uncanny. The sick woman breathed heavily, and moaned from time to time. The desire for sleep overpowered me more and more. I could not understand it. Presently it occurred to me, stupefied though I felt, that the most sensible thing would be to get the taximanif he was still thereto come in and witness the will with me, and then to go myself to find a doctor. I sat, sleepily revolving this in my mind, and trying to summon energy to speak. I felt as though a great weight of inertia was pressing down upon me. Exertion of any kind seemed almost beyond my powers. Suddenly something happened which brought me back to myself. Mrs. Mead turned a little over upon the couch and peered at me intently, as it seemed, in the lamplight. To support herself, she put both her hands on the edge of the table. I noticed with a vague sense of something unexpected, that the left hand bore no weddingring. And then I noticed something else. Across the back of the fingers of the right hand went a curious scaras though a chisel or some such thing had slipped and cut them. Parker sat upright in his chair. Yes, said Mr. Trigg, that interests you. It startled me. Or rather, startled isnt quite the word. In my oppressed state, it affected me like some kind of nightmare. I struggled upright in my chair, and the woman sank back upon her pillows. At that moment there came a violent ring at the bell. The servant? Nothank Heaven it was my taxidriver, who had become tired of waiting. I thoughtI dont quite know what I thoughtbut I was alarmed. I gave some kind of shout or groan, and the man came straight in. Happily, I had left the door open as I had found it. I pulled myself together sufficiently to ask him to witness the will. I must have looked queer and spoken in a strange way, for I remember how he looked from me to the brandybottle. However, he signed the paper after Mrs. Mead, who wrote her name in a weak, straggling hand as she lay on her back. Wot next, guvnor? asked the man, when this was done. I was feeling dreadfully ill by now. I could only say, Take me home. He looked at Mrs. Mead and then at me, and said, Aint there nobody to see to the lady, sir? I said, Fetch a doctor. But take me home first. I stumbled out of the house on his arm. I heard him muttering something about its being a rum start. I dont remember the drive home. When I came back to life, I was in my own bed, and one of the local doctors was standing over me. Im afraid this story is getting very long and tedious. To cut matters short, it seems the taxidriver, who was a very decent, intelligent fellow, had found me completely insensible at the end of the drive. He didnt know who I was, but he hunted in my pocket and found my visitingcard and my latchkey. He took me home, got me upstairs and, deciding that if I was drunk, I was a worse drunk than he had ever encountered in his experience, humanely went round and fetched a doctor. The doctors opinion was that I had been heavily drugged with veronal or something of that kind. Fortunately, if the idea was to murder me, the dose had been very much underestimated. We went into the matter thoroughly, and the upshot was that I must have taken about 30 grains of the stuff. It appears that it is a difficult drug to trace by analysis, but that was the conclusion the doctor came to, looking at the matter all round. Undoubtedly the brandy had been doped. Of course, we went round to look at the house next day. It was all shut up, and the local milkman informed us that the occupiers had been away for a week and were not expected home for another ten days. We got into communication with them, but they appeared to be perfectly genuine, ordinary people, and they declared they knew nothing whatever about it. They were accustomed to go away every so often, just shutting the house and not bothering about a caretaker or anything. The man came along at once, naturally, to investigate matters, but couldnt find that anything had been stolen or disturbed, except that a pair of sheets and some pillows showed signs of use, and a scuttle of coal had been used in the sittingroom. The coalcellar, which also contained the electric meter, had been left locked and the meter turned off before the family leftthey apparently had a few grains of sensewhich accounts for the chill darkness of the house when I entered it. The visitor had apparently slipped back the catch of the pantry windowone of the usual gimcrack affairswith a knife or something, and had brought her own lamp, siphon and brandy. Daring, but not really difficult.

No Mrs. Mead or Miss Grant was to be heard of anywhere, as I neednt tell you. The tenants of the house were not keen to start expensive inquiriesafter all, theyd lost nothing but a shillings worth of coalsand on consideration, and seeing that I hadnt actually been murdered or anything, I thought it best to let the matter slide. It was a most unpleasant adventure. Im sure it was. Did you ever hear from Miss Grant again? Why, yes. She rang me up twiceonce, after three months, and again only a fortnight ago, asking for an appointment. You may think me cowardly, Mr. Parker, but each time I put her off. I didnt quite know what might happen. As a matter of fact, the opinion I formed in my own mind was that I had been entrapped into that house with the idea of making me spend the night there and afterwards blackmailing me. That was the only explanation I could think of which would account for the sleepingdraught. I thought discretion was the better part of valour, and gave my clerks and my housekeeper instructions that if Miss Grant should call at any time I was out and not expected back. Hm. Do you suppose she knew you had recognised the scar on her hand? Im sure she didnt. Otherwise she would hardly have made advances to me in her own name again. No. I think you are right. Well, Mr. Trigg, I am much obliged to you for this information, which may turn out to be very valuable. And if Miss Grant should ring you up againwhere did she call from, by the way? From callboxes, each time. I know that, because the operator always tells one when the call is from a public box. I didnt have the calls traced. No, of course not. Well, if she does it again, will you please make an appointment with her, and then let me know about it at once? A call to Scotland Yard will always find me. Mr. Trigg promised that he would do this, and Parker took his leave. And now we know, thought Parker as he returned home, that somebodyan odd unscrupulous somebodywas making inquiries about greatnieces in 1925. A word to Miss Climpson, I fancy, is indicatedjust to find out whether Mary Whittaker has a scar on her right hand, or whether Ive got to hunt up any more solicitors. The hot streets seemed less oppressively ovenlike than before. In fact, Parker was so cheered by his interview that he actually bestowed a cigarettecard upon the next urchin who accosted him. XIX Gone Away There is nothing good or evil save in the will. Epictetus You will not, I imagine, deny, observed Lord Peter, that very odd things seem to happen to the people who are in a position to give information about the last days of Agatha Dawson. Bertha Gotobed dies suddenly, under suspicious circumstances; her sister thinks she sees Miss Whittaker lying in wait for her at Liverpool docks; Mr. Trigg is inveigled into a house of mystery and is semipoisoned. I wonder what would have happened to Mr. Probyn, if he had been careless enough to remain in England. I deny nothing, replied Parker. I will only point out to you that during the month in which these disasters occurred to the Gotobed family, the object of your suspicions was in Kent with Miss Vera Findlater, who never left her side. As against that undoubted snag, rejoined Wimsey, I bring forward a letter from Miss Climpson, in whichamid a lot of rigmarole with which I will not trouble youshe informs me that upon Miss Whittakers right hand there is a scar, precisely similar to the one which Mr. Trigg describes. Is there? That does seem to connect Miss Whittaker pretty definitely with the Trigg business. But is it your theory that she is trying to polish off all the people who know anything about Miss Dawson? Rather a big job, dont you think, for a singlehanded female? And if so, why is Dr. Carr spared? and Nurse Philliter? and Nurse Forbes? And the other doctor chappie? And the rest of the population of Leahampton, if it comes to that? Thats an interesting point which had already occurred to me. I think I know why. Up to the present, the Dawson case has presented two different problems, one legal and one medicalthe motive and the means, if you like that better. As far as opportunity goes, only two people figure as possiblesMiss Whittaker and Nurse Forbes. The Forbes woman had nothing to gain by killin a good patient, so for the moment we can wash her out. Well now, as to the medical problemthe means. I must say that up to now that appears completely insoluble. I am baffled, Watson (said he, his hawklike eyes gleaming angrily from under the halfclosed lids). Even I am baffled. But not for long! (he cried, with a magnificent burst of selfconfidence). My Honour (capital H) is concerned to track this Human Fiend (capitals) to its hidden source, and nail the whited sepulchre to the mast even though it crush me in the attempt! Loud applause. His chin sank broodingly upon his dressinggown, and he breathed a few guttural notes into the bass saxophone which was the cherished companion of his solitary hours in the bathroom. Parker ostentatiously took up the book which he had laid aside on Wimseys entrance. Tell me when youve finished, he said, caustically. Ive hardly begun. The means, I repeat, seems insolubleand so the criminal evidently thinks. There has been no exaggerated mortality among the doctors and nurses. On that side of the business the lady feels herself safe. No. The motive is the weak pointhence the hurry to stop the mouths of the people who knew about the legal part of the problem. Yes, I see. Mrs. Cropper has started back to Canada, by the way. She doesnt seem to have been molested at all. Noand thats why I still think there was somebody on the watch in Liverpool. Mrs. Cropper was only worth silencing so long as she had told nobody her story. That is why I was careful to meet her and accompany her ostentatiously to Town. Oh, rot, Peter! Even if Miss Whittaker had been therewhich we know she couldnt have beenhow was she to know that you were going to ask about the Dawson business? She doesnt know you from Adam. She might have found out who Murbles was. The advertisement which started the whole business was in his name, you know. In that case, why hasnt she attacked Murbles or you? Murbles is a wise old bird. In vain are nets spread in his sight. He is seeing no female clients, answering no invitations, and never goes out without an escort. I didnt know he took it so seriously. Oh, yes. Murbles is old enough to have learnt the value of his own skin. As for mehave you noticed the remarkable similarity in some ways between Mr. Triggs adventure and my own little adventurelet, as you might say, in South Audley Street? What, with Mrs. Forrest? Yes. The secret appointment. The drink. The endeavour to get one to stay the night at all costs. Im positive there was something in that sugar, Charles, that no sugar should containsee Public Health (Adulteration of Food) Acts, various. You think Mrs. Forrest is an accomplice? I do. I dont know what she has to gain by itprobably money. But I feel sure there is some connection. Partly because of Bertha Gotobeds 5 note; partly because Mrs. Forrests story was a palpable fakeIm certain the womans never had a lover, let alone a husbandyou cant mistake real inexperience; and chiefly because of the similarity of method. Criminals always tend to repeat their effects. Look at George Joseph Smith and his brides. Look at Neill Cream. Look at Armstrong and his teaparties. Well, if theres an accomplice, all the better. Accomplices generally end by giving the show away. True. And we are in a good position because up till now I dont think they know that we suspect any connection between them. But I still think, you know, we ought to get some evidence that actual crimes have been committed. Call me finicking, if you like. If you could suggest a means of doing away with these people so as to leave no trace, I should feel happier about it. The means, eh?Well, we do know something about it. As what? Welltake the two victims Alleged. All right, old particular. The two alleged victims and the two (alleged) intended victims. Miss Dawson was ill and helpless; Bertha Gotobed possibly stupefied by a heavy meal and an unaccustomed quantity of wine; Trigg was given a sufficient dose of veronal to send him to sleep, and I was offered something of probably the same kindI wish I could have kept the remains of that coffee. So we deduce from that, what? I suppose that it was a means of death which could only be used on somebody more or less helpless or unconscious. Exactly. As for instance, a hypodermic injectiononly nothing appears to have been injected. Or a delicate operation of some kindif we could only think of one to fit the case. Or the inhalation of somethingsuch as chloroformonly we could find no traces of suffocation. Yes. That doesnt get us very far, though. Its something. Then, again, it may very well be something that a trained nurse would have learnt or heard about. Miss Whittaker was trained, you knowwhich, by the way, was what made it so easy for her to bandage up her own head and provide a pitiful and unrecognisable spectacle for the stupid Mr. Trigg. It wouldnt have to be anything very out of the waynothing, I mean, that only a trained surgeon could do, or that required very specialised knowledge. Oh, no. Probably something picked up in conversation with a doctor or the other nurses. I say, how about getting hold of Dr. Carr again? Or, noif hed got any ideas on the subject hed have trotted em out before now. I know! Ill ask Lubbock, the analyst. Hell do. Ill get in touch with him tomorrow. And meanwhile, said Parker, I suppose we just sit round and wait for somebody else to be murdered. Its beastly, isnt it? I still feel poor Bertha Gotobeds blood on my head, so to speak. I say! Yes? Weve practically got clear proof on the Trigg business. Couldnt you put the lady in quod on a charge of burglary while we think out the rest of the dope? Its often done. It was a burglary, you know. She broke into a house after dark and appropriated a scuttleful of coal to her own use. Trigg could identify herhe seems to have paid the lady particular attention on more than one occasionand we could rake up his taximan for corroborative detail. Parker pulled at his pipe for a few minutes. Theres something in that, he said finally. I think perhaps its worth while putting it before the authorities. But we mustnt be in too much of a hurry, you know. I wish we were further ahead with our other proofs. Theres such a thing as Habeas Corpusyou cant hold on to people indefinitely just on a charge of stealing coal Theres the breaking and entering, dont forget that. Its burglary, after all. You can get penal servitude for life for burglary. But it all depends on the view the law takes of the coal. It might decide that there was no original intention of stealing coal, and treat the thing as a mere misdemeanour or civil trespass. Anyhow, we dont really want a conviction for stealing coal. But Ill see what they think about it at our place, and meanwhile Ill get hold of Trigg again and try and find the taxidriver. And Triggs doctor. We might get it as an attempt to murder Trigg, or at least to inflict grievous bodily harm. But I should like some more evidence about Cuckoo! So should I. But I cant manufacture evidence out of nothing. Dash it all, be reasonable. Ive built you up a case out of nothing. Isnt that handsome enough? Base ingratitudethats whats the matter with you. Parkers inquiries took some time, and June lingered into its longest days. Chamberlin and Levine flew the Atlantic, and Segrave bade farewell to Brooklands. The Daily Yell wrote antiRed leaders and discovered a plot, somebody laid claim to a marquisate, and a CzechoSlovakian pretended to swim the Channel. Hammond outgraced Grace, there was an outburst of murder at Moscow, Foxlaw won the Gold Cup and the earth opened at Oxhey and swallowed up somebodys front garden. Oxford decided that women were dangerous, and the electric hare consented to run at the White City. Englands supremacy was challenged at Wimbledon, and the House of Lords made the gesture of stooping to conquer. Meanwhile, Lord Peters projected magnum opus on ahundredandone ways of causing sudden death had advanced by the accumulation of a mass of notes which flowed all over the library at the flat, and threatened to engulf Bunter, whose task it was to file and crossreference and generally to produce order from chaos. Oriental scholars and explorers were buttonholed in clubs and strenuously pumped on the subject of abstruse native poisons; horrid experiments performed in German laboratories were communicated in unreadable documents; and the life of Sir James Lubbock, who had the misfortune to be a particular friend of Lord Peters, was made a burden to him with daily inquiries as to the postmortem detection of such varying substances as chloroform, curare, hydrocyanic acid gas and diethylsulphonmethylethylmethane. But surely there must be something which kills without leaving a trace, pleaded Lord Peter, when at length informed that the persecution must cease. A thing in such universal demandsurely it is not beyond the wit of scientists to invent it. It must exist. Why isnt it properly advertised? There ought to be a company to exploit it. Its simply ridiculous. Why, its a thing one might be wantin ones self any day. You dont understand, said Sir James Lubbock. Plenty of poisons leave no particular postmortem appearances. And plenty of themespecially the vegetable onesare difficult to find by analysis, unless you know what you are looking for. For instance, if youre testing for arsenic, that test wont tell you whether strychnine is present or not. And if youre testing for strychnine, you wont find morphia. Youve got to try one test after another till you hit the right one. And of course there are certain poisons for which no recognised tests exist. I know all that, said Wimsey. Ive tested things myself. But these poisons with no recognised testhow do you set about proving that theyre there? Well, of course, youd take the symptoms into account, and so on. You would look at the history of the case. Yesbut I want a poison that doesnt produce any symptoms. Except death, of courseif you call that a symptom. Isnt there a poison with no symptoms and no test? Something that just makes you go off, Pouf! like that? Certainly not, said the analyst, rather annoyedfor your medical analyst lives by symptoms and tests, and nobody likes suggestions that undermine the very foundations of his professionnot even old age or mental decay. There are always symptoms. Fortunately, before the symptoms of mental decay could become too pronounced in Lord Peter, Parker sounded the call to action. Im going down to Leahampton with a warrant, he said. I may not use it, but the chief thinks it might be worth while to make an inquiry. What with the Battersea mystery and the Daniels business, and Bertha Gotobed, there seems to be a feeling that there have been too many unexplained tragedies this year, and the Press have begun yelping again, blast them! Theres an article in John Citizen this week, with a poster Ninetysix Murderers at Large, and the Evening Views is starting its reports with Six weeks have now passed, and the police are no nearer the solution you know the kind of thing. Well simply have to get some sort of move on. Do you want to come? Certainlya breath of country air would do me good, I fancy. Blow away the cobwebs, dont you know. It might even inspire me to invent a good way of murderin people. O Inspiration, solitary child, warbling thy native woodnotes wild Did somebody write that, or did I invent it? It sounds reminiscent, somehow. Parker, who was out of temper, replied rather shortly, and intimated that the police car would be starting for Leahampton in an hours time. I will be there, said Wimsey, though, mind you, I hate being driven by another fellow. It feels so unsafe. Never mind. I will be bloody, bold and resolute, as Queen Victoria said to the Archbishop of Canterbury. They reached Leahampton without any incident to justify Lord Peters fears. Parker had brought another officer with him, and on the way they picked up the Chief Constable of the County, who appeared very dubiously disposed towards their errand. Lord Peter, observing their array of five strong men, going out to seize upon one young woman, was reminded of the Marquise de Brinvilliers(What! all that water for a little person like me?)but this led him back to the subject of poison, and he remained steeped in thought and gloom till the car drew up before the house in Wellington Avenue. Parker got out, and went up the path with the Chief Constable. The door was opened to them by a frightenedlooking maid, who gave a little shriek at sight of them. Oh, sir! have you come to say somethings happened to Miss Whittaker? Isnt Miss Whittaker at home, then? No, sir. She went out in the car with Miss Vera Findlater on Mondaythats four days back, sir, and she hasnt come home, nor Miss Findlater neither, and Im frightened somethings happened to them. When I see you, sir, I thought you was the police come to say there had been an accident. I didnt know what to do, sir. Skipped, by God! was Parkers instant thought, but he controlled his annoyance, and asked Do you know where they were going? Crows Beach, Miss Whittaker said, sir. Thats a good fifty miles, said the Chief Constable. Probably theyve just decided to stay there a day or two. More likely gone in the opposite direction, thought Parker. They didnt take no things for the night, sir. They went off about ten in the morning. They said they was going to have lunch there and come home in the evening. And Miss Whittaker hasnt written nor nothing. And her always so particular. Cook and me, we didnt know what Oh, well, I expect its all right, said the Chief Constable. Its a pity, as we particularly wanted to see Miss Whittaker. When you hear from her, you might say Sir Charles Pillington called with a friend. Yes, sir. But please, sir, what ought we to do, sir? Nothing. Dont worry. Ill have inquiries made. Im the Chief Constable, you know, and I can soon find out whether theres been an accident or anything. But if there had been, depend upon it we should have heard about it. Come, my girl, pull yourself together, theres nothing to cry about. Well let you know as soon as we hear anything. But Sir Charles looked disturbed. Coming on top of Parkers arrival in the district, the thing had an unpleasant look about it. Lord Peter received the news cheerfully. Good, said he, joggle em up. Keep em moving. Thats the spirit. Always like it when somethin happens. My worst suspicions are goin to be justified. That always makes one feel so important and virtuous, dont you think? Wonder why she took the girl with her, though. By the way, wed better look up the Findlaters. They may have heard something. This obvious suggestion was acted upon at once. But at the Findlaters house they drew blank. The family were at the seaside, with the exception of Miss Vera, who was staying in Wellington Avenue with Miss Whittaker. No anxiety was expressed by the parlourmaid and none, apparently, felt. The investigators took care not to arouse any alarm, and, leaving a trivial and polite message from Sir Charles, withdrew for a consultation. Theres nothing for it, so far as I can see, said Parker, but an allstations call to look out for the car and the ladies. And we must put inquiries through to all the ports, of course. With four days start, they may be anywhere by now. I wish to Heaven Id risked a bit and started earlier, approval or no approval. Whats this Findlater girl like? Id better go back to the house and get photographs of her and the Whittaker woman. And, Wimsey, I wish youd look in on Miss Climpson and see if she has any information. And you might tell em at the Yard to keep an eye on Mrs. Forrests place, said Wimsey. When anything sensational happens to a criminal its a good tip to watch the accomplice. I feel sure you are both quite mistaken about this, urged Sir Charles Pillington. Criminalaccomplicebless me! I have had considerable experience in the course of a long lifelonger than either of yoursand I really feel convinced that Miss Whittaker, whom I know quite well, is as good and nice a girl as you could wish to find. But there has undoubtedly been an accident of some kind, and it is our duty to make the fullest investigation. I will get on to Crows Beach police immediately, as soon as I know the description of the car. Its an Austin Seven and the number is XX9917, said Wimsey, much to the Chief Constables surprise. But I doubt very much whether youll find it at Crows Beach, or anywhere near it. Well, wed better get a move on, snapped Parker. Wed better separate. How about a spot of lunch in an hours time at the George? Wimsey was unlucky. Miss Climpson was not to be found. She had had her lunch early and gone out, saying she felt that a long country walk would do her good. Mrs. Budge was rather afraid she had had some bad newsshe had seemed so upset and worried since yesterday evening. But indeed, sir, she added, if you was quick, you might find her up at the church. She often drops in there to say her prayers like. Not a respectful way to approach a place of worship to my mind, do you think so yourself, sir? Popping in and out on a weekday, the same as if it was a friends house. And coming home from Communion as cheerful as anything and ready to laugh and make jokes. I dont see as how we was meant to make an ordinary thing of religion that wayso disrespectful and nothing uplifting to the art about it. But there! we all as our failings, and Miss Climpson is a nice lady and that I must say, even if she is a Roaming Catholic or next door to one. Lord Peter thought that Roaming Catholic was rather an appropriate name for the more ultramontane section of the High Church party. At the moment, however, he felt he could not afford time for religious discussion, and set off for the church in quest of Miss Climpson. The doors of St. Onesimus were hospitably open, and the red Sanctuary lamp made a little spot of welcoming brightness in the rather dark building. Coming in from the June sunshine, Wimsey blinked a little before he could distinguish anything else. Presently he was able to make out a dark, bowed figure kneeling before the lamp. For a moment he hoped it was Miss Climpson, but presently saw to his disappointment that it was merely a Sister in a black habit, presumably taking her turn to watch before the Host. The only other occupant of the church was a priest in a cassock, who was busy with the ornaments on the High Altar. It was the Feast of St. John, Wimsey remembered suddenly. He walked up the aisle, hoping to find his quarry hidden in some obscure corner. His shoes squeaked. This annoyed him. It was a thing which Bunter never permitted. He was seized with a fancy that the squeak was produced by diabolic possessiona protest against a religious atmosphere on the part of his own particular besetting devil. Pleased with this thought, he moved forward more confidently. The priests attention was attracted by the squeak. He turned and came down towards the intruder. No doubt, thought Wimsey, to offer his professional services to exorcise the evil spirit. Were you looking for anybody? inquired the priest, courteously. Well, I was looking for a lady, began Wimsey. Then it struck him that this sounded a little odd under the circumstances, and he hastened to explain more fully, in the stifled tones considered appropriate to consecrated surroundings. Oh, yes, said the priest, quite unperturbed, Miss Climpson was here a little time ago, but I fancy she has gone. Not that I usually keep tabs on my flock, he added, with a laugh, but she spoke to me before she went. Was it urgent? What a pity you should have missed her. Can I give any kind of message or help you in any way? No, thanks, said Wimsey. Sorry to bother you. Unseemly to come and try to haul people out of church, butyes, it was rather important. Ill leave a message at the house. Thanks frightfully. He turned away; then stopped and came back. I say, he said, you give advice on moral problems and all that sort of thing, dont you? Well, were supposed to try, said the priest. Is anything bothering you in particular? Yees, said Wimsey, nothing religious, I dont meannothing about infallibility or the Virgin Mary or anything of that sort. Just something Im not comfortable about. The priestwho was, in fact, the vicar, Mr. Tredgoldindicated that he was quite at Lord Peters service. Its very good of you. Could we come somewhere where I didnt have to whisper so much. I never can explain things in a whisper. Sort of paralyses one, dont you know. Lets go outside, said Mr. Tredgold. So they went out and sat on a flat tombstone. Its like this, said Wimsey. Hypothetical case, you see, and so on. Sposin one knows somebody whos very, very ill and cant last long anyhow. And theyre in awful pain and all that, and kept under morphiapractically dead to the world, you know. And suppose that by dyin straight away they could make something happen which they really wanted to happen and which couldnt happen if they lived on a little longer (I cant explain exactly how, because I dont want to give personal details and so on)you get the idea? Well, supposin somebody who knew all that was just to give em a little push off so to speakhurry matters onwhy should that be a very dreadful crime? The law began Mr. Tredgold. Oh, the law says its a crime, fast enough, said Wimsey. But do you honestly think its very bad? I know youd call it a sin, of course, but why is it so very dreadful? It doesnt do the person any harm, does it? We cant answer that, said Mr. Tredgold, without knowing the ways of God with the soul. In those last weeks or hours of pain and unconsciousness, the soul may be undergoing some necessary part of its pilgrimage on earth. It isnt our business to cut it short. Who are we to take life and death into our hands? Well, we do it all day, one way and another. Juriessoldiersdoctorsall that. And yet I do feel, somehow, that it isnt a right thing in this case. And yet, by interferingfinding things out and so onone may do far worse harm. Start all kinds of things. I think, said Mr. Tredgold, that the sinI wont use that wordthe damage to Society, the wrongness of the thing lies much more in the harm it does the killer than in anything it can do to the person who is killed. Especially, of course, if the killing is to the killers own advantage. The consequence you mentionthis thing which the sick person wants donedoes the other person stand to benefit by it, may I ask? Yes. Thats just it. Heshethey do. That puts it at once on a different plane from just hastening a persons death out of pity. Sin is in the intention, not the deed. That is the difference between divine law and human law. It is bad for a human being to get to feel that he has any right whatever to dispose of another persons life to his own advantage. It leads him on to think himself above all lawsSociety is never safe from the man who has deliberately committed murder with impunity. That is whyor one reason whyGod forbids private vengeance. You mean that one murder leads to another. Very often. In any case it leads to a readiness to commit others. It has. Thats the trouble. But it wouldnt have if I hadnt started trying to find things out. Ought I to have left it alone? I see. That is very difficult. Terrible, too, for you. You feel responsible. Yes. You yourself are not serving a private vengeance? Oh, no. Nothing really to do with me. Started in like a fool to help somebody whod got into trouble about the thing through having suspicions himself. And my beastly interference started the crimes all over again. I shouldnt be too troubled. Probably the murderers own guilty fears would have led him into fresh crimes even without your interference. Thats true, said Wimsey, remembering Mr. Trigg. My advice to you is to do what you think is right, according to the laws which we have been brought up to respect. Leave the consequences to God. And try to think charitably, even of wicked people. You know what I mean. Bring the offender to justice, but remember that if we all got justice, you and I wouldnt escape either. I know. Knock the man down but dont dance on the body. Quite. Forgive my troublin youand excuse my bargin off, because Ive got a date with a friend. Thanks so much. I dont feel quite so rotten about it now. But I was gettin worried. Mr. Tredgold watched him as he trotted away between the graves. Dear, dear, he said, how nice they are. So kindly and scrupulous and so vague outside their publicschool code. And much more nervous and sensitive than people think. A very difficult class to reach. I must make a special intention for him at Mass tomorrow. Being a practical man, Mr. Tredgold made a knot in his handkerchief to remind himself of this pious resolve. The problemto interfere or not to interfereGods law and Caesars. Policemen, nowits no problem to them. But for the ordinary manhow hard to disentangle his own motives. I wonder what brought him here. Could it possibly beNo! said the vicar, checking himself, I have no right to speculate. He drew out his handkerchief again and made another mnemonic knot as a reminder against his next confession that he had fallen into the sin of inquisitiveness. XX Murder Siegfried What does this mean? Isbrand A pretty piece of kidnapping, thats all. Beddoes Deaths JestBook Parker, too, had spent a disappointing halfhour. It appeared that Miss Whittaker not only disliked having her photograph taken, but had actually destroyed all the existing portraits she could lay hands on, shortly after Miss Dawsons death. Of course, many of Miss Whittakers friends might be in possession of onenotably, of course, Miss Findlater. But Parker was not sure that he wanted to start a local hueandcry at the moment. Miss Climpson might be able to get one, of course. He went round to Nelson Avenue. Miss Climpson was out; there had been another gentleman asking for her. Mrs. Budges eyes were beginning to bulge with curiosityevidently she was becoming dubious about Miss Climpsons nephew and his friends. Parker then went to the local photographers. There were five. From two of them he extracted a number of local groups, containing unrecognisable portraits of Miss Whittaker at church bazaars and private theatricals. She had never had a studio portrait made in Leahampton. Of Miss Findlater, on the other hand, he got several excellent likenessesa slight, fair girl, with a rather sentimental lookplump and prettyish. All these he despatched to Town, with directions that they should be broadcast to the police, together with a description of the girls dress when last seen. The only really cheerful members of the party at the George were the second policeman, who had been having a pleasant gossip with various garageproprietors and publicans, with a view to picking up information, and the Chief Constable, who was vindicated and triumphant. He had been telephoning to various country policestations, and had discovered that XX9917 had actually been observed on the previous Monday by an A.A. scout on the road to Crows Beach. Having maintained all along that the Crows Beach excursion was a genuine one, he was inclined to exult over the Scotland Yard man. Wimsey and Parker dispiritedly agreed that they had better go down and make inquiries at Crows Beach. Meanwhile, one of the photographers, whose cousin was on the staff of the Leahampton Mercury, had put a call through to the office of that uptodate paper, which was just going to press.

A stoppress announcement was followed by a special edition; somebody rang up the London Evening Views which burst out into a frontpage scoop; the fat was in the fire, and the Daily Yell, Daily Views, Daily Wire and Daily Tidings, who were all suffering from lack of excitement, came brightly out next morning with bold headlines about disappearing young women. Crows Beach, indeed, that pleasant and respectable wateringplace, knew nothing of Miss Whittaker, Miss Findlater, or car XX9917. No hotel had received them; no garage had refuelled or repaired them; no policeman had observed them. The Chief Constable held to his theory of an accident, and scouting parties were sent out. Wires arrived at Scotland Yard from all over the place. They had been seen at Dover, at Newcastle, at Sheffield, at Winchester, at Rugby. Two young women had had tea in a suspicious manner at Folkestone; a car had passed noisily through Dorchester at a late hour on Monday night; a darkhaired girl in an agitated condition had entered a publichouse in New Alresford just before closingtime and asked the way to Hazelmere. Among all these reports, Parker selected that of a boyscout, who reported on the Saturday morning that he had noticed two ladies with a car having a picnic on the downs on the previous Monday, not far from Shelly Head. The car was an Austin Sevenhe knew that, because he was keen on motors (an unanswerable reason for accuracy in a boy of his age), and he had noticed that it was a London number, though he couldnt say positively what the number was. Shelly Head lies about ten miles along the coast from Crows Beach, and is curiously lonely, considering how near it lies to the wateringplace. Under the cliffs is a long stretch of clear sandy beach, never visited, and overlooked by no houses. The cliffs themselves are chalk, and covered with short turf, running back into a wide expanse of downs, covered with gorse and heather. Then comes a belt of pinetrees, beyond which is a steep, narrow and rutty road, leading at length into the tarmac high road between Ramborough and Ryders Heath. The downs are by no means frequented, though there are plenty of rough tracks which a car can follow, if you are not particular about comfort or fussy over your springs. Under the leadership of the boyscout, the policecar bumped uncomfortably over these disagreeable roads. It was hopeless to look for any previous cartracks, for the chalk was dry and hard, and the grass and heath retained no marks. Everywhere, little dells and hollows presented themselvesall exactly alike, and many of them capable of hiding a small car, not to speak of the mere signs and remains of a recent picnic. Having arrived at what their guide thought to be approximately the right place, they pulled up and got out. Parker quartered the ground between the five of them and they set off. Wimsey took a dislike to gorsebushes that day. There were so many of them and so thick. Any of them might hold a cigarette package or a sandwich paper or a scrap of cloth or a clue of some kind. He trudged along unhappily, back bent and eyes on the ground, over one ridge and down into the hollowthen circling to right and to left, taking his bearings by the policecar; over the next ridge and down into the next hollow; over the next ridge Yes. There was something in the hollow. He saw it first sticking out round the edge of a gorsebush. It was light in colour, and pointed, rather like a foot. He felt a little sick. Somebody has gone to sleep here, he said aloud. Then he thought Funnyits always the feet they leave showing. He scrambled down among the bushes, slipping on the short turf and nearly rolling to the bottom. He swore irritably. The person was sleeping oddly. The flies must be a nuisance all over her head like that. It occurred to him that it was rather early in the year for flies. There had been an advertising rhyme in the papers. Something about Each fly you swat now means, remember, Three hundred fewer next September. Or was it a thousand fewer? He couldnt get the metre quite right. Then he pulled himself together and went forward. The flies rose up in a little cloud. It must have been a pretty heavy blow, he thought, to smash the back of the skull in like that. The shingled hair was blonde. The face lay between the bare arms. He turned the body on its back. Of course, without the photograph, he could nothe need notbe certain that this was Vera Findlater. All this had taken him perhaps thirty seconds. He scrambled up to the rim of the hollow and shouted. A small black figure at some distance stopped and turned. He saw its face as a white spot with no expression on it. He shouted again, and waved his arms in wide gestures of explanation. The figure came running; it lurched slowly and awkwardly over the heathy ground. It was the policemana heavy man, not built for running in the heat. Wimsey shouted again, and the policeman shouted too. Wimsey saw the others closing in upon him. The grotesque figure of the boyscout topped a ridge, waving its staffthen disappeared again. The policeman was quite near now. His bowler hat was thrust back on his head, and there was something on his watchchain that glinted in the sun as he ran. Wimsey found himself running to meet him and callingexplaining at great length. It was too far off to make himself heard, but he explained, wordily, with emphasis, pointing, indicating. He was quite breathless when the policeman and he came together. They were both breathless. They wagged their heads and gasped. It was ludicrous. He started running again, with the man at his heels. Presently they were all there, pointing, measuring, taking notes, grubbing under the gorsebushes. Wimsey sat down. He was dreadfully tired. Peter, said Parkers voice, come and look at this. He got up wearily. There were the remains of a picnic lunch a little farther down the hollow. The policeman had a little bag in his handhe had taken it from under the body, and was now turning over the trifles it contained. On the ground, close to the dead girls head, was a thick, heavy spannerunpleasantly discoloured and with a few fair hairs sticking to its jaws. But what Parker was calling his attention to was none of these, but a mans mauvegrey cap. Where did you find that? asked Wimsey. Alf here picked it up at the top of the hollow, said Parker. Tumbled off into the gorse it was, corroborated the scout, just up here, lying upside down just as if it had fallen off somebodys head. Any footmarks? Not likely. But theres a place where the bushes are all trodden and broken. Looks as if thered been some sort of struggle. Whats become of the Austin? Hi! dont touch that spanner, my lad. There may be fingerprints on it. This looks like an attack by some gang or other. Any money in that purse? Tenshilling note, sixpence and a few coppersoh! Well, the other woman may have had more on her. Shes very well off, you know. Held up for ransom, I shouldnt wonder. Parker bent down and very gingerly enfolded the spanner in a silk handkerchief, carrying it slung by the four corners. Well, wed better spread about and have a look for the car. Better try that belt of trees over there. Looks a likely spot. And, HopkinsI think youd better run back with our car to Crows Beach and let em know at the station, and come back with a photographer. And take this wire and send it to the Chief Commissioner at Scotland Yard, and find a doctor and bring him along with you. And youd better hire another car while youre about it, in case we dont find the Austinwe shall be too many to get away in this one. Take Alf back with you if youre not sure of finding the place again. Oh! and Hopkins, fetch us along something to eat and drink, will you, we may be at it a long time. Heres some moneythat enough? Yes, thank you, sir. The constable went off, taking Alf, who was torn between a desire to stay and do some more detecting, and the pride and glory of being first back with the news. Parker gave a few words of praise for his valuable assistance which filled him with delight, and then turned to the Chief Constable. They obviously went off in this direction. Would you bear away to the left, sir, and enter the trees from that end, and Peter, will you bear to the right and work through from the other end, while I go straight up the middle? The Chief Constable, who seemed a good deal shaken by the discovery of the body, obeyed without a word. Wimsey caught Parker by the arm. I say, he said, have you looked at the wound? Something funny, isnt there? There ought to be more mess, somehow. What do you think? Im not thinking anything for the moment, said Parker, a little grimly. Well wait for the doctors report. Come on, Steve! We want to dig out that car. Lets have a look at the cap. Hm. Sold by a gentleman of the Jewish persuasion, resident in Stepney. Almost new. Smells strongly of Californian Poppyrather a swell sort of gangsman, apparently. Quite one of the lads of the village. Yeswe ought to be able to trace that. Thank Heaven, they always overlook something. Well, wed better get along. The search for the car presented no difficulties. Parker stumbled upon it almost as soon as he got in under the trees. There was a clearing, with a little rivulet of water running through it, beside which stood the missing Austin. There were other trees here, mingled with the pines, and the water made an elbow and spread into a shallow pool, with a kind of muddy beach. The hood of the car was up, and Parker approached with an uncomfortable feeling that there might be something disagreeable inside, but it was empty. He tried the gears. They were in neutral and the handbrake was on. On the seat was a handkerchiefa large linen handkerchief, very grubby and with no initials or laundrymark. Parker grunted a little over the criminals careless habit of strewing his belongings about. He came round in front of the car and received immediate further proof of carelessness. For on the mud there were footmarkstwo mens and a womans, it seemed. The woman had got out of the car firsthe could see where the left heel had sunk heavily in as she extricated herself from the low seat. Then the right footless heavilythen she had staggered a little and started to run. But one of the men had been there to catch her. He had stepped out of the bracken in shoes with new rubbers on them, and there were some scuffling marks as though he had held her and she had tried to break away. Finally, the second man, who seemed to possess rather narrow feet and to wear the longtoed boots affected by Jew boys of the louder sorthad come after her from the carthe marks of his feet were clear, crossing and halfobliterating hers. All three had stood together for a little. Then the tracks moved away, with those of the woman in the middle, and led up to where the mark of a Michelin balloon tyre showed clearly. The tyres on the Austin were ordinary Dunlopsbesides, this was obviously a bigger car. It had apparently stood there for some little time, for a little pool of engineoil had dripped from the crankcase. Then the bigger car had moved off, down a sort of ride that led away through the trees. Parker followed it for a little distance, but the tracks soon became lost in a thick carpet of pineneedles. Still, there was no other road for a car to take. He turned to the Austin to investigate further. Presently shouts told him that the other two were converging upon the centre of the wood. He called back and before long Wimsey and Sir Charles Pillington came crashing towards him through the bracken which fringed the pines. Well, said Wimsey, I imagine we may put down this elegant bit of purple headgear to the gentleman in the slim boots. Bright yellow, I fancy, with buttons. He must be lamenting his beautiful cap. The womans footprints belong to Mary Whittaker, I take it. I suppose so. I dont see how they can be the Findlater girls. This woman went or was taken off in the car. They are certainly not Vera Findlatersthere was no mud on her shoes when we found her. Oh! you were taking notice, then. I thought you were feeling a bit dead to the world. So I was, old dear, but I cant help noticin things, though moribund. Hullo! whats this? He put his hand down behind the cushions of the car and pulled out an American magazinethat monthly collection of mystery and sensational fiction published under the name of The Black Mask. Light reading for the masses, said Parker. Brought by the gentleman in the yellow boots, perhaps, suggested the Chief Constable. More likely by Miss Findlater, said Wimsey. Hardly a ladys choice, said Sir Charles, in a pained tone. Oh, I dunno. From all I hear, Miss Whittaker was dead against sentimentality and roses round the porch, and the other poor girl copied her in everything. They might have a boyish taste in fiction. Well, its not very important, said Parker. Wait a bit. Look at this. Somebodys been making marks on it. Wimsey held out the cover for inspection. A thick pencilmark had been drawn under the first two words of the title. Do you think its some sort of message? Perhaps the book was on the seat, and she contrived to make the marks unnoticed and shove it away here before they transferred her to the other car. Ingenious, said Sir Charles, but what does it mean? The Black. It makes no sense. Perhaps the longtoed gentleman was a nigger, suggested Parker. Nigger taste runs rather to boots and hairoil. Or possibly a Hindu or Parsee of sorts. God bless my soul, said Sir Charles, horrified, an English girl in the hands of a nigger. How abominable! Well, well hope it isnt so. Shall we follow the road out or wait for the doctor to arrive? Better go back to the body, I think, said Parker. Theyve got a long start of us, and half an hour more or less in following them up wont make much odds. They turned from the translucent cool greenness of the little wood back on to the downs. The streamlet clacked merrily away over the pebbles, running out to the southwest on its way to the river and the sea. Its all very well your chattering, said Wimsey to the water. Why cant you say what youve seen? XXI By What Means? Death hath so many doors to let out life. Beaumont and Fletcher Custom of the Country The doctor turned out to be a plumpish, fussy manand what Wimsey impatiently called a Tutster. He tutted over the mangled head of poor Vera Findlater as though it was an attack of measles after a party or a selfprovoked fit of the gout. Tst, tst, tst. A terrible blow. How did we come by that, I wonder? Tst, tst. Life extinct? Oh, for several days, you know. Tst, tstwhich makes it so much more painful, of course. Dear me, how shocking for her poor parents. And her sisters. They are very agreeable girls; you know them, of course, Sir Charles. Yes. Tst, tst. There is no doubt, I suppose, said Parker, that it is Miss Findlater. None whatever, said Sir Charles. Well, as you can identify her, it may be possible to spare the relatives the shock of seeing her like this. Just a moment, doctorthe photographer wants to record the position of the body before you move anything. Now, Mr.Andrews?yeshave you ever done any photographs of this kind before? No?well, you mustnt be upset by it! I know its rather unpleasant. One from here, please, to show the position of the bodynow from the top of the bankthats rightnow one of the wound itselfa closeup view, please. Yes. Thank you. Now, doctor, you can turn her over, pleaseIm sorry, Mr. AndrewsI know exactly how you are feeling, but these things have to be done. Hullo! look how her arms are all scratched about. Looks as if shed put up a bit of a fight. The right wrist and left elbowas though someone had been trying to hold her down. We must have a photograph of the marks, Mr. Andrewsthey may be important. I say, doctor, what do you make of this on the face? The doctor looked as though he would have preferred not to make so much as an examination of the face. However, with many tuts he worked himself up to giving an opinion. As far as one can tell, with all these postmortem changes, he ventured, it looks as though the face had been roughened or burnt about the nose and lips. Yet there is no appearance of the kind on the bridge of the nose, neck or forehead. Tst, tstotherwise I should have put it down to severe sunburn. How about chloroform burns? suggested Parker. Tst, tst, said the doctor, annoyed at not having thought of this himselfI wish you gentlemen of the police force would not be quite so abrupt. You want everything decided in too great a hurry. I was about to remarkif you had not anticipated methat since I could not put the appearance down to sunburn, there remains some such possibility as you suggest. I cant possibly say that it is the result of chloroformmedical pronouncements of that kind cannot be hastily made without cautious investigationbut I was about to remark that it might be. In that case, put in Wimsey, could she have died from the effects of the chloroform? Supposing she was given too much or that her heart was weak? My good sir, said the doctor, deeply offended this time, look at that blow upon the head, and ask yourself whether it is necessary to suggest any other cause of death. Moreover, if she had died of the chloroform, where would be the necessity for the blow? That is exactly what I was wondering, said Wimsey. I suppose, went on the doctor, you will hardly dispute my medical knowledge? Certainly not, said Wimsey, but as you say, it is unwise to make any medical pronouncement without cautious investigation. And this is not the place for it, put in Parker, hastily. I think we have done all there is to do here. Will you go with the body to the mortuary, doctor. Mr. Andrews, I shall be obliged if you will come and take a few photographs of some footmarks and so on up in the wood. The light is bad, Im afraid, but we must do our best. He took Wimsey by the arm. The man is a fool, of course, he said, but we can get a second opinion. In the meantime, we had better let it be supposed that we accept the surface explanation of all this. What is the difficulty? asked Sir Charles, curiously. Oh, nothing much, replied Parker. All the appearances are in favour of the girls having been attacked by a couple of ruffians, who have carried Miss Whittaker off with a view to ransom, after brutally knocking Miss Findlater on the head when she offered resistance. Probably that is the true explanation. Any minor discrepancies will doubtless clear themselves up in time. We shall know better when we have had a proper medical examination. They returned to the wood, where photographs were taken and careful measurements made of the footprints. The Chief Constable followed these activities with intense interest, looking over Parkers shoulder as he entered the particulars in his notebook. I say, he said, suddenly, isnt it rather odd Heres somebody coming, broke in Parker. The sound of a motorcycle being urged in second gear over the rough ground proved to be the herald of a young man armed with a camera. Oh, God! groaned Parker. The damned Press already. He received the journalist courteously enough, showing him the wheeltracks and the footprints, and outlining the kidnapping theory as they walked back to the place where the body was found. Can you give us any idea, Inspector, of the appearance of the two wanted men? Well, said Parker, one of them appears to be something of a dandy; he wears a loathsome mauve cap and narrow pointed shoes, and, if those marks on the magazine cover mean anything, one or other of the men may possibly be a coloured man of some kind. Of the second man, all we can definitely say is that he wears number 10 shoes, with rubber heels. I was going to say, said Pillington, that, propos de bottes, it is rather remarkable And this is where we found the body of Miss Findlater, went on Parker, ruthlessly. He described the injuries and the position of the body, and the journalist gratefully occupied himself with taking photographs, including a group of Wimsey, Parker and the Chief Constable standing among the gorsebushes, while the latter majestically indicated the fatal spot with his walkingstick. And now youve got what you want, old son, said Parker, benevolently, buzz off, wont you, and tell the rest of the boys. Youve got all we can tell you, and weve got other things to do beyond granting special interviews. The reporter asked no better. This was tantamount to making his information exclusive, and no Victorian matron could have a more delicate appreciation of the virtues of exclusiveness than a modern newspaper man. Well now, Sir Charles, said Parker, when the man had happily chugged and popped himself away, what were you about to say in the matter of the footprints? But Sir Charles was offended. The Scotland Yard man had snubbed him and thrown doubt on his discretion. Nothing, he replied. I feel sure that my conclusions would appear very elementary to you. And he preserved a dignified silence throughout the return journey. The Whittaker case had begun almost imperceptibly, in the overhearing of a casual remark dropped in a Soho restaurant; it ended amid a roar of publicity that shook England from end to end and crowded even Wimbledon into the second place. The bare facts of the murder and kidnapping appeared exclusively that night in a Late Extra edition of the Evening Views. Next morning it sprawled over the Sunday papers with photographs and full details, actual and imaginary. The idea of two English girlsthe one brutally killed, the other carried off for some end unthinkably sinister, by a black manaroused all the passion of horror and indignation of which the English temperament is capable. Reporters swarmed down upon Crows Beach like locuststhe downs near Shelly Head were like a fair with motors, bicycles and parties on foot, rushing out to spend a happy weekend amid surroundings of mystery and bloodshed. Parker, who with Wimsey had taken rooms at the Green Lion, sat answering the telephone and receiving the letters and wires which descended upon him from all sides, with a stalwart policeman posted at the end of the passage to keep out all intruders. Wimsey fidgeted about the room, smoking cigarette after cigarette in his excitement. This time weve got them, he said. Theyve overreached themselves, thank God! Yes. But have a little patience, old man. We cant lose thembut we must have all the facts first. Youre sure those fellows have got Mrs. Forrest safe? Oh, yes. She came back to the flat on Monday nightor so the garage man says. Our men are shadowing her continually and will let us know the moment anybody comes to the flat. Monday night! Yes. But thats no proof in itself. Monday night is quite a usual time for weekenders to return to Town. Besides, I dont want to frighten her till we know whether shes the principal or merely the accomplice. Look here, Peter, Ive had a message from another of our men. Hes been looking into the finances of Miss Whittaker and Mrs. Forrest. Miss Whittaker has been drawing out big sums, ever since last December year in cheques to Self, and these correspond almost exactly, amount for amount, with sums which Mrs. Forrest has been paying into her own account. That woman has had a big hold over Miss Whittaker, ever since old Miss Dawson died. Shes in it up to the neck, Peter. I knew it. Shes been doing the jobs while the Whittaker woman held down her alibi in Kent. For Gods sake, Charles, make no mistake. Nobodys life is safe for a second while either of them is at large. When a woman is wicked and unscrupulous, said Parker, sententiously, she is the most ruthless criminal in the worldfifty times worse than a man, because she is always so much more singleminded about it. Theyre not troubled with sentimentality, thats why, said Wimsey, and we poor mutts of men stuff ourselves up with the idea that theyre romantic and emotional. All punk, my son. Damn that phone! Parker snatched up the receiver. Yesyesspeaking. Good God, you dont say so. All right. Yes. Yes, of course you must detain him. I think myself its a plant, but he must be held and questioned. And see that all the papers have it. Tell em youre sure hes the man. See? Soak it well into em that thats the official view. Andwait a momentI want photographs of the cheque and of any fingerprints on it. Send em down immediately by a special messenger. Its genuine, I suppose? The Bank people say it is? Good! Whats his story? Oh! any envelope?Destroyed?Silly devil. Right. Right. Goodbye. He turned to Wimsey with some excitement. Hallelujah Dawson walked into Lloyds Bank in Stepney yesterday morning and presented Mary Whittakers cheque for 10,000, drawn on their Leahampton branch to Bearer, and dated Friday 24th. As the sum was such a large one and the story of the disappearance was in Friday nights paper, they asked him to call again. Meanwhile, they communicated with Leahampton. When the news of the murder came out yesterday evening, the Leahampton manager remembered about it and phoned the Yard, with the result that they sent round this morning and had Hallelujah up for a few inquiries. His story is that the cheque arrived on Saturday morning, all by itself in an envelope, without a word of explanation. Of course the old juggins chucked the envelope away, so that we cant verify his tale or get a line on the postmark. Our people thought the whole thing looked a bit fishy, so Hallelujah is detained pending investigationin other words, arrested for murder and conspiracy! Poor old Hallelujah! Charles, this is simply devilish! That innocent, decent old creature, who couldnt harm a fly. I know. Well, hes in for it and will have to go through with it. Its all the better for us. Hells bells, theres somebody at the door. Come in. Its Dr. Faulkner to see you, sir, said the constable, putting his head in. Oh, good. Come in, doctor. Have you made your examination? I have, Inspector. Very interesting. You were quite right. Ill tell you that much straight away. Im glad to hear that. Sit down and tell us all about it. Ill be as brief as possible, said the doctor. He was a London man, sent down by Scotland Yard, and accustomed to police worka lean, grey badger of a man, businesslike and keeneyed, the direct opposite of the tutster who had annoyed Parker the evening before. Well, first of all, the blow on the head had, of course, nothing whatever to do with the death. You saw yourself that there had been next to no bleeding. The wound was inflicted some time after deathno doubt to create the impression of an attack by a gang. Similarly with the cuts and scratches on the arms. They are the merest camouflage. Exactly. Your colleague My colleague, as you call him, is a fool, snorted the doctor. If thats a specimen of his diagnosis, I should think there would be a high deathrate in Crows Beach. Thats by the way. You want the cause of death? Chloroform? Possibly. I opened the body but found no special symptoms suggestive of poisoning or anything. I have removed the necessary organs and sent them to Sir James Lubbock for analysis at your suggestion, but candidly I expect nothing from that. There was no odour of chloroform on opening the thorax. Either the time elapsed since the death was too long, as is very possible, seeing how volatile the stuff is, or the dose was too small. I found no indications of any heart weakness, so that, to produce death in a healthy young girl, chloroform would have had to be administered over a considerable time. Do you think it was administered at all? Yes, I think it was. The burns on the face certainly suggest it. That would also account for the handkerchief found in the car, said Wimsey. I suppose, pursued Parker, that it would require considerable strength and determination to administer chloroform to a strong young woman. She would probably resist strenuously. She would, said the doctor, grimly, but the odd thing is, she didnt. As I said before, all the marks of violence were inflicted postmortem. Suppose she had been asleep at the time, suggested Wimsey, couldnt it have been done quietly then? Oh, yeseasily. After a few long breaths of the stuff she would become semiconscious and then could be more firmly dealt with. It is quite possible, I suppose, that she fell asleep in the sunshine, while her companion wandered off and was kidnapped, and that the kidnappers then came along and got rid of Miss Findlater. That seems a little unnecessary, said Parker. Why come back to her at all? Do you suggest that they both fell asleep and were both set on and chloroformed at the same time? It sounds rather unlikely. I dont. Listen, doctoronly keep this to yourself. He outlined the history of their suspicions about Mary Whittaker, to which the doctor listened in horrified amazement. What happened, said Parker, as we think, is this. We think that for some reason Miss Whittaker had determined to get rid of this poor girl who was so devoted to her. She arranged that they should go off for a picnic and that it should be known where they were going to. Then, when Vera Findlater was dozing in the sunshine, our theory is that she murdered hereither with chloroform ormore likely, I fancyby the same method that she used upon her other victims, whatever that was. Then she struck her on the head and produced the other appearances suggestive of a struggle, and left on the bushes a cap which she had previously purchased and stained with brilliantine. I am, of course, having the cap traced. Miss Whittaker is a tall, powerful womanI dont think it would be beyond her strength to inflict that blow on an unresisting body. But how about those footmarks in the wood? Im coming to that. There are one or two very odd things about them. To begin with, if this was the work of a secret gang, why should they go out of their way to pick out the one damp, muddy spot in twenty miles of country to leave their footprints in, when almost anywhere else they could have come and gone without leaving any recognisable traces at all? Good point, said the doctor. And I add to that, that they must have noticed theyd left a cap behind. Why not come back and remove it? Exactly. Then again. Both pairs of shoes left prints entirely free from the marks left by wear and tear. I mean that there were no signs of the heels or soles being worn at all, while the rubbers on the larger pair were obviously just out of the shop. We shall have the photographs here in a moment, and you will see. Of course, its not impossible that both men should be wearing brand new shoes, but on the whole its unlikely. It is, agreed the doctor. And now we come to the most suggestive thing of all. One of the supposed men had very much bigger feet than the other, from which you would expect a taller and possibly heavier man with a longer stride. But on measuring the footprints, what do we find? In all three casesthe big man, the little man and the womanwe have exactly the same length of stride. Not only that, but the footprints have sunk into the ground to precisely the same depth, indicating that all three people were of the same weight. Now, the other discrepancies might pass, but that is absolutely beyond the reach of coincidence. Dr. Faulkner considered this for a moment. Youve proved your point, he said at length. I consider that absolutely convincing. It struck even Sir Charles Pillington, who is none too bright, said Parker. I had the greatest difficulty in preventing him from blurting out the extraordinary agreement of the measurements to that Evening Views man. You think, then, that Miss Whittaker had come provided with these shoes and produced the tracks herself. Yes, returning each time through the bracken. Cleverly done. She had made no mistake about superimposing the footprints.

It was all worked out to a nicetyeach set over and under the two others, to produce the impression that three people had been there at the same time. Intensive study of the works of Mr. Austin Freeman, I should say. And what next? Well, I think we shall find that this Mrs. Forrest, who we think has been her accomplice all along, had brought her car downthe big car, that isand was waiting there for her. Possibly she did the making of the footprints while Mary Whittaker was staging the assault. Anyhow, she probably arrived there after Mary Whittaker and Vera Findlater had left the Austin and departed to the hollow on the downs. When Mary Whittaker had finished her part of the job, they put the handkerchief and the magazine called The Black Mask into the Austin and drove off in Mrs. Forrests car. Im having the movements of the car investigated, naturally. Its a dark blue Renault fourseater, with Michelin balloontyres, and the number is XO4247. We know that it returned to Mrs. Forrests garage on the Monday night with Mrs. Forrest in it. But where is Miss Whittaker? In hiding somewhere. We shall get her all right. She cant get money from her own banktheyre warned. If Mrs. Forrest tries to get money for her, she will be followed. So if the worst comes to the worst, we can starve her out in time with any luck. But weve got another clue. There has been a most determined attempt to throw suspicion on an unfortunate relative of Miss Whittakersa black Nonconformist parson, with the remarkable name of Hallelujah Dawson. He has certain pecuniary claims on Miss Whittakernot legal claims, but claims which any decent and humane person should have respected. She didnt respect them, and the poor old man might very well have been expected to nurse a grudge against her. Yesterday morning he tried to cash a Bearer cheque of hers for 10,000, with a lamesounding story to the effect that it had arrived by the first post, without explanation, in an envelope. So, of course, hes had to be detained as one of the kidnappers. But that is very clumsy, surely. Hes almost certain to have an alibi. I fancy the story will be that he hired some gangsters to do the job for him. He belongs to a Mission in Stepneywhere that mauve cap came fromand no doubt there are plenty of tough lads in his neighbourhood. Of course we shall make close inquiries and publish details broadcast in all the papers. And then? Well then, I fancy, the idea is that Miss Whittaker will turn up somewhere in an agitated condition with a story of assault and holding to ransom made to fit the case. If Cousin Hallelujah has not produced a satisfactory alibi, we shall learn that he was on the spot directing the murderers. If he has definitely shown that he wasnt there, his name will have been mentioned, or he will have turned up at some time which the poor dear girl couldnt exactly ascertain, in some dreadful den to which she was taken in a place which she wont be able to identify. What a devilish plot. Yes. Miss Whittaker is a charming young woman. If theres anything shed stop at, I dont know what it is. And the amiable Mrs. Forrest appears to be another of the same kidney. Of course, doctor, were taking you into our confidence. You understand that our catching Mary Whittaker depends on her believing that weve swallowed all these false clues of hers. Im not a talker, said the doctor. Gang you call it, and gang it is, as far as Im concerned. And Miss Findlater was hit on the head and died of it. I only hope my colleague and the Chief Constable will be equally discreet. I warned them, naturally, after what you said last night. Its all very well, said Wimsey, but what positive evidence have we, after all, against this woman? A clever defending counsel would tear the whole thing to rags. The only thing we can absolutely prove her to have done is the burgling that house on Hampstead Heath and stealing the coal. The other deaths were returned natural deaths at the inquest. And as for Miss Findlatereven if we show it to be chloroformwell, chloroform isnt difficult stuff to get hold ofits not arsenic or cyanide. And even if there were fingerprints on the spanner There were not, said Parker, gloomily. This girl knows what shes about. What did she want to kill Vera Findlater for, anyway? asked the doctor, suddenly. According to you, the girl was the most valuable bit of evidence she had. She was the one witness who could prove that Miss Whittaker had an alibi for the other crimesif they were crimes. She may have found out too much about the connection between Miss Whittaker and Mrs. Forrest. My impression is that she had served her turn and become dangerous. What were hoping to surprise now is some communication between Forrest and Whittaker. Once weve got that Humph! said Dr. Faulkner. He had strolled to the window. I dont want to worry you unduly, but I perceive Sir Charles Pillington in conference with the Special Correspondent of the Wire. The Yell came out with the gang story all over the front page this morning, and a patriotic leader about the danger of encouraging coloured aliens. I neednt remind you that the Wire would be ready to corrupt the Archangel Gabriel in order to kill the Yells story. Oh, hell! said Parker, rushing to the window. Too late, said the doctor. The Wire man has vanished into the post office. Of course, you can phone up and try to stop it. Parker did so, and was courteously assured by the editor of the Wire that the story had not reached him, and that if it did, he would bear Inspector Parkers instructions in mind. The editor of the Wire was speaking the exact truth. The story had been received by the editor of the Evening Banner, sister paper to the Wire. In times of crisis, it is sometimes convenient that the left hand should not know what the right hand does. After all, it was an exclusive story. XXII A Case of Conscience I know thou art religious, And hast a thing within thee called conscience, With twenty popish tricks and ceremonies Which I have seen thee careful to observe. Titus Andronicus Thursday, June 23rd, was the Eve of St. John. The sober green workaday dress in which the church settles down to her daily duties after the bridal raptures of Pentecost, had been put away, and the altar was white and shining once again. Vespers were over in the Lady Chapel at St. Onesimusa faint reek of incense hung cloudily under the dim beams of the roof. A very short acolyte with a very long brass extinguisher snuffed out the candles, adding the faintly unpleasant yet sanctified odour of hot wax. The small congregation of elderly ladies rose up lingeringly from their devotions and slipped away in a series of deep genuflections. Miss Climpson gathered up a quantity of little manuals, and groped for her gloves. In doing so, she dropped her officebook. It fell, annoyingly, behind the long kneeler, scattering as it went a small pentecostal shower of Easter cards, bookmarkers, sacred pictures, dried palms and Ave Marias into the dark corner behind the confessional. Miss Climpson gave a little exclamation of wrath as she dived after themand immediately repented this improper outburst of anger in a sacred place. Discipline, she murmured, retrieving the last lost sheep from under a hassock, discipline. I must learn selfcontrol. She crammed the papers back into the officebook, grasped her gloves and handbag, bowed to the Sanctuary, dropped her bag, picked it up this time in a kind of glow of martyrdom, bustled down the aisle and across the church to the south door, where the sacristan stood, key in hand, waiting to let her out. As she went, she glanced up at the High Altar, unlit and lonely, with the tall candles like faint ghosts in the twilight of the apse. It had a grim and awful look she thought, suddenly. Good night, Mr. Stanniforth, she said, quickly. Good night, Miss Climpson, good night. She was glad to come out of the shadowy porch into the green glow of the June evening. She had felt a menace. Was it the thought of the stern Baptist, with his call to repentance? the prayer for grace to speak the truth and boldly rebuke vice? Miss Climpson decided that she would hurry home and read the Epistle and Gospelcuriously tender and comfortable for the festival of that harsh and uncompromising Saint. And I can tidy up these cards at the same time, she thought. Mrs. Budges firstfloor front seemed stuffy after the scented loveliness of the walk home. Miss Climpson flung the window open and sat down by it to rearrange her sanctified oddments. The card of the Last Supper went in at the Prayer of Consecration; the Fra Angelico Annunciation had strayed out of the office for March 25th and was wandering among the Sundays after Trinity; the Sacred Heart with its French text belonged to Corpus Christi; the Dear me! said Miss Climpson, I must have picked this up in church. Certainly the little sheet of paper was not in her writing. Somebody must have dropped it. It was natural to look and see whether it was anything of importance. Miss Climpson was one of those people who say I am not the kind of person who reads other peoples postcards. This is clear notice to all and sundry that they are, precisely, that kind of person. They are not untruthful; the delusion is real to them. It is merely that Providence has provided them with a warning rattle, like that of the rattlesnake. After that, if you are so foolish as to leave your correspondence in their way, it is your own affair. Miss Climpson perused the paper. In the manuals for selfexamination issued to the Catholicminded, there is often included an unwise little paragraph which speaks volumes for the innocent unworldliness of the compilers. You are advised, when preparing for confession, to make a little list of your misdeeds, lest one or two peccadilloes should slip your mind. It is true that you are cautioned against writing down the names of other people or showing your list to your friends, or leaving it about. But accidents may happenand it may be that this recording of sins is contrary to the mind of the church, who bids you whisper them with fleeting breath into the ear of a priest and bids him, in the same moment that he absolves, forget them as though they had never been spoken. At any rate, somebody had been recently shriven of the sins set forth upon the paperprobably the previous Saturdayand the document had fluttered down unnoticed between the confessionbox and the hassock, escaping the eye of the cleaner. And here it wasthe tale that should have been told to none but Godlying open upon Mrs. Budges round mahogany table under the eye of a fellowmortal. To do Miss Climpson justice, she would probably have destroyed it instantly unread, if one sentence had not caught her eye The lies I told for M. W.s sake. At the same moment she realised that this was Vera Findlaters handwriting, and it came over her like a flashas she explained afterwards, exactly what the implication of the words was. For a full halfhour Miss Climpson sat alone, struggling with her conscience. Her natural inquisitiveness said Read; her religious training said, You must not read; her sense of duty to Wimsey, who employed her, said, Find out; her own sense of decency said, Do no such thing; a dreadful, harsh voice muttered gratingly, Murder is the question. Are you going to be the accomplice of Murder? She felt like Lancelot Gobbo between conscience and the fiendbut which was the fiend and which was conscience? To speak the truth and boldly rebuke vice. Murder. There was a real possibility now. But was it a possibility? Perhaps she had read into the sentence more than it would bear. In that case, was it notalmosta duty to read further and free her mind from this horrible suspicion? She would have liked to go to Mr. Tredgold and ask his advice. Probably he would tell her to burn the paper promptly and drive suspicion out of her mind with prayer and fasting. She got up and began searching for the matchbox. It would be better to get rid of the thing quickly. What, exactly, was she about to do?To destroy the clue to the discovery of a Murder? Whenever she thought of the word, it wrote itself upon her brain in large capitals, heavily underlined. Murderlike a policebill. Then she had an idea. Parker was a policemanand probably also he had no particular feelings about the sacred secrecy of the Confessional. He had a Protestant appearanceor possibly he thought nothing of religion one way or the other. In any case, he would put his professional duty before everything. Why not send him the paper, without reading it, briefly explaining how she had come upon it? Then the responsibility would be his. On consideration, however, Miss Climpsons innate honesty scouted this scheme as Jesuitical. Secrecy was violated by this open publication as much as if she had read the thingor more so. The old Adam, too, raised his head at this point, suggesting that if anybody was going to see the confession, she might just as well satisfy her own reasonable curiosity. Besidessuppose she was quite mistaken. After all, the lies might have nothing whatever to do with Mary Whittakers alibi. In that case, she would have betrayed another persons secret wantonly, and to no purpose. If she did decide to show it, she was bound to read it firstin justice to all parties concerned. Perhapsif she just glanced at another word or two, she would see that it had nothing to do withmurderand then she could destroy it and forget it. She knew that if she destroyed it unread she never would forget it, to the end of her life. She would always carry with her that grim suspicion. She would think of Mary Whittaker asperhapsa Murderess. When she looked into those hard blue eyes, she would be wondering what sort of expression they had when the soul behind them was plottingmurder. Of course, the suspicions had been there before, planted by Wimsey, but now they were her own suspicions. They crystallisedbecame real to her. What shall I do? She gave a quick, shamefaced glance at the paper again. This time she saw the word London. Miss Climpson gave a kind of little gasp, like a person stepping under a cold showerbath. Well, said Miss Climpson, if this is a sin I am going to do it, and may I be forgiven. With a red flush creeping over her cheeks as though she were stripping something naked, she turned her attention to the paper. The jottings were brief and ambiguous. Parker might not have made much of them, but to Miss Climpson, trained in this kind of devotional shorthand, the story was clear as print. Jealousythe word was written large and underlined. Then there was a reference to a quarrel, to wicked accusations and angry words and to a preoccupation coming between the penitents soul and God. Idoland a long dash. From these few fossil bones, Miss Climpson had little difficulty in reconstructing one of those hateful and passionate scenes of slighted jealousy with which a womanridden life had made her only too familiar. I do everything for youyou dont care a bit for meyou treat me cruellyyoure simply sick of me, thats what it is! And Dont be so ridiculous. Really, I cant stand this. Oh, stop it, Vera! I hate being slobbered over. Humiliating, degrading, exhausting, beastly scenes. Girls school, boardinghouse, Bloomsburyflat scenes. Damnable selfishness wearying of its victim. Silly schwrmerei swamping all decent selfrespect. Barren quarrels ending in shame and hatred. Beastly, bloodsucking woman, said Miss Climpson, viciously. Its too bad. Shes only making use of the girl. But the selfexaminer was now troubled with a more difficult problem. Piecing the hints together, Miss Climpson sorted it out with practised ease. Lies had been toldthat was wrong, even though done to help a friend. Bad confessions had been made, suppressing those lies. This ought to be confessed and put right. But (the girl asked herself) had she come to this conclusion out of hatred of the lies or out of spite against the friend? Difficult, this searching of the heart. And ought she, not content with confessing the lies to the priest, also to tell the truth to the world? Miss Climpson had here no doubt what the priests ruling would be. You need not go out of your way to betray your friends confidence. Keep silent if you can, but if you speak you must speak the truth. You must tell your friend that she is not to expect any more lying from you. She is entitled to ask for secrecyno more. So far, so good. But there was a further problem. Ought I to connive at her doing what is wrong?and then a sort of explanatory asidethe man in South Audley Street. This was a little mysterious No!on the contrary, it explained the whole mystery, jealousy, quarrel and all. In those weeks of April and May, when Mary Whittaker had been supposed to be all the time in Kent with Vera Findlater, she had been going up to London. And Vera had promised to say that Mary was with her the whole time. And the visits to London had to do with a man in South Audley Street, and there was something sinful about it. That probably meant a loveaffair. Miss Climpson pursed her lips virtuously, but she was more surprised than shocked. Mary Whittaker! she would never have suspected it of her, somehow. But it so explained the jealousy and the quarrelthe sense of desertion. But how had Vera found out? Had Mary Whittaker confided in her?No; that sentence again, under the heading Jealousywhat was itfollowing M. W. to London. She had followed then, and seen. And then, at some moment, she had burst out with her knowledgereproached her friend. Yet this expedition to London must have happened before her own conversation with Vera Findlater, and the girl had then seemed so sure of Marys affection. Or had it been that she was trying to persuade herself, with determined selfdeception, that there was nothing in this business about the man? Probably. And probably some brutality of Marys had brought all the miserable suspicions boiling to the surface, vocal, reproachful and furious. And so they had gone on to the row and the break. Queer, thought Miss Climpson, that Vera has never come and told me about her trouble. But perhaps she is ashamed, poor child. I havent seen her for nearly a week. I think Ill call and see her and perhaps shell tell me all about it. In which casecried Miss Climpsons conscience, suddenly emerging with a bright and beaming smile from under the buffets of the enemyin which case I shall know the whole history of it legitimately and can quite honourably tell Lord Peter about it. The next daywhich was the Fridayshe woke, however, with an unpleasant ache in the conscience. The paperstill tucked into the officebookworried her. She went round early to Vera Findlaters house, only to hear that she was staying with Miss Whittaker. Then I suppose theyve made it up, she said. She did not want to see Mary Whittaker, whether her secret was murder or mere immorality; but she was tormented by the desire to clear up the matter of the alibi for Lord Peter. In Wellington Avenue she was told that the two girls had gone away on the Monday and had not yet returned. She tried to reassure the maid, but her own heart misgave her. Without any real reason, she was uneasy. She went round to the church and said her prayers, but her mind was not on what she was saying. On an impulse, she caught Mr. Tredgold as he pottered in and out of the Sacristy, and asked if she might come the next evening to lay a case of conscience before him. So far, so good, and she felt that a good walk might help to clear the cobwebs from her brain. So she started off, missing Lord Peter by a quarter of an hour, and took the train to Guildford and then walked and had lunch in a wayside teashop and walked back into Guildford and so came home, where she learnt that Mr. Parker and ever so many gentlemen had been asking for her all day, and what a dreadful thing, miss, here was Miss Whittaker and Miss Findlater disappeared and the police out looking for them, and them motorcars was such dangerous things, miss, wasnt they? It was to be hoped there wasnt an accident. And into Miss Climpsons mind there came, like an inspiration, the words, South Audley Street. Miss Climpson did not, of course, know that Wimsey was at Crows Beach. She hoped to find him in Town. For she was seized with a desire, which she could hardly have explained even to herself, to go and look at South Audley Street. What she was to do when she got there she did not know, but go there she must. It was the old reluctance to make open use of that confession paper. Vera Findlaters story at first handthat was the idea to which she obscurely clung. So she took the first train to Waterloo, leaving behind her, in case Wimsey or Parker should call again, a letter so obscure and mysterious and so lavishly underlined and interlined that it was perhaps fortunate for their reason that they were never faced with it. In Piccadilly she saw Bunter, and learned that his lordship was at Crows Beach with Mr. Parker, where he, Bunter, was just off to join him. Miss Climpson promptly charged him with a message to his employer slightly more involved and mysterious than her letter, and departed for South Audley Street. It was only when she was walking up it that she realised how vague her quest was and how little investigation one can do by merely walking along a street. Also, it suddenly occurred to her that if Miss Whittaker was carrying on anything of a secret nature in South Audley Street, the sight of an acquaintance patrolling the pavement would put her on her guard. Much struck by this reflection, Miss Climpson plunged abruptly into a chemists shop and bought a toothbrush, by way of concealing her movements and gaining time. One can while away many minutes comparing the shapes, sizes and bristles of toothbrushes, and sometimes chemists will be nice and gossipy. Looking round the shop for inspiration, Miss Climpson observed a tin of nasal snuff labelled with the chemists own name. I will take a tin of that, too, please, she said. What excellent stuff it isquite wonderful. I have used it for years and am really delighted with it. I recommend it to all my friends, particularly for hay fever. In fact, theres a friend of mine who often passes your shop, who told me only yesterday what a martyr she was to that complaint. My dear, I said to her, you have only to get a tin of this splendid stuff and you will be quite all right all summer. She was so grateful to me for telling her about it. Has she been in for it yet? And she described Mary Whittaker closely. It will be noticed, by the way, that in the struggle between Miss Climpsons conscience and what Wilkie Collins calls detective fever, conscience was getting the worst of it and was winking at an amount of deliberate untruth which a little time earlier would have staggered it. The chemist, however, had seen nothing of Miss Climpsons friend. Nothing, therefore, was to be done but to retire from the field and think what was next to be done. Miss Climpson left, but before leaving she neatly dropped her latchkey into a large basket full of sponges standing at her elbow. She felt she might like to have an excuse to visit South Audley Street again. Conscience sighed deeply, and her guardian angel dropped a tear among the sponges. Retiring into the nearest teashop she came to, Miss Climpson ordered a cup of coffee and started to think out a plan for honeycombing South Audley Street. She needed an excuseand a disguise. An adventurous spirit was welling up in her elderly bosom, and her first dozen or so ideas were more lurid than practical. At length a really brilliant notion occurred to her. She was (she did not attempt to hide it from herself) precisely the type and build of person one associates with the collection of subscriptions. Moreover, she had a perfectly good and genuine cause ready to hand. The church which she attended in London ran a slum mission, which was badly in need of funds, and she possessed a number of collecting cards, bearing full authority to receive subscriptions on its behalf. What more natural than that she should try a little housetohouse visiting in a wealthy quarter? The question of disguise, also, was less formidable than it might appear. Miss Whittaker had only known her welldressed and affluent in appearance. Ugly, clumping shoes, a hat of virtuous ugliness, a shapeless coat and a pair of tinted glasses would disguise her sufficiently at a distance. At close quarters, it would not matter if she was recognised, for if once she got to close quarters with Mary Whittaker, her job was done and she had found the house she wanted. Miss Climpson rose from the table, paid her bill and hurried out to buy the glasses, remembering that it was Saturday. Having secured a pair which hid her eyes effectively without looking exaggeratedly mysterious, she made for her rooms in St. Georges Square, to choose suitable clothing for her adventure. She realised, of course, that she could hardly start work till MondaySaturday afternoon and Sunday are hopeless from the collectors point of view. The choice of clothes and accessories occupied her for the better part of the afternoon. When she was at last satisfied she went downstairs to ask her landlady for some tea. Certainly, miss, said the good woman. Aint it awful, miss, about this murder? What murder? asked Miss Climpson, vaguely. She took the Evening Views from her landladys hand, and read the story of Vera Findlaters death. Sunday was the most awful day Miss Climpson had ever spent. An active woman, she was condemned to inactivity, and she had time to brood over the tragedy. Not having Wimseys or Parkers inside knowledge, she took the kidnapping story at its face value. In a sense, she found it comforting, for she was able to acquit Mary Whittaker of any share in this or the previous murders. She put them downexcept, of course, in the case of Miss Dawson, and that might never have been a murder after allto the mysterious man in South Audley Street. She formed a nightmare image of him in her mindbloodboltered, sinister, andmost horrible of allan associate and employer of debauched and brutal black assassins. To Miss Climpsons credit be it said that she never for one moment faltered in her determination to track the monster to his lurkingplace. She wrote a long letter to Lord Peter, detailing her plans. Bunter, she knew, had left 110A Piccadilly, so, after considerable thought, she addressed it to Lord Peter Wimsey, co Inspector Parker, The PoliceStation, Crows Beach. There was, of course, no Sunday post from Town. However, it would go with the midnight collection. On the Monday morning she set out early, in her old clothes and her spectacles, for South Audley Street. Never had her natural inquisitiveness and her hard training in thirdrate boardinghouses stood her in better stead. She had learned to ask questions without heeding rebuffsto be persistent, insensitive and observant. In every flat she visited she acted her natural self, with so much sincerity and such limpetlike obstinacy that she seldom came away without a subscription and almost never without some information about the flat and its inmates. By teatime, she had done one side of the street and nearly half the other, without result. She was just thinking of going to get some food, when she caught sight of a woman, about a hundred yards ahead, walking briskly in the same direction as herself. Now it is easy to be mistaken in faces, but almost impossible not to recognise a back. Miss Climpsons heart gave a bound. Mary Whittaker! she said to herself, and started to follow. The woman stopped to look into a shop window. Miss Climpson hesitated to come closer. If Mary Whittaker was at large, thenwhy then the kidnapping had been done with her own consent. Puzzled, Miss Climpson determined to play a waiting game. The woman went into the shop. The friendly chemists was almost opposite. Miss Climpson decided that this was the moment to reclaim her latchkey. She went in and asked for it. It had been put aside for her and the assistant produced it at once. The woman was still in the shop over the way. Miss Climpson embarked upon a long string of apologies and circumstantial details about her carelessness. The woman came out. Miss Climpson gave her a longish start, brought the conversation to a close, and fussed out again, replacing the glasses which she had removed for the chemists benefit. The woman walked on without stopping, but she looked into the shop windows from time to time. A man with a fruiterers barrow removed his cap as she passed and scratched his head. Almost at once, the woman turned quickly and came back. The fruiterer picked up the handles of his barrow and trundled it away into a side street. The woman came straight on, and Miss Climpson was obliged to dive into a doorway and pretend to be tying a bootlace, to avoid a face to face encounter. Apparently the woman had only forgotten to buy cigarettes. She went into a tobacconists and emerged again in a minute or two, passing Miss Climpson again. That lady had dropped her bag and was agitatedly sorting its contents. The woman passed her without a glance and went on. Miss Climpson, flushed from stooping, followed again. The woman turned in at the entrance to a block of flats next door to a florists. Miss Climpson was hard on her heels now, for she was afraid of losing her. Mary Whittakerif it was Mary Whittakerwent straight through the hall to the lift, which was one of the kind worked by the passenger. She stepped in and shot up. Miss Climpsongazing at the orchids and roses in the florists windowwatched the lift out of sight. Then, with her subscription card prominently in her hand, she too entered the flats. There was a porter on duty in a little glass case. He at once spotted Miss Climpson as a stranger and asked politely if he could do anything for her. Miss Climpson, selecting a name at random from the list of occupants in the entrance, asked which was Mrs. Forrests flat. The man replied that it was on the fourth floor, and stepped forward to bring the lift down for her. A man, to whom he had been chatting, moved quietly from the glass case and took up a position in the doorway. As the lift ascended, Miss Climpson noticed that the fruiterer had returned. His barrow now stood just outside. The porter had come up with her, and pointed out the door of Mrs. Forrests flat. His presence was reassuring. She wished he would stay within call till she had concluded her search of the building. However, having asked for Mrs. Forrest, she must begin there. She pressed the bell. At first she thought the flat was empty, but after ringing a second time she heard footsteps. The door opened, and a heavily overdressed and peroxided lady made her appearance, whom Lord Peter would at onceand embarrassinglyhave recognised. I have come, said Miss Climpson, wedging herself briskly in at the doorway with the skill of the practised canvasser, to try if I can enlist your help for our Mission Settlement. May I come in? I am sure you No thanks, said Mrs. Forrest, shortly, and in a hurried, breathless tone, as if there was somebody behind her who she was anxious should not overhear her, Im not interested in Missions. She tried to shut the door. But Miss Climpson had seen and heard enough. Good gracious! she cried, staring, why, its Come in. Mrs. Forrest caught her by the arm almost roughly and pulled her over the threshold, slamming the door behind them. How extraordinary! said Miss Climpson, I hardly recognised you, Miss Whittaker, with your hair like that. You! said Mary Whittaker. Youof all people! They sat facing one another in the sittingroom with its tawdry pink silk cushions. I knew you were a meddler. How did you get here? Is there anyone with you? NoyesI just happened, began Miss Climpson vaguely. One thought was uppermost in her mind.

How did you get free? What happened? Who killed Vera? She knew she was asking her questions crudely and stupidly. Why are you disguised like that? Who sent you? reiterated Mary Whittaker. Who is the man with you? pursued Miss Climpson. Is he here? Did he do the murder? What man? The man Vera saw leaving your flat. Did he? So thats it. Vera told you. The liar. I thought I had been quick enough. Suddenly, something which had been troubling Miss Climpson for weeks crystallised and became plain to her. The expression in Mary Whittakers eyes. A long time ago, Miss Climpson had assisted a relative to run a boardinghouse, and there had been a young man who paid his bill by cheque. She had had to make a certain amount of unpleasantness about the bill, and he had written the cheque unwillingly, sitting, with her eye upon him, at the little plushcovered table in the drawingroom. Then he had gone awayslinking out with his bag when no one was about. And the cheque had come back, like the bad penny that it was. A forgery. Miss Climpson had had to give evidence. She remembered now the odd, defiant look with which the young man had taken up his pen for his first plunge into crime. And today she was seeing it againan unattractive mingling of recklessness and calculation. It was with the look which had once warned Wimsey and should have warned her. She breathed more quickly. Who was the man? The man? Mary Whittaker laughed suddenly. A man called Templetonno friend of mine. Its really funny that you should think he was a friend of mine. I would have killed him if I could. But where is he? What are you doing? Dont you know that everybody is looking for you? Why dont you? Thats why! Mary Whittaker flung her ten oclock edition of the Evening Banner, which was lying on the sofa. Miss Climpson read the glaring headlines Amazing New Developments in Crows Beach Crime. Wounds on Body Inflicted After Death. Faked Footprints. Miss Climpson gasped with amazement, and bent over the smaller type. How extraordinary! she said, looking up quickly. Not quite quickly enough. The heavy brass lamp missed her head indeed, but fell numbingly on her shoulder. She sprang to her feet with a loud shriek, just as Mary Whittakers strong white hands closed upon her throat. XXIII And Smote Him, Thus Tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a churchdoor; but tis enough, twill serve. Romeo and Juliet Lord Peter missed both Miss Climpsons communications. Absorbed in the police inquiry, he never thought to go back to Leahampton. Bunter had duly arrived with Mrs. Merdle on the Saturday evening. Immense police activity was displayed in the neighbourhood of the downs, and at Southampton and Portsmouth, in order to foster the idea that the authorities supposed the gang to be lurking in those districts. Nothing, as a matter of fact, was farther from Parkers thoughts. Let her think she is safe, he said, and shell come back. Its the catandmouse act for us, old man, Wimsey fretted. He wanted the analysis of the body to be complete and loathed the thought of the long days he had to wait. And he had small hope of the result. Its all very well sitting round with your large disguised policemen outside Mrs. Forrests flat, he said irritably, over the bacon and eggs on Monday morning, but you do realise, dont you, that weve still got no proof of murder. Not in one single case. Thats so, replied Parker, placidly. Well, doesnt it make your blood boil? said Wimsey. Hardly, said Parker. This kind of thing happens too often. If my blood boiled every time there was a delay in getting evidence, I should be in a perpetual fever. Why worry? It may be that perfect crime youre so fond of talking aboutthe one that leaves no trace. You ought to be charmed with it. Oh, I daresay. O Turpitude, where are the charms that sages have seen in thy face? Times called at the Criminals Arms, and there isnt a drink in the place. Wimseys Standard Poets, with emendations by Thingummy. As a matter of fact, Im not at all sure that Miss Dawsons death wasnt the perfect crimeif only the Whittaker girl had stopped at that and not tried to cover it up. If you notice, the deaths are becoming more and more violent, elaborate and unlikely in appearance. Telephone again. If the Post Office accounts dont show a handsome profit on telephones this year it wont be your fault. Its the cap and shoes, said Parker, mildly. Theyve traced them. They were ordered from an outfitters in Stepney, to be sent to the Rev. H. Dawson, Peveril Hotel, Bloomsbury, to await arrival. The Peveril again! Yes. I recognise the hand of Mr. Triggs mysterious charmer. The Rev. Hallelujah Dawsons card, with message Please give parcel to bearer, was presented by a District Messenger next day, with a verbal explanation that the gentleman found he could not get up to town after all. The messenger, obeying instructions received by telephone, took the parcel to a lady in a nurses dress on the platform at Charing Cross. Asked to describe the lady, he said she was tall and wore blue glasses and the usual cloak and bonnet. So thats that. How were the goods paid for? Postal order, purchased at the West Central office at the busiest moment of the day. And when did all this happen? Thats the most interesting part of the business. Last month, shortly before Miss Whittaker and Miss Findlater returned from Kent. This plot was well thought out beforehand. Yes. Well, thats something more for you to pin on to Mrs. Forrest. It looks like proof of conspiracy, but whether its proof of murder Its meant to look like a conspiracy of Cousin Hallelujahs, I suppose. Oh, well, we shall have to trace the letters and the typewriter that wrote them and interrogate all these people, I suppose. God! what a grind! Hullo! Come in! Oh, its you, doctor? Excuse my interrupting your breakfast, said Dr. Faulkner, but early this morning, while lying awake, I was visited with a bright idea. So I had to come and work it off on you while it was fresh. About the blow on the head and the marks on the arms, you know. Do you suppose they served a double purpose? Besides making it look like the work of a gang, could they be hiding some other, smaller mark? Poison, for instance, could be injected, and the mark covered up by scratches and cuts inflicted after death. Frankly, said Parker, I wish I could think it. Its a very sound idea and may be the right one. Our trouble is, that in the two previous deaths which we have been investigating, and which we are inclined to think form a part of the same series as this one, there have been no signs or traces of poison discoverable in the bodies at all by any examination or analysis that skill can devise. In fact, not only no proof of poison, but no proof of anything but natural death. And he related the cases in fuller detail. Odd, said the doctor. And you think this may turn out the same way. Still, in this case the death cant very well have been naturalor why these elaborate efforts to cover it up? It wasnt, said Parker; the proof being thatas we now knowthe plot was laid nearly two months ago. But the method! cried Wimsey, the method! Hang it allhere are all we people with our brilliant brains and our professional reputationsand this halftrained girl out of a hospital can beat the lot of us. How was it done? Its probably something so simple and obvious that its never occurred to us, said Parker. The sort of principle you learn when youre in the fourth form and never apply to anything. Rudimentary. Like that motorcycling imbecile we met up at Crofton, who sat in the rain and prayed for help because hed never heard of an airlock in his feed. Now I daresay that boy had learntWhats the matter with you? My God! cried Wimsey. He smashed his hand down among the breakfast things, upsetting his cup. My God! But thats it! Youve got ityouve done itObvious? God Almightyit doesnt need a doctor. A garage hand could have told you. People die of it every day. Of course, it was an airlock in the feed. Bear up, doctor, said Parker, hes always like this when he gets an idea. It wears off in time. Dyou mind explaining yourself, old thing? Wimseys pallid face was flushed. He turned on the doctor. Look here, he said, the bodys a pumping engine, isnt it? The jolly old heart pumps the blood round the arteries and back through the veins and so on, doesnt it? Thats what keeps things working, what? Round and home again in two minutesthat sort of thing? Certainly. Little valve to let the blood out; nother little valve to let it injust like an internal combustion engine, which it is? Of course. And sposin that stops? You die. Yes. Now, look here. Sposin you take a good big hypodermic, empty, and dig it into one of the big arteries and push the handlewhat would happen? What would happen, doctor? Youd be pumpin a big airbubble into your engine feed, wouldnt you? What would become of your circulation, then? It would stop it, said the doctor, without hesitation. That is why nurses have to be particular to fill the syringe properly, especially when doing an intravenous injection. I knew it was the kind of thing you learnt in the fourth form. Well, go on. Your circulation would stopit would be like an embolism in its effect, wouldnt it? Only if it was in a main artery, of course. In a small vein the blood would find a way round. That is why (this seemed to be the doctors favourite opening) that is why it is so important that embolismsbloodclotsshould be dispersed as soon as possible and not left to wander about the system. Yesyesbut the airbubble, doctorin a main arterysay the femoral or the big vein in the bend of the elbowthat would stop the circulation, wouldnt it? How soon? Why, at once. The heart would stop beating. And then? You would die. With what symptoms? None to speak of. Just a gasp or two. The lungs would make a desperate effort to keep things going. Then youd just stop. Like heart failure. It would be heart failure. How well I know it That sneeze in the carburettora gasping, as you say. And what would be the postmortem symptoms? None. Just the appearances of heart failure. And, of course, the little mark of the needle, if you happened to be looking for it. Youre sure of all this, doctor? said Parker. Well, its simple, isnt it? A plain problem in mechanics. Of course that would happen. It must happen. Could it be proved? insisted Parker. Thats more difficult. We must try, said Parker. Its ingenious, and it explains a lot of things. Doctor, will you go down to the mortuary again and see if you can find any puncture mark on the body. I really think youve got the explanation of the whole thing, Peter. Oh, dear! Whos on the phone now? What?what?oh, hell!Well, thats torn it. Shell never come back now. Warn all the portssend out an allstations callwatch the railways and go through Bloomsbury with a toothcombthats the part she knows best. Im coming straight up to Town nowyes, immediately. Right you are. He hung up the receiver with a few brief, choice expressions. That adjectival imbecile, Pillington, has let out all he knows. The whole story is in the early editions of the Banner. Were doing no good here. Mary Whittaker will know the games up, and shell be out of the country in two twos, if she isnt already. Coming back to Town, Wimsey? Naturally. Take you up in the car. Lose no time. Ring the bell for Bunter, would you? Oh, Bunter, were going up to Town. How soon can we start? At once, my lord. I have been holding your lordships and Mr. Parkers things ready packed from hour to hour, in case a hurried adjournment should be necessary. Good man. And there is a letter for you, Mr. Parker, sir. Oh, thanks. Ah, yes. The fingerprints off the cheque. Hm. Two sets onlybesides those of the cashier, of courseCousin Hallelujahs and a female set, presumably those of Mary Whittaker. Yes, obviouslyhere are the four fingers of the left hand, just as one would place them to hold the cheque flat while signing. Pardon me, sirbut might I look at that photograph? Certainly. Take a copy for yourself. I know it interests you as a photographer. Well, cheerio, doctor. See you in Town some time. Come on, Peter. Lord Peter came on. And that, as Dr. Faulkner would say, was why Miss Climpsons second letter was brought up from the policestation too late to catch him. They reached Town at twelveowing to Wimseys brisk work at the wheeland went straight to Scotland Yard, dropping Bunter, at his own request, as he was anxious to return to the flat. They found the Chief Commissioner in rather a brusque moodangry with the Banner and annoyed with Parker for having failed to muzzle Pillington. God knows where she will be found next. Shes probably got a disguise and a getaway all ready. Probably gone already, said Wimsey. She could easily have left England on the Monday or Tuesday and nobody a penny the wiser. If the coast had seemed clear, shed have come back and taken possession of her goods again. Now shell stay abroad. Thats all. Im very much afraid youre right, agreed Parker, gloomily. Meanwhile, what is Mrs. Forrest doing? Behaving quite normally. Shes been carefully shadowed, of course, but not interfered with in any way. Weve got three men out there nowone as a costerone as a dear friend of the hallporters who drops in every so often with racing tips, and an oddjob man doing a spot of work in the backyard. They report that she has been in and out, shopping and so on, but mostly having her meals at home. No one has called. The men deputed to shadow her away from the flat have watched carefully to see if she speaks to anyone or slips money to anyone. Were pretty sure the two havent met yet. Excuse me, sir. An officer put his head in at the door. Heres Lord Peter Wimseys man, sir, with an urgent message. Bunter entered, trimly correct in bearing, but with a glitter in his eye. He laid down two photographs on the table. Excuse me, my lord and gentlemen, but would you be so good as to cast your eyes on these two photographs? Fingerprints? said the Chief, interrogatively. One of them is our own official photograph of the prints on the 10,000 cheque, said Parker. The otherwhere did you get this, Bunter? It looks like the same set of prints, but its not one of ours. They appeared similar, sir, to my uninstructed eye. I thought it better to place the matter before you. Send Dewsby here, said the Chief Commissioner. Dewsby was the head of the fingerprint department, and he had no hesitation at all. They are undoubtedly the same prints, he said. A light was slowly breaking in on Wimsey. Bunterdid these come off that wineglass? Yes, my lord. But they are Mrs. Forrests! So I understood you to say, my lord, and I have filed them under that name. Then, if the signature on the cheque is genuine We havent far to look for our bird, said Parker, brutally. A double identity; damn the woman, shes made us waste a lot of time. Well, I think we shall get her now, on the Findlater murder at least, and possibly on the Gotobed business. But I understood there was an alibi for that, said the Chief. There was, said Parker, grimly, but the witness was the girl thats just been murdered. Looks as though she had made up her mind to split and was got rid of. Looks as though several people had had a near squeak of it, said Wimsey. Including you. That yellow hair was a wig, then. Probably. It never looked natural, you know. When I was there that night she had on one of those close turban affairsshe might have been bald for all one could see. Did you notice the scar on the fingers of the right hand? I did notfor the very good reason that her fingers were stiff with rings to the knuckles. There was pretty good sense behind her ugly bad taste. I suppose I was to be druggedor, failing that, caressed into slumber and thenshall we say, put out of circulation! Highly distressin incident. Amorous clubman dies in a flat. Relations very anxious to hush matter up. I was selected, I suppose, because I was seen with Evelyn Cropper at Liverpool. Bertha Gotobed got the same sort of dose, too, I take it. Met by old employer, accidentally, on leaving work5 note and nice little dinnerlashings of champagnepoor kid as drunk as a blind fiddlerbundled into the carfinished off there and trundled out to Epping in company with a ham sandwich and a bottle of Bass. Easy, aint itwhen you know how? That being so, said the Chief Commissioner, the sooner we get hold of her the better. Youd better go at once, Inspector; take a warrant for Whittaker or Forrestand any help you may require. May I come? asked Wimsey, when they were outside the building. Why not? You may be useful. With the men weve got there already we shant need any extra help. The car whizzed swiftly through Pall Mall, up St. Jamess Street and along Piccadilly. Halfway up South Audley Street they passed the fruitseller, with whom Parker exchanged an almost imperceptible signal. A few doors below the entrance to the flats they got out and were almost immediately joined by the hallporters sporting friend. I was just going out to call you up, said the latter. Shes arrived. What, the Whittaker woman? Yes. Went up about two minutes ago. Is Forrest there too? Yes. She came in just before the other woman. Queer, said Parker. Another good theory gone west. Are you sure its Whittaker? Well, shes made up with oldfashioned clothes and greyish hair and so on. But shes the right height and general appearance. And shes running the old bluespectacle stunt again. I think its the right onethough of course I didnt get close to her, remembering your instructions. Well, well have a look, anyhow. Come along. The coster had joined them now, and they all entered together. Did the old girl go up to Forrests flat all right? asked the third detective of the porter. Thats right. Went straight to the door and started something about a subscription. Then Mrs. Forrest pulled her in quick and slammed the door. Nobodys come down since. Right. Well take ourselves upand mind you dont let anybody give us the slip by the staircase. Now then, Wimsey, she knows you as Templeton, but she may still not know for certain that youre working with us. Ring the bell, and when the doors opened, stick your foot inside. Well stand just round the corner here and be ready to rush. This manoeuvre was executed. They heard the bell trill loudly. Nobody came to answer it, however. Wimsey rang again, and then bent his ear to the door. Charles, he cried suddenly, theres something going on here. His face was white. Be quick! I couldnt stand another! Parker hastened up and listened. Then he caught Peters stick and hammered on the door, so that the hollow liftshaft echoed with the clamour. Come on thereopen the doorthis is the police. And all the time, a horrid, stealthy thumping and gurgling sounded insidedragging of something heavy and a scuffling noise. Then a loud crash, as though a piece of furniture had been flung to the floorand then a loud hoarse scream, cut brutally off in the middle. Break in the door, said Wimsey, the sweat pouring down his face. Parker signalled to the heavier of the two policemen. He came along, shoulder first, lunging. The door shook and cracked. Parker added his weight, thrusting Wimseys slight body into the corner. They stamped and panted in the narrow space. The door gave way, and they tumbled into the hall. Everything was ominously quiet. Oh, quick! sobbed Peter. A door on the right stood open. A glance assured them that there was nothing there. They sprang to the sittingroom door and pushed it. It opened about a foot. Something bulky impeded its progress. They shoved violently and the obstacle gave. Wimsey leapt over itit was a tall cabinet, fallen, with broken china strewing the floor. The room bore signs of a violent struggletables flung down, a broken chair, a smashed lamp. He dashed for the bedroom, with Parker hard at his heels. The body of a woman lay limply on the bed. Her long, grizzled hair hung in a dark rope over the pillow and blood was on her head and throat. But the blood was running freely, and Wimsey could have shouted for joy at the sight. Dead men do not bleed. Parker gave only one glance at the injured woman. He made promptly for the dressingroom beyond. A shot sang past his headthere was a snarl and a shriekand the episode was over. The constable stood shaking his bitten hand, while Parker put the comealongome grip on the quarry. He recognised her readily, though the peroxide wig had fallen awry and the blue eyes were bleared with terror and fury. Thatll do, said Parker, quietly, the games up. Its not a bit of use. Come, be reasonable. You dont want us to put the bracelets on, do you? Mary Whittaker, alias Forrest, I arrest you on the charge he hesitated for a moment and she saw it. On what charge? What have you got against me? Of attempting to murder this lady, for a start, said Parker. The old fool! she said, contemptuously, she forced her way in here and attacked me. Is that all? Very probably not, said Parker. I warn you that anything you say may be taken down and used in evidence at your trial. Indeed, the third officer had already produced a notebook and was imperturbably writing down When told the charge, the prisoner said Is that all? The remark evidently struck him as an injudicious one, for he licked his pencil with an air of satisfaction. Is the lady all rightwho is it? asked Parker, coming back to a survey of the situation. Its Miss ClimpsonGod knows how she got here. I think shes all right, but shes had a rough time. He was anxiously sponging her head as he spoke, and at that moment her eyes opened. Help! said Miss Climpson, confusedly. The syringeyou shantoh! She struggled feebly, and then recognised Wimseys anxious face. Oh, dear! she exclaimed, Lord Peter. Such an upset. Did you get my letter? Is it all right? Oh, dear! What a state Im in. Ithat woman Now, dont worry, Miss Climpson, said Wimsey, much relieved, everythings quite all right and you mustnt talk. You must tell us about it later. What was that about a syringe? said Parker, intent on his case. Shed got a syringe in her hand, panted Miss Climpson, trying to sit up, and fumbling with her hands over the bed. I fainted, I thinksuch a struggleand something hit me on the head. And I saw her coming at me with the thing. And I knocked it out of her hand and I cant remember what happened afterwards. But I have remarkable vitality, said Miss Climpson, cheerfully. My dear father always used to say Climpsons take a lot of killing! Parker was groping on the floor. Here you are, said he. In his hand was a hypodermic syringe. Shes mental, thats what she is, said the prisoner. Thats only the hypodermic I use for my injections when I get neuralgia. Theres nothing in that. That is quite correct, said Parker, with a significant nod at Wimsey. There isnothing in it. On the Tuesday night, when the prisoner had been committed for trial on the charges of murdering Bertha Gotobed and Vera Findlater, and attempting to murder Alexandra Climpson, Wimsey dined with Parker. The former was depressed and nervous. The whole things been beastly, he grumbled. They had sat up discussing the case into the small hours. Interesting, said Parker, interesting. I owe you seven and six, by the way. We ought to have seen through that Forrest business earlier, but there seemed no real reason to suspect the Findlater girls word as to the alibi. These mistaken loyalties make a lot of trouble. I think the thing that put us off was that it all started so early. There seemed no reason for it, but looking back on Triggs story its as plain as a pikestaff. She took a big risk with that empty house, and she couldnt always expect to find empty houses handy to do away with people in. The idea was, I suppose, to build up a double identity, so that, if Mary Whittaker was ever suspected of anything, she could quietly disappear and become the frail but otherwise innocent Mrs. Forrest. The real slipup was forgetting to take back that 5 note from Bertha Gotobed. If it hadnt been for that, we might never have known anything about Mrs. Forrest. It must have rattled her horribly when we turned up there. After that, she was known to the police in both her characters. The Findlater business was a desperate attempt to cover up her tracksand it was bound to fail, because it was so complicated. Yes. But the Dawson murder was beautiful in its ease and simplicity. If she had stuck to that and left well alone, we could never have proved anything. We cant prove it now, which is why I left it off the chargesheet. I dont think Ive ever met a more greedy and heartless murderer. She probably really thought that anyone who inconvenienced her had no right to exist. Greedy and malicious. Fancy tryin to shove the blame on poor old Hallelujah. I suppose hed committed the unforgivable sin of askin her for money. Well, hell get it, thats one good thing. The pit digged for Cousin Hallelujah has turned into a goldmine. That 10,000 cheque has been honoured. I saw to that first thing, before Whittaker could remember to try and stop it. Probably she couldnt have stopped it anyway, as it was duly presented last Saturday. Is the money legally hers? Of course it is. We know it was gained by a crime, but we havent charged her with the crime, so that legally no such crime was committed. Ive not said anything to Cousin Hallelujah, of course, or he mightnt like to take it. He thinks it was sent him in a burst of contrition, poor old dear. So Cousin Hallelujah and all the little Hallelujahs will be rich. Thats splendid. How about the rest of the money? Will the Crown get it after all? No. Unless she wills it to someone, it will go to the Whittaker nextofkina first cousin, I believe, called Allcock. A very decent fellow, living in Birmingham. That is, he added, assailed by sudden doubt, if first cousins do inherit under this confounded Act. Oh, I think first cousins are safe, said Wimsey, though nothing seems safe nowadays. Still, dash it all, some relations must still be allowed a lookin, or what becomes of the sanctity of family life? If so, thats the most cheering thing about the beastly business. Do you know, when I rang up that man Carr and told him all about it, he wasnt a bit interested or grateful. Said hed always suspected something like that, and he hoped we werent going to rake it all up again, because hed come into that money he told us about and was setting up for himself in Harley Street, so he didnt want any more scandals. I never did like that man. Im sorry for Nurse Philliter. You neednt be. I put my foot in it again over that. Carrs too grand to marry a nurse nowat least, I fancy thats what it is. Anyway, the engagements off. And I was so pleased at the idea of playing Providence to two deserving young people, added Wimsey, pathetically. Dear, dear! Well, the girls well out of it. Hullo! theres the phone. Who on earth? Some damned thing at the Yard, I suppose. At three ack emma! Whod be a policeman?Yes?Oh!right, Ill come round. The case has gone west, Peter. How? Suicide. Strangled herself with a sheet. Id better go round, I suppose. Ill come with you. An evil woman, if ever there was one, said Parker, softly, as they looked at the rigid body, with its swollen face and the deep, red ring about the throat. Wimsey said nothing. He felt cold and sick. While Parker and the Governor of the prison made the necessary arrangements and discussed the case, he sat hunched unhappily upon his chair. Their voices went on and on interminably. Six oclock had struck some time before they rose to go. It reminded him of the eight strokes of the clock which announce the runningup of the black and hideous flag. As the gate clanged open to let them out, they stepped into a wan and awful darkness. The June day had risen long ago, but only a pale and yellowish gleam lit the halfdeserted streets. And it was bitterly cold and raining. What is the matter with the day? said Wimsey. Is the world coming to an end? No, said Parker, it is the eclipse. Colophon Unnatural Death was published in 1927 by Dorothy L. Sayers. This ebook was transcribed and produced for Standard Ebooks by David Grigg, and is based on digital scans from the Internet Archive. The cover page is adapted from Shadows, a painting completed in 1922 by Fred Leist. The cover and title pages feature the League Spartan and Sorts Mill Goudy typefaces created in 2014 and 2009 by The League of Moveable Type. This edition was released on November 7, 2024, 856 p.m. and is based on revision e80dc58. The first edition of this ebook was released on January 1, 2023, 828 p.m. You can check for updates to this ebook, view its revision history, or download it for different ereading systems at standardebooks.orgebooksdorothylsayersunnaturaldeath. The volunteerdriven Standard Ebooks project relies on readers like you to submit typos, corrections, and other improvements. Anyone can contribute at standardebooks.org. Imprint This ebook is the product of many hours of hard work by volunteers for Standard Ebooks, and builds on the hard work of other literature lovers made possible by the public domain. This particular ebook is based on digital scans from the Internet Archive. The source text and artwork in this ebook are believed to be in the United States public domain; that is, they are believed to be free of copyright restrictions in the United States. They may still be copyrighted in other countries, so users located outside of the United States must check their local laws before using this ebook. The creators of, and contributors to, this ebook dedicate their contributions to the worldwide public domain via the terms in the CC0 1.0 Universal Public Domain Dedication. For full license information, see the Uncopyright at the end of this ebook. Standard Ebooks is a volunteerdriven project that produces ebook editions of public domain literature using modern typography, technology, and editorial standards, and distributes them free of cost. You can download this and other ebooks carefully produced for true book lovers at standardebooks.org. List of Illustrations A sketch of the layout of Agatha Dawsons bedroom showing the position of a mirror through which the maids could see her sign documents. A genealogical table showing the descent of Mary Whittaker, Agatha Dawson and Hallelujah Dawson. Part I The Medical Problem But how I caught it, found it, or came by it, What stuff tis made of, whereof it is born, I am to learn. Merchant of Venice Part II The Legal Problem The gladsome light of jurisprudence. Sir Edward Coke Part III The MedicoLegal Problem Theres not a crime But takes its proper change out still in crime If once rung on the counter of this world. E. B. Browning Aurora Leigh Unnatural Death By Dorothy L. Sayers. Uncopyright May you do good and not evil. May you find forgiveness for yourself and forgive others. May you share freely, never taking more than you give. Copyright pages exist to tell you that you cant do something. Unlike them, this Uncopyright page exists to tell you that the writing and artwork in this ebook are believed to be in the United States public domain; that is, they are believed to be free of copyright restrictions in the United States. The United States public domain represents our collective cultural heritage, and items in it are free for anyone in the United States to do almost anything at all with, without having to get permission. Copyright laws are different all over the world, and the source text or artwork in this ebook may still be copyrighted in other countries. If youre not located in the United States, you must check your local laws before using this ebook. Standard Ebooks makes no representations regarding the copyright status of the source text or artwork in this ebook in any country other than the United States.

Nonauthorship activities performed on items that are in the public domainsocalled sweat of the brow workdont create a new copyright. That means that nobody can claim a new copyright on an item that is in the public domain for, among other things, work like digitization, markup, or typography. Regardless, the contributors to this ebook release their contributions under the terms in the CC0 1.0 Universal Public Domain Dedication, thus dedicating to the worldwide public domain all of the work theyve done on this ebook, including but not limited to metadata, the titlepage, imprint, colophon, this Uncopyright, and any changes or enhancements to, or markup on, the original text and artwork. This dedication doesnt change the copyright status of the source text or artwork. We make this dedication in the interest of enriching our global cultural heritage, to promote free and libre culture around the world, and to give back to the unrestricted culture that has given all of us so much. Table of Contents Titlepage Imprint Part I The Medical Problem I Overheard II Miching Mallecho III A Use for Spinsters IV A Bit Mental V Gossip VI Found Dead VII Ham and Brandy VIII Concerning Crime IX The Will Part II The Legal Problem X The Will Again XI Crossroads XII A Tale of Two Spinsters XIII Hallelujah XIV Sharp Quillets of the Law XV Temptation of St. Peter XVI A CastIron Alibi XVII The Country Lawyers Story XVIII The London Lawyers Story Part III The MedicoLegal Problem XIX Gone Away XX Murder XXI By What Means? XXII A Case of Conscience XXIII And Smote Him, Thus Genealogical Table List of Illustrations Colophon Uncopyright Landmarks Unnatural Death List of Illustrations

And the Dead Spake There is not in all London a quieter spot, or one, apparently, more withdrawn from the heat and bustle of life than Newsome Terrace. It is a culdesac, for at the upper end the roadway between its two lines of square, compact little residences is brought to an end by a high brick wall, while at the lower end, the only access to it is through Newsome Square, that small discreet oblong of Georgian houses, a relic of the time when Kensington was a suburban village sundered from the metropolis by a stretch of pastures stretching to the river. Both square and terrace are most inconveniently situated for those whose ideal environment includes a rank of taxicabs immediately opposite their door, a spate of buses roaring down the street, and a procession of underground trains, accessible by a station a few yards away, shaking and rattling the cutlery and silver on their dining tables. In consequence Newsome Terrace had come, two years ago, to be inhabited by leisurely and retired folk or by those who wished to pursue their work in quiet and tranquillity. Children with hoops and scooters are phenomena rarely encountered in the Terrace and dogs are equally uncommon. In front of each of the couple of dozen houses of which the Terrace is composed lies a little square of railinged garden, in which you may often see the middleaged or elderly mistress of the residence horticulturally employed. By five oclock of a winters evening the pavements will generally be empty of all passengers except the policeman, who with felted step, at intervals throughout the night, peers with his bullseye into these small front gardens, and never finds anything more suspicious there than an early crocus or an aconite. For by the time it is dark the inhabitants of the Terrace have got themselves home, where behind drawn curtains and bolted shutters they will pass a domestic and uninterrupted evening. No funeral (up to the time I speak of) had I ever seen leave the Terrace, no marriage party had strewed its pavements with confetti, and perambulators were unknown. It and its inhabitants seemed to be quietly mellowing like bottles of sound wine. No doubt there was stored within them the sunshine and summer of youth long past, and now, dozing in a cool place, they waited for the turn of the key in the cellar door, and the entry of one who would draw them forth and see what they were worth. Yet, after the time of which I shall now speak, I have never passed down its pavement without wondering whether each house, so seeminglytranquil, is not, like some dynamo, softly and smoothly bringing into being vast and terrible forces, such as those I once saw at work in the last house at the upper end of the Terrace, the quietest, you would have said, of all the row. Had you observed it with continuous scrutiny, for all the length of a summer day, it is quite possible that you might have only seen issue from it in the morning an elderly woman whom you would have rightly conjectured to be the housekeeper, with her basket for marketing on her arm, who returned an hour later. Except for her the entire day might often pass without there being either ingress or egress from the door. Occasionally a middleaged man, lean and wiry, came swiftly down the pavement, but his exit was by no means a daily occurrence, and indeed when he did emerge, he broke the almost universal usage of the Terrace, for his appearances took place, when such there were, between nine and ten in the evening. At that hour sometimes he would come round to my house in Newsome Square to see if I was at home and inclined for a talk a little later on. For the sake of air and exercise he would then have an hours tramp through the lit and noisy streets, and return about ten, still pale and unflushed, for one of those talks which grew to have an absorbing fascination for me. More rarely through the telephone I proposed that I should drop in on him this I did not often do, since I found that if he did not come out himself, it implied that he was busy with some investigation, and though he made me welcome, I could easily see that he burned for my departure, so that he might get busy with his batteries and pieces of tissue, hot on the track of discoveries that never yet had presented themselves to the mind of man as coming within the horizon of possibility. My last sentence may have led the reader to guess that I am indeed speaking of none other than that recluse and mysterious physicist Sir James Horton, with whose death a hundred halfhewn avenues into the dark forest from which life comes must wait completion till another pioneer as bold as he takes up the axe which hitherto none but himself has been able to wield. Probably there was never a man to whom humanity owed more, and of whom humanity knew less. He seemed utterly independent of the race to whom (though indeed with no service of love) he devoted himself for years he lived aloof and apart in his house at the end of the Terrace. Men and women were to him like fossils to the geologist, things to be tapped and hammered and dissected and studied with a view not only to the reconstruction of past ages, but to construction in the future. It is known, for instance, that he made an artificial being formed of the tissue, still living, of animals lately killed, with the brain of an ape and the heart of a bullock, and a sheeps thyroid, and so forth. Of that I can give no firsthand account; Horton, it is true, told me something about it, and in his will directed that certain memoranda on the subject should on his death be sent to me. But on the bulky envelope there is the direction, Not to be opened till January, 1925. He spoke with some reserve and, so I think, with slight horror at the strange things which had happened on the completion of this creature. It evidently made him uncomfortable to talk about it, and for that reason I fancy he put what was then a rather remote date to the day when his record should reach my eye. Finally, in these preliminaries, for the last five years before the war, he had scarcely entered, for the sake of companionship, any house other than his own and mine. Ours was a friendship dating from schooldays, which he had never suffered to drop entirely, but I doubt if in those years he spoke except on matters of business to half a dozen other people. He had already retired from surgical practice in which his skill was unapproached, and most completely now did he avoid the slightest intercourse with his colleagues, whom he regarded as ignorant pedants without courage or the rudiments of knowledge. Now and then he would write an epochmaking little monograph, which he flung to them like a bone to a starving dog, but for the most part, utterly absorbed in his own investigations, he left them to grope along unaided. He frankly told me that he enjoyed talking to me about such subjects, since I was utterly unacquainted with them. It clarified his mind to be obliged to put his theories and guesses and confirmations with such simplicity that anyone could understand them. I well remember his coming in to see me on the evening of the 4th of August, 1914. So the war has broken out, he said, and the streets are impassable with excited crowds. Odd, isnt it? Just as if each of us already was not a far more murderous battlefield than any which can be conceived between warring nations. Hows that? said I. Let me try to put it plainly, though it isnt that I want to talk about. Your blood is one eternal battlefield. It is full of armies eternally marching and countermarching. As long as the armies friendly to you are in a superior position, you remain in good health; if a detachment of microbes that, if suffered to establish themselves, would give you a cold in the head, entrench themselves in your mucous membrane, the commanderinchief sends a regiment down and drives them out. He doesnt give his orders from your brain, mind youthose arent his headquarters, for your brain knows nothing about the landing of the enemy till they have made good their position and given you a cold. He paused a moment. There isnt one headquarters inside you, he said, there are many. For instance, I killed a frog this morning; at least most people would say I killed it. But had I killed it, though its head lay in one place and its severed body in another? Not a bit I had only killed a piece of it. For I opened the body afterwards and took out the heart, which I put in a sterilised chamber of suitable temperature, so that it wouldnt get cold or be infected by any microbe. That was about twelve oclock today. And when I came out just now, the heart was beating still. It was alive, in fact. Thats full of suggestions, you know. Come and see it. The Terrace had been stirred into volcanic activity by the news of war the vendor of some late edition had penetrated into its quietude, and there were half a dozen parlourmaids fluttering about like black and white moths. But once inside Hortons door isolation as of an Arctic night seemed to close round me. He had forgotten his latchkey, but his housekeeper, then newly come to him, who became so regular and familiar a figure in the Terrace, must have heard his step, for before he rang the bell she had opened the door, and stood with his forgotten latchkey in her hand. Thanks, Mrs. Gabriel, said he, and without a sound the door shut behind us. Both her name and face, as reproduced in some illustrated daily paper, seemed familiar, rather terribly familiar, but before I had time to grope for the association, Horton supplied it. Tried for the murder of her husband six months ago, he said. Odd case. The point is that she is the one and perfect housekeeper. I once had four servants, and everything was all mucky, as we used to say at school. Now I live in amazing comfort and propriety with one. She does everything. She is cook, valet, housemaid, butler, and wont have anyone to help her. No doubt she killed her husband, but she planned it so well that she could not be convicted. She told me quite frankly who she was when I engaged her. Of course I remembered the whole trial vividly now. Her husband, a morose, quarrelsome fellow, tipsy as often as sober, had, according to the defence cut his own throat while shaving; according to the prosecution, she had done that for him. There was the usual discrepancy of evidence as to whether the wound could have been selfinflicted, and the prosecution tried to prove that the face had been lathered after his throat had been cut. So singular an exhibition of forethought and nerve had hurt rather than helped their case, and after prolonged deliberation on the part of the jury, she had been acquitted. Yet not less singular was Hortons selection of a probable murderess, however efficient, as housekeeper. He anticipated this reflection. Apart from the wonderful comfort of having a perfectly appointed and absolutely silent house, he said, I regard Mrs. Gabriel as a sort of insurance against my being murdered. If you had been tried for your life, you would take very especial care not to find yourself in suspicious proximity to a murdered body again no more deaths in your house, if you could help it. Come through to my laboratory, and look at my little instance of life after death. Certainly it was amazing to see that little piece of tissue still pulsating with what must be called life; it contracted and expanded faintly indeed but perceptibly, though for nine hours now it had been severed from the rest of the organisation. All by itself it went on living, and if the heart could go on living with nothing, you would say, to feed and stimulate its energy, there must also, so reasoned Horton, reside in all the other vital organs of the body other independent focuses of life. Of course a severed organ like that, he said, will run down quicker than if it had the cooperation of the others, and presently I shall apply a gentle electric stimulus to it. If I can keep that glass bowl under which it beats at the temperature of a frogs body, in sterilised air, I dont see why it should not go on living. Foodof course theres the question of feeding it. Do you see what that opens up in the way of surgery? Imagine a shop with glass cases containing healthy organs taken from the dead. Say a man dies of pneumonia. He should, as soon as ever the breath is out of his body, be dissected, and though they would, of course, destroy his lungs, as they will be full of pneumococci, his liver and digestive organs are probably healthy. Take them out, keep them in a sterilised atmosphere with the temperature at 98.4, and sell the liver, let us say, to another poor devil who has cancer there. Fit him with a new healthy liver, eh? And insert the brain of someone who has died of heart disease into the skull of a congenital idiot? I asked. Yes, perhaps; but the brains tiresomely complicated in its connections and the joining up of the nerves, you know. Surgery will have to learn a lot before it fits new brains in. And the brain has got such a lot of functions. All thinking, all inventing seem to belong to it, though, as you have seen, the heart can get on quite well without it. But there are other functions of the brain I want to study first. Ive been trying some experiments already. He made some little readjustment to the flame of the spirit lamp which kept at the right temperature the water that surrounded the sterilised receptacle in which the frogs heart was beating. Start with the more simple and mechanical uses of the brain, he said. Primarily it is a sort of record office, a diary. Say that I rap your knuckles with that ruler. What happens? The nerves there send a message to the brain, of course, sayinghow can I put it most simplysaying, Somebody is hurting me. And the eye sends another, saying I perceive a ruler hitting my knuckles, and the ear sends another, saying I hear the rap of it. But leaving all that alone, what else happens? Why, the brain records it. It makes a note of your knuckles having been hit. He had been moving about the room as he spoke, taking off his coat and waistcoat and putting on in their place a thin black dressinggown, and by now he was seated in his favourite attitude crosslegged on the hearthrug, looking like some magician or perhaps the afreet which a magician of black arts had caused to appear. He was thinking intently now, passing through his fingers his string of amber beads, and talking more to himself than to me. And how does it make that note? he went on. Why, in the manner in which phonograph records are made. There are millions of minute dots, depressions, pockmarks on your brain which certainly record what you remember, what you have enjoyed or disliked, or done or said. The surface of the brain anyhow is large enough to furnish writingpaper for the record of all these things, of all your memories. If the impression of an experience has not been acute, the dot is not sharply impressed, and the record fades in other words, you come to forget it. But if it has been vividly impressed, the record is never obliterated. Mrs. Gabriel, for instance, wont lose the impression of how she lathered her husbands face after she had cut his throat. Thats to say, if she did it. Now do you see what Im driving at? Of course you do. There is stored within a mans head the complete record of all the memorable things he has done and said there are all his thoughts there, and all his speeches, and, most wellmarked of all, his habitual thoughts and the things he has often said; for habit, there is reason to believe, wears a sort of rut in the brain, so that the lifeprinciple, whatever it is, as it gropes and steals about the brain, is continually stumbling into it. Theres your record, your gramophone plate all ready. What we want, and what Im trying to arrive at, is a needle which, as it traces its minute way over these dots, will come across words or sentences which the dead have uttered, and will reproduce them. My word, what Judgment Books! What a resurrection! Here in this withdrawn situation no remotest echo of the excitement which was seething through the streets penetrated; through the open window there came in only the tide of the midnight silence. But from somewhere closer at hand, through the wall surely of the laboratory, there came a low, somewhat persistent murmur. Perhaps our needleunhappily not yet inventedas it passed over the record of speech in the brain, might induce even facial expression, he said. Enjoyment or horror might even pass over dead features. There might be gestures and movements even, as the words were reproduced in our gramophone of the dead. Some people when they want to think intensely walk about some, theres an instance of it audible now, talk to themselves aloud. He held up his finger for silence. Yes, thats Mrs. Gabriel, he said. She talks to herself by the hour together. Shes always done that, she tells me. I shouldnt wonder if she has plenty to talk about. It was that night when, first of all, the notion of intense activity going on below the placid housefronts of the Terrace occurred to me. None looked more quiet than this, and yet there was seething here a volcanic activity and intensity of living, both in the man who sat crosslegged on the floor and behind that voice just audible through the partition wall. But I thought of that no more, for Horton began speaking of the braingramophone again. Were it possible to trace those infinitesimal dots and pockmarks in the brain by some needle exquisitely fine, it might follow that by the aid of some such contrivance as translated the pockmarks on a gramophone record into sound, some audible rendering of speech might be recovered from the brain of a dead man. It was necessary, so he pointed out to me, that this strange gramophone record should be new; it must be that of one lately dead, for corruption and decay would soon obliterate these infinitesimal markings. He was not of opinion that unspoken thought could be thus recovered the utmost he hoped for from his pioneering work was to be able to recapture actual speech, especially when such speech had habitually dwelt on one subject, and thus had worn a rut on that part of the brain known as the speechcentre. Let me get, for instance, he said, the brain of a railway porter, newly dead, who has been accustomed for years to call out the name of a station, and I do not despair of hearing his voice through my gramophone trumpet. Or again, given that Mrs. Gabriel, in all her interminable conversations with herself, talks about one subject, I might, in similar circumstances, recapture what she had been constantly saying. Of course my instrument must be of a power and delicacy still unknown, one of which the needle can trace the minutest irregularities of surface, and of which the trumpet must be of immense magnifying power, able to translate the smallest whisper into a shout. But just as a microscope will show you the details of an object invisible to the eye, so there are instruments which act in the same way on sound. Here, for instance, is one of remarkable magnifying power. Try it if you like. He took me over to a table on which was standing an electric battery connected with a round steel globe, out of the side of which sprang a gramophone trumpet of curious construction. He adjusted the battery, and directed me to click my fingers quite gently opposite an aperture in the globe, and the noise, ordinarily scarcely audible, resounded through the room like a thunderclap. Something of that sort might permit us to hear the record on a brain, he said. After this night my visits to Horton became far more common than they had hitherto been. Having once admitted me into the region of his strange explorations, he seemed to welcome me there. Partly, as he had said, it clarified his own thought to put it into simple language, partly, as he subsequently admitted, he was beginning to penetrate into such lonely fields of knowledge by paths so utterly untrodden, that even he, the most aloof and independent of mankind, wanted some human presence near him. Despite his utter indifference to the issues of the warfor, in his regard, issues far more crucial demanded his energieshe offered himself as surgeon to a London hospital for operations on the brain, and his services, naturally, were welcomed, for none brought knowledge or skill like his to such work. Occupied all day, he performed miracles of healing, with bold and dexterous excisions which none but he would have dared to attempt. He would operate, often successfully, for lesions that seemed certainly fatal, and all the time he was learning. He refused to accept any salary; he only asked, in cases where he had removed pieces of brain matter, to take these away, in order by further examination and dissection, to add to the knowledge and manipulative skill which he devoted to the wounded. He wrapped these morsels in sterilised lint, and took them back to the Terrace in a box, electrically heated to maintain the normal temperature of a mans blood. His fragment might then, so he reasoned, keep some sort of independent life of its own, even as the severed heart of a frog had continued to beat for hours without connection with the rest of the body. Then for half the night he would continue to work on these sundered pieces of tissue scarcely dead, which his operations during the day had given him. Simultaneously, he was busy over the needle that must be of such infinite delicacy. One evening, fatigued with a long days work, I had just heard with a certain tremor of uneasy anticipation the whistles of warning which heralded an airraid, when my telephone bell rang. My servants, according to custom, had already betaken themselves to the cellar, and I went to see what the summons was, determined in any case not to go out into the streets. I recognised Hortons voice. I want you at once, he said. But the warning whistles have gone, said I, And I dont like showers of shrapnel. Oh, never mind that, said he. You must come. Im so excited that I distrust the evidence of my own ears. I want a witness. Just come. He did not pause for my reply, for I heard the click of his receiver going back into its place. Clearly he assumed that I was coming, and that I suppose had the effect of suggestion on my mind. I told myself that I would not go, but in a couple of minutes his certainty that I was coming, coupled with the prospect of being interested in something else than airraids, made me fidget in my chair and eventually go to the street door and look out. The moon was brilliantly bright, the square quite empty, and far away the coughings of very distant guns. Next moment, almost against my will, I was running down the deserted pavements of Newsome Terrace. My ring at his bell was answered by Horton, before Mrs. Gabriel could come to the door, and he positively dragged me in. I shant tell you a word of what I am doing, he said. I want you to tell me what you hear. Come into the laboratory. The remote guns were silent again as I sat myself, as directed, in a chair close to the gramophone trumpet, but suddenly through the wall I heard the familiar mutter of Mrs. Gabriels voice. Horton, already busy with his battery, sprang to his feet. That wont do, he said. I want absolute silence. He went out of the room, and I heard him calling to her. While he was gone I observed more closely what was on the table. Battery, round steel globe, and gramophone trumpet were there, and some sort of a needle on a spiral steel spring linked up with the battery and the glass vessel, in which I had seen the frogs heart beat. In it now there lay a fragment of grey matter. Horton came back in a minute or two, and stood in the middle of the room listening. Thats better, he said. Now I want you to listen at the mouth of the trumpet. Ill answer any questions afterwards. With my ear turned to the trumpet, I could see nothing of what he was doing, and I listened till the silence became a rustling in my ears. Then suddenly that rustling ceased, for it was overscored by a whisper which undoubtedly came from the aperture on which my aural attention was fixed. It was no more than the faintest murmur, and though no words were audible, it had the timbre of a human voice. Well, do you hear anything? asked Horton. Yes, something very faint, scarcely audible. Describe it, said he. Somebody whispering. Ill try a fresh place, said he. The silence descended again; the mutter of the distant guns was still mute, and some slight creaking from my shirt front, as I breathed, alone broke it. And then the whispering from the gramophone trumpet began again, this time much louder than it had been beforeit was as if the speaker (still whispering) had advanced a dozen yardsbut still blurred and indistinct. More unmistakable, too, was it that the whisper was that of a human voice, and every now and then, whether fancifully or not, I thought I caught a word or two. For a moment it was silent altogether, and then with a sudden inkling of what I was listening to I heard something begin to sing. Though the words were still inaudible there was melody, and the tune was Tipperary. From that convolvulusshaped trumpet there came two bars of it. And what do you hear now? cried Horton with a crack of exultation in his voice. Singing, singing! Thats the tune they all sang. Fine music that from a dead man. Encore! you say? Yes, wait a second, and hell sing it again for you. Confound it, I cant get on to the place. Ah! Ive got it listen again. Surely that was the strangest manner of song ever yet heard on the earth, this melody from the brain of the dead. Horror and fascination strove within me, and I suppose the first for the moment prevailed, for with a shudder I jumped up. Stop it! I said. Its terrible. His face, thin and eager, gleamed in the strong ray of the lamp which he had placed close to him. His hand was on the metal rod from which depended the spiral spring and the needle, which just rested on that fragment of grey stuff which I had seen in the glass vessel. Yes, Im going to stop it now, he said, or the germs will be getting at my gramophone record, or the record will get cold. See, I spray it with carbolic vapour, I put it back into its nice warm bed. It will sing to us again. But terrible? What do you mean by terrible? Indeed, when he asked that I scarcely knew myself what I meant. I had been witness to a new marvel of science as wonderful perhaps as any that had ever astounded the beholder, and my nervesthese childish whimperershad cried out at the darkness and the profundity. But the horror diminished, the fascination increased as he quite shortly told me the history of this phenomenon. He had attended that day and operated upon a young soldier in whose brain was embedded a piece of shrapnel. The boy was in extremis, but Horton had hoped for the possibility of saving him. To extract the shrapnel was the only chance, and this involved the cutting away of a piece of brain known as the speechcentre, and taking from it what was embedded there. But the hope was not realised, and two hours later the boy died. It was to this fragment of brain that, when Horton returned home, he had applied the needle of his gramophone, and had obtained the faint whisperings which had caused him to ring me up, so that he might have a witness of this wonder. Witness I had been, not to these whisperings alone, but to the fragment of singing. And this is but the first step on the new road, said he. Who knows where it may lead, or to what new temple of knowledge it may not be the avenue? Well, it is late I shall do no more tonight. What about the raid, by the way? To my amazement I saw that the time was verging on midnight. Two hours had elapsed since he let me in at his door; they had passed like a couple of minutes. Next morning some neighbours spoke of the prolonged firing that had gone on, of which I had been wholly unconscious. Week after week Horton worked on this new road of research, perfecting the sensitiveness and subtlety of the needle, and, by vastly increasing the power of his batteries, enlarging the magnifying power of his trumpet. Many and many an evening during the next year did I listen to voices that were dumb in death, and the sounds which had been blurred and unintelligible mutterings in the earlier experiments, developed, as the delicacy of his mechanical devices increased, into coherence and clear articulation. It was no longer necessary to impose silence on Mrs. Gabriel when the gramophone was at work, for now the voice we listened to had risen to the pitch of ordinary human utterance, while as for the faithfulness and individuality of these records, striking testimony was given more than once by some living friend of the dead, who, without knowing what he was about to hear, recognised the tones of the speaker. More than once also, Mrs. Gabriel, bringing in syphons and whisky, provided us with three glasses, for she had heard, so she told us, three different voices in talk. But for the present no fresh phenomenon occurred Horton was but perfecting the mechanism of his previous discovery and, rather grudging the time, was scribbling at a monograph, which presently he would toss to his colleagues, concerning the results he had already obtained. And then, even while Horton was on the threshold of new wonders, which he had already foreseen and spoken of as theoretically possible, there came an evening of marvel and of swift catastrophe. I had dined with him that day, Mrs. Gabriel deftly serving the meal that she had so daintily prepared, and towards the end, as she was clearing the table for our dessert, she stumbled, I supposed, on a loose edge of carpet, quickly recovering herself. But instantly Horton checked some halffinished sentence, and turned to her. Youre all right, Mrs. Gabriel? he asked quickly. Yes, sir, thank you, said she, and went on with her serving. As I was saying, began Horton again, but his attention clearly wandered, and without concluding his narrative, he relapsed into silence, till Mrs. Gabriel had given us our coffee and left the room. Im sadly afraid my domestic felicity may be disturbed, he said. Mrs. Gabriel had an epileptic fit yesterday, and she confessed when she recovered that she had been subject to them when a child, and since then had occasionally experienced them. Dangerous, then? I asked. In themselves not in the least, said he. If she was sitting in her chair or lying in bed when one occurred, there would be nothing to trouble about. But if one occurred while she was cooking my dinner or beginning to come downstairs, she might fall into the fire or tumble down the whole flight. Well hope no such deplorable calamity will happen. Now, if youve finished your coffee, let us go into the laboratory. Not that Ive got anything very interesting in the way of new records. But Ive introduced a second battery with a very strong induction coil into my apparatus. I find that if I link it up with my record, given that the record is aa fresh one, it stimulates certain nerve centres. Its odd, isnt it, that the same forces which so encourage the dead to live would certainly encourage the living to die, if a man received the full current. One has to be careful in handling it. Yes, and what then? you ask. The night was very hot, and he threw the windows wide before he settled himself crosslegged on the floor. Ill answer your question for you, he said, though I believe weve talked of it before. Supposing I had not a fragment of braintissue only, but a whole head, let us say, or best of all, a complete corpse, I think I could expect to produce more than mere speech through the gramophone.

The dead lips themselves perhaps might utterGod! whats that? From close outside, at the bottom of the stairs leading from the dining room which we had just quitted to the laboratory where we now sat, there came a crash of glass followed by the fall as of something heavy which bumped from step to step, and was finally flung on the threshold against the door with the sound as of knuckles rapping at it, and demanding admittance. Horton sprang up and threw the door open, and there lay, half inside the room and half on the landing outside, the body of Mrs. Gabriel. Round her were splinters of broken bottles and glasses, and from a cut in her forehead, as she lay ghastly with face upturned, the blood trickled into her thick grey hair. Horton was on his knees beside her, dabbing his handkerchief on her forehead. Ah! thats not serious, he said; theres neither vein nor artery cut. Ill just bind that up first. He tore his handkerchief into strips which he tied together, and made a dexterous bandage covering the lower part of her forehead, but leaving her eyes unobscured. They stared with a fixed meaningless steadiness, and he scrutinised them closely. But theres worse yet, he said. Theres been some severe blow on the head. Help me to carry her into the laboratory. Get round to her feet and lift underneath the knees when I am ready. There! Now put your arm right under her and carry her. Her head swung limply back as he lifted her shoulders, and he propped it up against his knee, where it mutely nodded and bowed, as his leg moved, as if in silent assent to what we were doing, and the mouth, at the extremity of which there had gathered a little lather, lolled open. He still supported her shoulders as I fetched a cushion on which to place her head, and presently she was lying close to the low table on which stood the gramophone of the dead. Then with light deft fingers he passed his hands over her skull, pausing as he came to the spot just above and behind her right ear. Twice and again his fingers groped and lightly pressed, while with shut eyes and concentrated attention he interpreted what his trained touch revealed. Her skull is broken to fragments just here, he said. In the middle there is a piece completely severed from the rest, and the edges of the cracked pieces must be pressing on her brain. Her right arm was lying palm upwards on the floor, and with one hand he felt her wrist with fingertips. Not a sign of pulse, he said. Shes dead in the ordinary sense of the word. But life persists in an extraordinary manner, you may remember. She cant be wholly dead no one is wholly dead in a moment, unless every organ is blown to bits. But she soon will be dead, if we dont relieve the pressure on the brain. Thats the first thing to be done. While Im busy at that, shut the window, will you, and make up the fire. In this sort of case the vital heat, whatever that is, leaves the body very quickly. Make the room as hot as you canfetch an oilstove, and turn on the electric radiator, and stoke up a roaring fire. The hotter the room is the more slowly will the heat of life leave her. Already he had opened his cabinet of surgical instruments, and taken out of it two drawers full of bright steel which he laid on the floor beside her. I heard the grating chink of scissors severing her long grey hair, and as I busied myself with laying and lighting the fire in the hearth, and kindling the oilstove, which I found, by Hortons directions, in the pantry, I saw that his lancet was busy on the exposed skin. He had placed some vaporising spray, heated by a spirit lamp close to her head, and as he worked its fizzing nozzle filled the air with some clean and aromatic odour. Now and then he threw out an order. Bring me that electric lamp on the long cord, he said. I havent got enough light. Dont look at what Im doing if youre squeamish, for if it makes you feel faint, I shant be able to attend to you. I suppose that violent interest in what he was doing overcame any qualm that I might have had, for I looked quite unflinching over his shoulder as I moved the lamp about till it was in such a place that it threw its beam directly into a dark hole at the edge of which depended a flap of skin. Into this he put his forceps, and as he withdrew them they grasped a piece of bloodstained bone. Thats better, he said, and the rooms warming up well. But theres no sign of pulse yet. Go on stoking, will you, till the thermometer on the wall there registers a hundred degrees. When next, on my journey from the coalcellar, I looked, two more pieces of bone lay beside the one I had seen extracted, and presently referring to the thermometer, I saw that between the oilstove and the roaring fire and the electric radiator, I had raised the room to the temperature he wanted. Soon, peering fixedly at the seat of his operation, he felt for her pulse again. Not a sign of returning vitality, he said, and Ive done all I can. Theres nothing more possible that can be devised to restore her. As he spoke the zeal of the unrivalled surgeon relaxed, and with a sigh and a shrug he rose to his feet and mopped his face. Then suddenly the fire and eagerness blazed there again. The gramophone! he said. The speech centre is close to where Ive been working, and it is quite uninjured. Good heavens, what a wonderful opportunity. She served me well living, and she shall serve me dead. And I can stimulate the motor nervecentre, too, with the second battery. We may see a new wonder tonight. Some qualm of horror shook me. No, dont! I said. Its terrible shes just dead. I shall go if you do. But Ive got exactly all the conditions I have long been wanting, said he. And I simply cant spare you. You must be witness I must have a witness. Why, man, theres not a surgeon or a physiologist in the kingdom who would not give an eye or an ear to be in your place now. Shes dead. I pledge you my honour on that, and its grand to be dead if you can help the living. Once again, in a far fiercer struggle, horror and the intensest curiosity strove together in me. Be quick, then, said I. Ha! Thats right, exclaimed Horton. Help me to lift her on to the table by the gramophone. The cushion too; I can get at the place more easily with her head a little raised. He turned on the battery and with the movable light close beside him, brilliantly illuminating what he sought, he inserted the needle of the gramophone into the jagged aperture in her skull. For a few minutes, as he groped and explored there, there was silence, and then quite suddenly Mrs. Gabriels voice, clear and unmistakable and of the normal loudness of human speech, issued from the trumpet. Yes, I always said that Id be even with him, came the articulated syllables. He used to knock me about, he did, when he came home drunk, and often I was black and blue with bruises. But Ill give him a redness for the black and blue. The record grew blurred; instead of articulate words there came from it a gobbling noise. By degrees that cleared, and we were listening to some dreadful suppressed sort of laughter, hideous to hear. On and on it went. Ive got into some sort of rut, said Horton. She must have laughed a lot to herself. For a long time we got nothing more except the repetition of the words we had already heard and the sound of that suppressed laughter. Then Horton drew towards him the second battery. Ill try a stimulation of the motor nervecentres, he said. Watch her face. He propped the gramophone needle in position, and inserted into the fractured skull the two poles of the second battery, moving them about there very carefully. And as I watched her face, I saw with a freezing horror that her lips were beginning to move. Her mouths moving, I cried. She cant be dead. He peered into her face. Nonsense, he said. Thats only the stimulus from the current. Shes been dead half an hour. Ah! whats coming now? The lips lengthened into a smile, the lower jaw dropped, and from her mouth came the laughter we had heard just now through the gramophone. And then the dead mouth spoke, with a mumble of unintelligible words, a bubbling torrent of incoherent syllables. Ill turn the full current on, he said. The head jerked and raised itself, the lips struggled for utterance, and suddenly she spoke swiftly and distinctly. Just when hed got his razor out, she said, I came up behind him, and put my hand over his face, and bent his neck back over his chair with all my strength. And I picked up his razor and with one slitha, ha, that was the way to pay him out. And I didnt lose my head, but I lathered his chin well, and put the razor in his hand, and left him there, and went downstairs and cooked his dinner for him, and then an hour afterwards, as he didnt come down, up I went to see what kept him. It was a nasty cut in his neck that had kept him Horton suddenly withdrew the two poles of the battery from her head, and even in the middle of her word the mouth ceased working, and lay rigid and open. By God! he said. Theres a tale for dead lips to tell. But well get more yet. Exactly what happened then I never knew. It appeared to me that as he still leaned over the table with the two poles of the battery in his hand, his foot slipped, and he fell forward across it. There came a sharp crack, and a flash of blue dazzling light, and there he lay face downwards, with arms that just stirred and quivered. With his fall the two poles that must momentarily have come into contact with his hand were jerked away again, and I lifted him and laid him on the floor. But his lips as well as those of the dead woman had spoken for the last time. At Abdul Alis Grave Luxor, as most of those who have been there will allow, is a place of notable charm, and boasts many attractions for the traveller, chief among which he will reckon an excellent hotel containing a billiardroom, a garden fit for the gods to sit in, any quantity of visitors, at least a weekly dance on board a tourist steamer, quail shooting, a climate as of Avilion, and a number of stupendously ancient monuments for those archaeologically inclined. But to certain others, few indeed in number, but almost fanatically convinced of their own orthodoxy, the charm of Luxor, like some sleeping beauty, only wakes when these things cease, when the hotel has grown empty and the billiardmarker has gone for a long rest to Cairo, when the decimated quail and the decimating tourist have fled northwards, and the Theban plain, Danae to a tropical sun, is a gridiron across which no man would willingly make a journey by day, not even if Queen Hatasoo herself should signify that she would give him audience on the terraces of DeirelBahari. A suspicion however that the fanatic few were right, for in other respects they were men of estimable opinions, induced me to examine their convictions for myself, and thus it came about that two years ago, certain days toward the beginning of June saw me still there, a confirmed convert. Much tobacco and the length of summer days had assisted us to the analysis of the charm of which summer in the south is possessed, and Westonone of the earliest of the electand myself had discussed it at some length, and though we reserved as the principal ingredient a nameless something which baffled the chemist, and must be felt to be understood, we were easily able to detect certain other drugs of sight and sound, which we were agreed, contributed to the whole. A few of them are here subjoined. The waking in the warm darkness just before dawn to find that the desire for stopping in bed fails with the awakening. The silent start across the Nile in the still air with our horses, who, like us, stand and sniff at the incredible sweetness of the coming morning without apparently finding it less wonderful in repetition. The moment infinitesimal in duration but infinite in sensation, just before the sun rises, when the grey shrouded river is struck suddenly out of darkness, and becomes a sheet of green bronze. The rose flush, rapid as a change of colour in some chemical combination, which shoots across the sky from east to west, followed immediately by the sunlight which catches the peaks of the western hills, and flows down like some luminous liquid. The stir and whisper which goes through the world a breeze springs up; a lark soars and sings; the boatman shouts Yallah. Yallah; the horses toss their heads. The subsequent ride. The subsequent breakfast on our return. The subsequent absence of anything to do. At sunset the ride into the desert thick with the scent of warm barren sand, which smells like nothing else in the world, for it smells of nothing at all. The blaze of the tropical night. Camels milk. Converse with the fellahin, who are the most charming and least accountable people on the face of the earth except when tourists are about, and when in consequence there is no thought but backsheesh. Lastly, and with this we are concerned, the possibility of odd experiences. The beginning of the things which make this tale occurred four days ago, when Abdul Ali, the oldest man in the village, died suddenly, full of days and riches. Both, some thought, had probably been somewhat exaggerated, but his relations affirmed without variation that he had as many years as he had English pounds, and that each was a hundred. The apt roundness of these numbers was incontestable, the thing was too neat not to be true, and before he had been dead for twentyfour hours, it was a matter of orthodoxy. But with regard to his relations, that which turned their bereavement, which must soon have occurred, into a source of blank dismay instead of pious resignation, was that not one of these English pounds, not even their less satisfactory equivalent in notes, which, out of the tourist season, are looked upon at Luxor as a not very dependable variety of Philosophers stone, though certainly capable of producing gold under favourable circumstances, could be found. Abdul Ali with his hundred years was dead, his century of sovereignsthey might as well have been an annuitywere dead with him, and his son Mohamed, who had previously enjoyed a sort of brevet rank in anticipation of the event, was considered to be throwing far more dust in the air than the genuine affection even of a chief mourner wholly justified. Abdul, it is to be feared, was not a man of stereotyped respectability; though full of years and riches, he enjoyed no great reputation for honour. He drank wine whenever he could get it, he ate food during the days of Ramadan, scornful of the fact, when his appetite desired it, he was supposed to have the evil eye, and in his last moments he was attended by the notorious Achmet, who is well known here to be practised in Black Magic, and has been suspected of the much meaner crime of robbing the bodies of those lately dead. For in Egypt, while to despoil the bodies of ancient kings and priests is a privilege for which advanced and learned societies vie with each other, to rob the corpses of your contemporaries, is considered the deed of a dog. Mohamed who soon exchanged the throwing of dust in the air for the more natural mode of expressing chagrin, which is to gnaw the nails, told us in confidence that he suspected Achmet of having ascertained the secret of where his fathers money was, but it appeared that Achmet had as blank a face as anybody when his patient, who was striving to make some communication to him, went out into the great silence, and the suspicion that he knew where the money was, gave way, in the minds of those who were competent to form an estimate of his character, to a but dubious regret that he had just failed to learn that very important fact. So Abdul died and was buried, and we all went to the funeral feast at which we ate more roast meat than one naturally cares about at five in the afternoon on a June day, in consequence of which Weston and I, not requiring dinner, stopped at home after our return from the ride into the desert, and talked to Mohamed, Abduls son, and Hussein, Abduls youngest grandson, a boy of about twenty, who is also our valet, cook and housemaid, and they together woefully narrated of the money that had been and was not, and told us scandalous tales about Achmet concerning his weakness for cemeteries. They drank coffee and smoked, for though Hussein was our servant, we had been that day the guests of his father, and shortly after they had gone, up came Machmout. Machmout, who says he thinks he is twelve, but does not know for certain, is kitchenmaid, groom and gardener, and has to an extraordinary degree some occult power resembling clairvoyance. Weston, who is a member of the Society for Psychical Research, and the tragedy of whose life has been the detection of the fraudulent medium Mrs. Blunt, says that it is all thoughtreading, and has made notes of many of Machmouts performances, which may subsequently turn out to be of interest. Thoughtreading, however, does not seem to me to fully explain the experience which followed Abduls funeral, and with Machmout I have to put it down to White Magic, which should be a very inclusive term, or to Pure Coincidence, which is even more inclusive, and will cover all the inexplicable phenomena of the world, taken singly. Machmouts method of unloosing the forces of White Magic is simple, being the inkmirror known by name to many, and it is as follows. A little black ink is poured into the palm of Machmouts hand, or, as ink has been at a premium lately owing to the last postboat from Cairo which contained stationery for us, having stuck on a sandbank, a small piece of black American cloth about an inch in diameter, is found to be a perfect substitute. Upon this he gazes. After five or ten minutes his shrewd monkeylike expression is struck from his face, his eyes, wide open, remain fixed on the cloth, a complete rigidity sets in over his muscles, and he tells us of the curious things he sees. In whatever position he is, in that position he remains without the deflection of a hairs breadth until the ink is washed off or the cloth removed. Then he looks up and says, Khals, which means, It is finished. We only engaged Machmouts services as second general domestic a fortnight ago, but the first evening he was with us he came upstairs when he had finished his work, and said, I will show you White Magic; give me ink, and proceeded to describe the front hall of our house in London, saying that there were two horses at the door, and that a man and woman soon came out, gave the horses each a piece of bread and mounted. The thing was so probable that by the next mail I wrote asking my mother to write down exactly what she was doing and where at half past five (English time) on the evening of June 12. At the corresponding time in Egypt Machmout was describing speaking to us of a sitt (lady) having tea in a room which he described with some minuteness, and I am waiting anxiously for her letter. The explanation which Weston gives us of all these phenomena, is that a certain picture of people I know is present in my mind, though I may not be aware of itpresent to my subliminal self, I think, he saysand that I give an unspoken suggestion to the hypnotised Machmout. My explanation is that there isnt any explanation, for no suggestion on my part would make my brother go out and ride at the moment when Machmout says he is so doing (if indeed we find that Machmouts visions are chronologically correct). Consequently I prefer the open mind and am prepared to believe anything. Weston, however, does not speak quite so calmly or scientifically about Machmouts last performance, and since it took place, he has almost entirely ceased to urge me to become a member of the Society for Psychical Research, in order that I may no longer be hidebound by vain superstitions. Machmout will not exercise these powers if his own folk are present, for he says that when he is in this state, if a man who knew Black Magic was in the room, or knew that he was practising White Magic, he could get the spirit who presides over the Black Magic to kill the spirit of White Magic, for the Black Magic is the more potent, and the two are foes. And as the spirit of White Magic is on occasions a powerful friendhe had before now befriended Machmout in a manner which I consider incredibleMachmout is very desirous that he should abide long with him. But Englishmen it appears do not know the Black Magic, so with us he is safe. The spirit of Black Magic, to speak to whom it is death, Machmout saw once between heaven and earth, and night and day, so he phrases it, on the Karnak road. He may be known, he told us, by the fact that he is of paler skin than his people, that he has two long teeth, one in each corner of his mouth, and that his eyes, which are white all over, are as big as the eyes of a horse. Machmout squatted himself comfortably in the corner, and I gave him the piece of black American cloth. As some minutes must elapse before he gets into the hypnotic state in which the visions begin, I strolled out on to the balcony for coolness. It was the hottest night we had yet had, and though the sun had set three hours, the thermometer still registered close on 100. Above, the sky seemed veiled with grey, where it should have been dark velvety blue, and a fitful puffing wind from the south threatened three days of the sandy intolerable khamsin. A little way up the street to the left was a small caf in front of which were glowing and waning little glowworm specks of light from the water pipes of Arabs sitting out there in the dark. From inside came the click of brass castanets in the hands of some dancinggirl, sounding sharp and precise against the wailing bagpipe music of the strings and pipes which accompany these movements which Arabs love and Europeans think so unpleasing. Eastwards the sky was paler and luminous, for the moon was imminently rising, and even as I looked the red rim of the enormous disc cut the line of the desert, and on the instant with a curious aptness, one of the Arabs outside the caf broke out into that wonderful chant I cannot sleep for longing for thee, O full moon Far is thy throne over Mecca, slip down, O beloved, to me. Immediately afterwards I heard the piping monotone of Machmouts voice begin, and in a moment or two I went inside. We have found that the experiments gave the quickest result by contact, a fact which confirmed Weston in his explanation of them by thought transference of some elaborate kind, which I confess I cannot understand. He was writing at a table in the window when I came in, but looked up. Take his hand, he said, at present he is quite incoherent. Do you explain that? I asked. It is closely analogous, so Myers thinks, to talking in sleep. He has been saying something about a tomb. Do make a suggestion, and see if he gives it right. He is remarkably sensitive and he responds quicker to you than to me. Probably Abduls funeral suggested the tomb! A sudden thought struck me. Hush! I said, I want to listen. Machmouts head was thrown a little back, and he held the hand in which was the piece of cloth rather above his face. As usual he was talking very slowly, and in a high staccato voice, absolutely unlike his usual tones. On one side of the grave, he piped, is a tamarisk tree, and the green beetles make fantasia about it. On the other side is a mud wall. There are many other graves about, but they are all asleep. This is the grave, because it is awake, and is moist and not sandy. I thought so, said Weston, It is Abduls grave he is talking about. There is a red moon sitting on the desert, continued Machmout, and it is now. There is the puffing of khamsin, and much dust coming. The moon is red with dust, and because it is low. Still sensitive to external conditions, said Weston. That is rather curious. Pinch him, will you? I pinched Machmout; he did not pay the slightest attention. In the last house of the street, and in the doorway stands a man. Ah! ah! cried the boy suddenly, it is the Black Magic he knows. Dont let him come. He is going out of the house, he shrieked, he is comingno, he is going the other way, towards the moon and the grave. He has the Black Magic with him, which can raise the dead, and he has a murdering knife, and a spade. I cannot see his face for the Black Magic is between it and my eyes. Weston had got up, and, like me, was hanging on Machmouts words. We will go there, he said. Here is an opportunity of testing it. Listen a moment. He is walking, walking, walking, piped Machmout, still walking to the moon and the grave. The moon sits no longer on the desert, but has sprung up a little way. I pointed out of the window. That at any rate is true, I said. Weston took the cloth out of Machmouts hand, and the piping ceased. In a moment he stretched himself, and rubbed his eyes. Khals, he said. Yes, it is Khals. Did I tell you of the sitt in England? he asked. Yes, oh, yes, I answered; thank you, little Machmout. The White Magic was very good tonight. Get you to bed. Machmout trotted obediently out of the room, and Weston closed the door after him. We must be quick, he said. It is worth while going and giving the thing a chance, though I wish he had seen something less gruesome. The odd thing is that he was not at the funeral, and yet he describes the grave accurately. What do you make of it? I make that the White Magic has shown Machmout that somebody with Black Magic is going to Abduls grave, perhaps to rob it, I answered resolutely. What are we to do when we get there? asked Weston. See the Black Magic at work. Personally I am in a blue funk. So are you. There is no such thing as Black Magic, said Weston. Ah, I have it. Give me that orange. Weston rapidly skinned it, and cut from the rind two circles as big as a five shilling piece, and two long, white fangs of skin. The first he fixed in his eye, the two latter in the corners of his mouth. The spirit of Black Magic? I asked. The same. He took up a long black burnous and wrapped it round him. Even in the bright lamp light, the spirit of Black Magic was a sufficiently terrific personage. I dont believe in Black Magic, he said, but others do. If it is necessary to put a stop toto anything that is going on, we will hoist the man on his own petard. Come along. Whom do you suspect it isI mean, of course, who was the person you were thinking of when your thoughts were transferred to Machmout. What Machmout said, I answered, suggested Achmet to me. Weston indulged in a laugh of scientific incredulity, and we set off. The moon, as the boy had told us, was just clear of the horizon, and as it rose higher, its colour at first red and sombre, like the blaze of some distant conflagration, paled to a tawny yellow. The hot wind from the south, blowing no longer fitfully but with a steadily increasing violence was thick with sand, and of an incredibly scorching heat, and the tops of the palm trees in the garden of the deserted hotel on the right were lashing themselves to and fro with a harsh rattle of dry leaves. The cemetery lay on the outskirts of the village, and, as long as our way lay between the mud walls of the huddling street, the wind came to us only as the heat from behind closed furnace doors. Every now and then with a whisper and whistle rising into a great buffeting flap, a sudden whirlwind of dust would scour some twenty yards along the road, and then break like a shorequenched wave against one or other of the mud walls or throw itself heavily against a house and fall in a shower of sand. But once free of obstructions we were opposed to the full heat and blast of the wind which blew full in our teeth. It was the first summer khamsin of the year, and for the moment I wished I had gone north with the tourist and the quail and the billiard marker, for khamsin fetches the marrow out of the bones, and turns the body to blotting paper. We passed no one in the street, and the only sound we heard, except the wind, was the howling of moonstruck dogs. The cemetery is surrounded by a tall mudbuilt wall, and sheltering for a few moments under this we discussed our movements. The row of tamarisks close to which the tomb lay went down the centre of the graveyard, and by skirting the wall outside and climbing softly over where they approached it, the fury of the wind might help us to get near the grave without being seen, if anyone happened to be there. We had just decided on this, and were moving on to put the scheme into execution, when the wind dropped for a moment, and in the silence we could hear the chump of the spade being driven into the earth, and what gave me a sudden thrill of intimate horror, the cry of the carrionfeeding hawk from the dusty sky just overhead. Two minutes later we were creeping up in the shade of the tamarisks, to where Abdul had been buried. The great green beetles which live on the trees were flying about blindly, and once or twice one dashed into my face with a whirr of mailclad wings. When we were within some twenty yards of the grave we stopped for a moment, and, looking cautiously out from our shelter of tamarisks, saw the figure of a man already waist deep in the earth, digging out the newly turned grave. Weston, who was standing behind me had adjusted the characteristics of the spirit of Black Magic so as to be ready for emergencies, and turning round suddenly, and finding myself unawares face to face with that realistic impersonation, though my nerves are not precariously strong, I could have found it within me to shriek aloud. But that unsympathetic man of iron only shook with suppressed laughter, and, holding the eyes in his hand, motioned me forward again without speaking to where the trees grew thicker. There we stood not a dozen yards away from the grave. We waited, I suppose, for some ten minutes, while the man, whom we saw to be Achmet, toiled on at his impious task. He was entirely naked, and his brown skin glistened with the dews of exertion in the moonlight. At times he chattered in a cold uncanny manner to himself, and once or twice he stopped for breath. Then he began scraping the earth away with his hands, and soon afterwards searched in his clothes which were lying near for a piece of rope, with which he stepped into the grave, and in a moment reappeared again with both ends in his hands. Then, standing astride the grave, he pulled strongly, and one end of the coffin appeared above the ground. He chipped a piece of the lid away to make sure that he had the right end, and then, setting it upright, wrenched off the top with his knife and there faced us leaning against the coffin lid, the small shrivelled figure of the dead Abdul, swathed like a baby in white. I was just about to motion the spirit of Black Magic to make his appearance, when Machmouts words came into my head He has with him the Black Magic which can raise the dead, and sudden overwhelming curiosity, which froze disgust and horror into chill unfeeling things, came over me. Wait, I whispered to Weston, he will use the Black Magic. Again the wind dropped for a moment, and again, in the silence that came with it, I heard the chiding of the hawk overhead, this time nearer, and thought I heard more birds than one. Achmet meantime had taken the covering from off the face, and had undone the swathing band, which at the moment after death is bound round the chin to close the jaw, and in Arab burial is always left there, and from where we stood I could see that the jaw dropped when the bandage was untied, as if, though the wind blew towards us with a ghastly scent of mortality on it, the muscles were not even now set, though the man had been dead sixty hours. But still a rank and burning curiosity to see what this unclean ghoul would do next stifled all other feelings in my mind. He seemed not to notice, or, at any rate, to disregard that mouth gaping awry, and moved about nimbly in the moonlight.

He took from a pocket of his clothes, which were lying near, two small black objects, which now are safely embedded in the mud at the bottom of the Nile, and rubbed them briskly together. By degrees they grew luminous with a sickly yellow pallor of light, and from his hands went up a wavy, phosphorescent flame. One of these cubes he placed in the open mouth of the corpse, the other in his own, and, taking the dead man closely in his arms as though he would indeed dance with death, he breathed long breaths from his mouth into that dead cavern which was pressed to his. Suddenly he started back with a quickdrawn breath of wonder and perhaps of horror, and stood for a space as if irresolute, for the cube which the dead man held instead of lying loosely in the jaw, was pressed tight between clenched teeth. After a moment of irresolution he stepped back quickly to his clothes again, and took up from near them the knife with which he had stripped off the coffin lid, and holding this in one hand behind his back, with the other he took out the cube from the dead mans mouth, though with a visible exhibition of force, and spoke. Abdul, he said, I am your friend, and I swear I will give your money to Mohamed, if you will tell me where it is. Certain I am that the lips of the dead moved, and the eyelids fluttered for a moment like the wings of a wounded bird, but at that sight, the horror so grew on me that I was physically incapable of stifling the cry that rose to my lips, and Achmet turned round. Next moment the complete Spirit of Black Magic glided out of the shade of the trees, and stood before him. The wretched man stood for a moment without stirring, then, turning with shaking knees to flee, he stepped back and fell into the grave he had just opened. Weston turned on me angrily, dropping the eyes and the teeth of the Afreet. You spoiled it all, he cried. It would perhaps have been the most interesting and his eye lighted on the dead Abdul, who peered openeyed from the coffin, then swayed, tottered, and fell forward, face downwards on the ground close to him. For one moment he lay there, and then the body rolled slowly on to its back without visible cause of movement, and lay staring into the sky. The face was covered with dust, but with the dust was mingled fresh blood. A nail had caught the cloth that wound him, underneath which as usual were the clothes in which he had died, for the Arabs do not wash their dead, and it had torn a great rent through them all, leaving the right shoulder bare. Weston strove to speak once, but failed. Then I will go and inform the police, he said, if you will stop here, and see that Achmet does not get out. But this I altogether refused to do, and, after covering the body with the coffin to protect it from the hawks, we secured Achmets arms with the rope he had already used that night, and took him off to Luxor. Next morning Mohamed came to see us. I thought Achmet knew where the money was, he said exultantly. Where was it? In a little purse tied round the shoulder. The dog had already begun stripping it. Seeand he brought it out of his pocketit is all there in those English notes, five pounds each, and there are twenty of them. Our conclusion was slightly different, for even Weston will allow that Achmet hoped to learn from dead lips the secret of the treasure, and then to kill the man anew and bury him. But that is pure conjecture. The only other point of interest lies in the two black cubes which we picked up, and found to be graven with curious characters. These I put one evening into Machmouts hand, when he was exhibiting to us his curious powers of thought transference. The effect was that he screamed aloud, crying out that the Black Magic had come, and though I did not feel certain about that, I thought they would be safer in midNile. Weston grumbled a little, and said that he had wanted to take them to the British Museum, but that I feel sure was an afterthought. At the Farmhouse The dusk of a November day was falling fast when John Aylsford came out of his lodging in the cobbled street and started to walk briskly along the road which led eastwards by the shore of the bay. He had been at work while the daylight served him, and now, when the gathering darkness weaned him from his easel, he was accustomed to go out for air and exercise and cover half a dozen miles before he returned to his solitary supper. Tonight there were but few folk abroad, and those scudded along before the strong southwesterly gale which had roared and raged all day, or, leaning forward, beat their way against it. No fishingboats had put forth on that maddened sea, but had lain moored behind the quaywall, tossing uneasily with the backwash of the great breakers that swept by the pierhead. The tide was low now, and they rested on the sandy beach, black blots against the smooth wet surface which sombrely reflected the last flames in the west. The sun had gone down in a wrack of broken and flying clouds, angry and menacing with promise of a wild night to come. For many days past, at this hour John Aylsford had started eastwards for his tramp along the rough coast road by the bay. The last high tide had swept shingle and sand over sections of it, and fragments of seaweed, driven by the wind, bowled along the ruts. The heavy boom of the breakers sounded sullenly in the dusk, and white towers of foam appearing and disappearing showed how high they leaped over the reefs of rock beyond the headland. For half a mile or so, slanting himself against the gale he pursued this road, then turned up a narrow muddy lane sunk deep between the banks on either side of it. It ran steeply uphill, dipped down again, and joined the main road inland. Having arrived at the junction, John Aylsford went eastwards no more, but turned his steps to the west, arriving, half an hour after he had set out, on the top of the hill above the village he had quitted, though five minutes ascent would have taken him from his lodgings to the spot where he now stood looking down on the scattered lights below him. The wind had blown all wayfarers indoors, and now in front of him the road that crossed this high and desolate tableland, sprinkled here and there with lonely cottages and solitary farms, lay empty and greyly glimmering in the windswept darkness, not more than faintly visible. Many times during this past month had John Aylsford made this long detour, starting eastwards from the village and coming back by a wide circuit, and now, as on these other occasions, he paused in the black shelter of the hedge through which the wind hissed and whistled, crouching there in the shadow as if to make sure that none had followed him, and that the road in front lay void of passengers, for he had no mind to be observed by any on these journeyings. And as he paused he let his hate blaze up, warming him for the work the accomplishment of which alone could enable him to recapture any peace or profit from life. Tonight he was determined to release himself from the millstone which for so many years had hung round his neck, drowning him in bitter waters. From long brooding over the idea of the deed, he had quite ceased to feel any horror of it. The death of that drunken slut was not a matter for qualms or uneasiness; the world would be well rid of her, and he more than well. No spark of tenderness for the handsome fishergirl who once had been his model and for twenty years had been his wife pierced the blackness of his purpose. Just here it was that he had seen her first when on a summer holiday he had lodged with a couple of friends in the farmhouse towards which his way now lay. She was coming up the hill with the late sunset gilding her face, and, breathing quickly from the ascent, had leaned on the wall close by with a smile and a glance for the young man. She had sat to him, and the autumn brought the sequel to the summer in his marriage. He had bought from her uncle the little farmhouse where he had lodged, adding to its modest accommodation a studio and a bedroom above it, and there he had seen the flicker of what had never been love, die out, and over the cold ashes of its embers the poisonous lichen of hatred spread fast. Early in their married life she had taken to drink, and had sunk into a degradation of soul and body that seemed bottomless, dragging him with her, down and down, in the grip of a force that was hardly human in its malignity. Often during the wretched years that followed he had tried to leave her; he had offered to settle the farm on her and make adequate provision for her, but she had clung to the possession of him, not, it would seem, from any affection for him, but for a reason exactly opposite, namely, that her hatred of him fed and glutted itself on the sight of his ruin. It was as if, in obedience to some hellish power, she set herself to spoil his life, his powers, his possibilities, by tying him to herself. And by the aid of that power, so sometimes he had thought, she enforced her will on him, for, plan as he might to cut the whole dreadful business and leave the wreck behind him, he had never been able to consolidate his resolve into action. There, but a few miles away, was the station from which ran the train that would bear him out of this ancient western kingdom, where the beliefs in spells and superstitions grew rank as the herbage in that soft enervating air, and set him in the dry hard light of cities. The way lay open, but he could not take it; something unseen and potent, of grim inflexibility, held him back. He had passed no one on his way here, and satisfied now that in the darkness he could proceed without fear of being recognised if a chance wayfarer came from the direction in which he was going, he left the shelter of the hedge, and struck out into the stormy sea of that stupendous gale. Even as a man in the grip of imminent death sees his past life spread itself out in front of him for his final survey before the book is closed, so now, on the brink of the new life from which the deed on which he was determined alone separated him, John Aylsford, as he battled his advance through this great tempest, turned over page after page of his own wretched chronicles, feeling already strangely detached from them; it was as if he read the sordid and enslaved annals of another, wondering at them, halfpitying, halfdespising him who had allowed himself to be bound so long in this ruinous noose. Yes; it had been just that, a noose drawn ever tighter round his neck, while he choked and struggled all unavailingly. But there was another noose which should very soon now be drawn rapidly and finally tight, and the drawing of that in his own strong hands would free him. As he dwelt on that for a moment, his fingers stroked and patted the hank of whipcord that lay white and tough in his pocket. A noose, a knot drawn quickly taut, and he would have paid her back with justice and swifter mercy for the long strangling which he had suffered. Voluntarily and eagerly at the beginning had he allowed her to slip the noose about him, for Ellen Trenairs beauty in those days, so long past and so everlastingly regretted, had been enough to ensnare a man. He had been warned at the time, by hint and halfspoken suggestion, that it was ill for a man to mate with a girl of that dark and illfamed family, or for a woman to wed a boy in whose veins ran the blood of Jonas Trenair, once Methodist preacher, who learned on one AllHallows Eve a darker gospel than he had ever preached before. What had happened to the girls who had married into that dwindling family, now all but extinct? One, before her marriage was a year old, had gone off her head, and now, a withered and ancient crone, mowed and gibbered about the streets of the village, picking garbage from the gutter and munching it in her toothless jaws. Another, Ellens own mother, had been found hanging from the banister of her stairs, stark and grim. Then there was young Frank Pencarris, who had wed Ellens sister. He had sunk into an awful melancholy, and sat tracing on sheets of paper the visions that beset his eyes, headless shapes, and foaming mouths, and the images of the spawn of hell. John Aylsford, in those early days, had laughed to scorn these old wife tales of spells and sorceries they belonged to ages long past, whereas fair Ellen Trenair was of the lovely present, and had lit desire in his heart which she alone could assuage. He had no use, in the brightness of her eye, for such shadows and superstitions; her beams dispelled them. Bitter and black as midnight had his enlightenment been, darkening through dubious dusks till the mirk of the pit itself enveloped him. His laughter at the notion that in this twentieth century spells and sorceries could survive, grew silent on his lips. He had seen the cattle of a neighbour who had offended one whom it was wiser not to cross, dwindle and pine, though there were rich pastures for their grazing, till the ribbones stuck out like the timbers of stranded wrecks. He had seen the spring on another farm run dry at lambingtime because the owner, sceptic like himself, had refused that bounty, which all prudent folk paid to the wizard of Mareuth, who, like Ellen, was of the blood of Jonas Trenair. From scorn and laughter he had wavered to an uneasy wonder, and from wonder his mind had passed to the conviction that there were powers occult and terrible which strove in darkness and prevailed, secrets and spells that could send disease on man and beast, dark incantations, known to few, which could maim and cripple, and of these few his wife was one. His reason revolted, but some conviction, deeper than reason, held its own. To such a view it seemed that the deed he contemplated was no crime, but rather an act of obedience to the ordinance Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live. And the sense of detachment was over that, even as over the memories that oozed up in his mind. Somebodynot hewho had planned everything very carefully was in the next hour going to put an end to his bondage. So the years had passed, he floundering ever deeper in the slough into which he was plunged, out of which while she lived he could never emerge. For the last year, she, wearying of his perpetual presence at the farm, had allowed him to take a lodging in the village. She did not loose her hold over him, for the days were few on which she did not come with demands for a handful of shillings to procure her the raw spirits which alone could slake her thirst. Sometimes as he sat at work there in the north room looking on to the small gardenyard, she would come lurching up the path, with her bloated crimson face set on the withered neck, and tap at his window with fingers shrivelled like birds claws. Body and limbs were no more than bones over which the wrinkled skin was stretched, but her face bulged monstrously with layers of fat. He would give her whatever he had about him, and if it was not enough, she would plant herself there, grinning at him and wheedling him, or with screams and curses threatening him with such fate as he had known to overtake those who crossed her will. But usually he gave her enough to satisfy her for that day and perhaps the next, for thus she would the more quickly drink herself to death. Yet death seemed long in coming. He remembered well how first the notion of killing her came into his head, just a little seed, small as that of mustard, which lay long in barrenness. Only the bare idea of it was there, like an abstract proposition. Then imperceptibly in the fruitful darkness of his mind, it must have begun to sprout, for presently a tendril, still soft and white, prodded out into the daylight. He almost pushed it back again, for fear that she, by some divining art, should probe his purpose. But when next she came for supplies, he saw no gleam of surmise in her redrimmed eyes, and she took her money and went her way, and his purpose put forth another leaf, and the stem of it grew sappy. All autumn through it had flourished, and grown treelike, and fresh ideas, fresh details, fresh precautions, flocked there like building birds and made it gay with singing. He sat under the shadow of it and listened with brightening hopes to their song; never had there been such peerless melody. They knew their tunes now, there was no need for any further rehearsal. He began to wonder how soon he would be back on the road again, with face turned from this buffeting wind, and on his way home. His business would not take him long; the central deed of it would be over in a couple of minutes, and he did not anticipate delay about the setting to work on it, for by seven oclock of the evening, as well he knew, she was usually snoring in the oblivion of complete drunkenness, and even if she was not as far gone as that, she would certainly be incapable of any serious resistance. After that, a quarter of an hour more would finish the job, and he would leave the house secure already from any chance of detection. Night after night during these last ten days he had been up here, peering from the darkness into the lighted room where she sat, then listening for her step on the stairs as she stumbled up to bed, or hearing her snorings as she slept in her chair below. The outhouse, he knew, was well stocked with paraffin; he needed no further apparatus than the whipcord and the matches he carried with him. Then back he would go along the exact route by which he had come, reentering the village again from the eastwards, in which direction he had set out. This walk of his was now a known and established habit; half the village during the last week or two had seen him every evening set forth along the coast road, for a tramp in the dusk when the light failed for his painting, and had seen him come back again as they hung about and smoked in the warm dusk, a couple of hours later. None knew of his detour to the main road which took him westwards again above the village and so to the stretch of bleak upland along which now he fought his way against the gale. Always round about the hour of eight he had entered the village again from the other side, and had stopped and chatted with the loiterers. Tonight, no later than was usual, he would come up the cobbled road again, and give good night to any who lingered there outside the publichouse. In this wild wind it was not likely that there would be such, and if so, no matter; he had been seen already setting forth on his usual walk by the coast of the bay, and if none outside saw him return, none could see the true chart of his walk. By eight he should be back to his supper, there would be a soused herring for him, and a cut of cheese, and the kettle would be singing on the hob for his hot whiskytoddy. He would have a keen edge for the enjoyment of them tonight; he would drink long healths to the damned and the dead. Not till tomorrow, probably, would the news of what had happened reach him, for the farmhouse lay lonely and sheltered by the wood of firs. However high might mount the beacon of its blazing, it would scarcely, screened by the tall trees, light up the western sky, and be seen from the village nestling below the steep hillcrest. By now John Aylsford had come to the fir wood which bordered the road on the left, and, as he passed into its shelter, cut off from him the violence of the gale. All its branches were astir with the sound of some vexed, overhead sea, and the trunks that upheld them creaked and groaned in the fury of the tempest. Somewhere behind the thick scud of flying cloud the moon must have risen, for the road glimmered more visibly, and the tossing blackness of the branches was clear enough against the grey tumult overhead. Behind the tempest she rode in serene skies, and in the murderous clarity of his mind he likened himself to her. Just for half an hour more he would still grope and scheme and achieve in this hurlyburly, and then, like a balloon released, soar through the clouds and find serenity. A couple of hundred yards now would take him round the corner of the wood; from there the miry lane led from the highroad to the farm. He hastened rather than retarded his going as he drew near, for the wood, though it roared with the gale, began to whisper to him of memories. Often in that summer before his marriage had he strayed out at dusk into it, certain that before he had gone many paces he would see a shadow flitting towards him through the firs, or hear the crack of dry twigs in the stillness. Here was their tryst; she would come up from the village with the excuse of bringing fish to the farmhouse, after the boats had come in, and deserting the highroad make a shortcut through the wood. Like some distant blink of lightning the memory of those evenings quivered distantly on his mind, and he quickened his step. The years that followed had killed and buried those recollections, but who knew what stirring of corpses and dry bones might not yet come to them if he lingered there? He fingered the whipcord in his pocket, and launched out, beyond the trees, into the full fury of the gale. The farmhouse was near now and in full view, a black blot against the clouds. A beam of light shone from an uncurtained window on the groundfloor, and the rest was dark. Even thus had he seen it for many nights past, and well knew what sight would greet him as he stole up nearer. And even so it was tonight, for there she sat in the studio he had built, betwixt table and fireplace with the bottle near her, and her withered hands stretched out to the blaze, and the huge bloated face swaying on her shoulders. Beside her tonight were the wrecked remains of a chair, and the first sight that he caught of her was to show her feeding the fire with the broken pieces of it. It had been too troublesome to bring fresh logs from the store of wood; to break up a chair was the easier task. She stirred and sat more upright, then reached out for the bottle that stood beside her, and drank from the mouth of it. She drank and licked her lips and drank again, and staggered to her feet, tripping on the edge of the hearthrug. For the moment that seemed to anger her, and with clenched teeth and pointing finger she mumbled at it; then once more she drank, and lurching forward, took the lamp from the table. With it in her hand she shuffled to the door, and the room was left to the flickering firelight. A moment afterwards, the bedroom window above sprang into light, an oblong of bright illumination. As soon as that appeared he crept round the house to the door. He gently turned the handle of it, and found it unlocked. Inside was a small passage entrance, on the left of which ascended the stairs to the bedroom above the studio. All was silent there, but from where he stood he could see that the door into the bedroom was open, for a shaft of light from the lamp she had carried up with her was shed on to the landing there. Everything was smoothing itself out to render his course most easy. Even the gale was his friend, for it would be bellows for the fire. He slipped off his shoes, leaving them on the mat, and drew the whipcord from his pocket. He made a noose in it, and began to ascend the stairs. They were wellbuilt of seasoned oak, and no creak betrayed his advancing footfall. At the top he paused, listening for any stir of movement within, but there was nothing to be heard but the sound of heavy breathing from the bed that lay to the left of the door and out of sight. She had thrown herself down there, he guessed, without undressing, leaving the lamp to burn itself out. He could see it through the open door already beginning to flicker; on the wall behind it were a couple of watercolours, pictures of his own, one of the little walled garden by the farm, the other of the pinewood of their tryst. Well he remembered painting them she would sit by him as he worked with prattle and singing. He looked at them now quite detachedly; they seemed to him wonderfully good, and he envied the artist that fresh, clean skill. Perhaps he would take them down presently and carry them away with him. Very softly now he advanced into the room, and looking round the corner of the door, he saw her, sprawling and fully dressed on the broad bed. She lay on her back, eyes closed and mouth open, her dull grey hair spread over the pillow. Evidently she had not made the bed that day, for she lay stretched on the crumpled backturned blankets. A hairbrush was on the floor beside her; it seemed to have fallen from her hand. He moved quickly towards her. He put on his shoes again when he came to the foot of the stairs, carrying the lamp with him and the two pictures which he had taken down from the wall, and went into the studio. He set the lamp on the table and drew down the blinds, and his eye fell on the halfempty whisky bottle from which he had seen her drinking. Though his hand was quite steady and his mind composed and tranquil, there was yet at the back of it some impression that was slowly developing, and a good dose of spirits would no doubt expunge that. He drank half a tumbler of it raw and undiluted, and though it seemed no more than water in his mouth, he soon felt that it was doing its work and sponging away from his mind the picture that had been outlining itself there. In a couple of minutes he was quite himself again, and could afford to wonder and laugh at the illusion, for it was no less than that, which had been gaining on him. For though he could distinctly remember drawing the noose tight, and seeing the face grow black, and struggling with the convulsive movements of those withered limbs that soon lay quiet again, there had sprung up in his mind some unaccountable impression that what he had left there huddled on the bed was not just the bundle of withered limbs and strangled neck, but the body of a young girl, smooth of skin and golden of hair, with mouth that smiled drowsily. She had been asleep when he came in, and now was halfawake, and was stirring and stretching herself. In what dim region of his mind that image had formed itself, he had no idea; all he cared about now was that his drink had shattered it again, and he could proceed with order and method to make all secure. Just one drop more first how lucky it was that this morning he had been liberal with his money when she came to the village, for he would have been sorry to have gone without that fillip to his nerves. He looked at his watch, and saw to his satisfaction that it was still only a little after seven oclock. Half an hours walking, with this gale to speed his steps, would easily carry him from door to door, round the detour which approached the village from the east, and a quarter of an hour, so he reckoned, would be sufficient to accomplish thoroughly what remained to be done here. He must not hurry and thus overlook some precaution needful for his safety, though, on the other hand, he would be glad to be gone from the house as soon as might be, and he proceeded to set about his work without delay. There was brushwood and firekindling to be brought in from the woodshed in the yard, and he made three journeys, returning each time with his arms full, before he had brought in what he judged to be sufficient. Most of this he piled in a loose heap in the studio; with the rest he ascended once more to the bedroom above and made a heap of it there in the middle of the floor. He took the curtains down from the windows, for they would make a fine wick for the paraffin, and stuffed them into the pile. Before he left, he looked once more at what lay on the bed, and marvelled at the illusion which the whisky had dispelled, and as he looked, the sense that he was free mounted and bubbled in his head. The thing seemed scarcely human at all; it was a monster from which he had delivered himself, and now, with the thought of that to warm him, he was no longer eager to get through with his work and be gone, for it was all part of that act of riddance which he had accomplished, and he gloried in it. Soon, when all was ready, he would come back once more and soak the fuel and set light to it, and purge with fire the corruption that lay humped on the bed. The fury of the gale had increased with nightfall, and as he went downstairs again he heard the rattle of loosened tiles on the roof, and the crash as they shattered themselves on the cobbles of the yard. At that a sudden misgiving made his breath to catch in his throat, as he pictured to himself some maniac blast falling on the house and crashing in the walls that now trembled and shuddered. Supposing the whole house fell, even if he escaped with his life from the toppling ruin, what would his life be worth? There would be search made in the fallen debris to find the body of her who lay strangled with the whipcord round her neck, and he pictured to himself the slow, relentless march of justice. He had bought whipcord only yesterday at a shop in the village, insisting on its strength and toughness would it be wiser now, this moment, to untie the noose and take it back with him or add it to his brushwood? He paused on the staircase, pondering that; but his flesh quaked at the thought, and master of himself though he had been during those few struggling minutes, he distrusted his power of making himself handle once more that which could struggle no longer. But even as he tried to screw his courage to the point, the violence of the squall passed, and the shuddering house braced itself again. He need not fear that; the gale was his friend that would blow on the flames, not his enemy. The blasts that trumpeted overhead were the voices of the allies who had come to aid him. All was arranged then upstairs for the pouring of the paraffin and the lighting of the pyre; it remained but to make similar dispositions in the studio. He would stay to feed the flames till they raged beyond all power of extinction; and now he began to plan the line of his retreat. There were two doors in the studio one by the fireplace which opened on to the little garden; the other gave into the passage entrance from which mounted the stairs and so to the door through which he had come into the house. He decided to use the gardendoor for his exit; but when he came to open it, he found that the key was stiff in the rusty lock, and did not yield to his efforts. There was no use in wasting time over that; it made no difference through which door he finally emerged, and he began piling up his heap of wood at that end of the room. The lamp was burning low; but the fire, which only so few minutes ago she had fed with a broken chair, shone brightly, and a flaming ember from it would serve to set light to his conflagration. There was a straw mat in front of it, which would make fine kindling, and with these two fires, one in the bedroom upstairs and the other here, there would be no mistake about the incineration of the house and all that it contained. His own crime, if crime it was, would perish, too, and all evidence thereof, victim and whipcord, and the very walls of the house of sin and hate. It was a great deed and a fine adventure, and as the liquor he had drunk began to circulate more buoyantly through his veins, he gloried at the thought of the approaching consummation. He would slip out of the sordid tragedy of his past life, as from a discarded garment that he threw into the bonfire he would soon kindle. All was ready now for the soaking of the fuel he had piled with the paraffin, and he went out to the shed in the yard where the barrel stood. A big tin ewer stood beside it, which he filled and carried indoors. That would be sufficient for the soaking of the pile upstairs, and fetching the smoky and flickering lamp from the studio, he went up again, and like a careful gardener watering some bed of choice blossoms, he sprinkled and poured till his ewer was empty.

He gave but one glance to the bed behind him, where the huddled thing lay so quietly, and as he turned, lamp in hand, to go down again, the draught that came in through the window against which the gale blew, extinguished it. A little blue flame of burning vapour rose in the chimney and went out; so, having no further use for it, he pitched it on to the pile of soaked material. As he left the room he thought he heard some small stir of movement behind him, but he told himself that it was but something slipping in the heap he had built there. Again he went out into the storm. The clouds that scudded overhead were thinner now, though the gale blew not less fiercely, and the blurred, watery moonlight was brighter. Once for a moment, as he approached the shed, he caught sight of the full orb plunging madly among the streaming vapours; then she was hidden again behind the wrack. Close in front of him were the fir trees of the wood where those sweet trysts had been held, and once again the vision of her as she had been broke into his mind and the queer conviction that it was no withered and bloated hag, who lay on the bed upstairs but the fair, comely limbs and the golden head. It was even more vivid now, and he made haste to get back to the studio, where he would find the trusty medicine that had dispelled that vision before. He would have to make two journeys at least with his tin ewer before he transported enough oil to feed the larger pyre below, and so, to save time, he took the barrel off its stand, and rolled it along the path and into the house. He paused at the foot of the stairs, listening to hear if anything stirred, but all was silent. Whatever had slipped up there was steady again; from outside only came the squeal and bellow of the wind. The studio was brightly but fitfully lit by the flames on the hearth; at one moment a noonday blazed there, the next but the last smoulder of some red sunset. It was easier to decant from the barrel into his ewer than carry the heavy keg and sprinkle from it, and once and once again he filled and emptied it. One more application would be sufficient, and after that he could let what remained trickle out on to the floor. But by some awkward movement he managed to spill a splash of it down the front of his trousers he must be sure, therefore (how quickly his brain responded with counsels of precautions), to have some accident with his lamp when he came in to his supper, which should account for this little misadventure. Or, probably, the wind through which he would presently be walking would dry it before he reached the village. So, for the last time with matches ready in his hand, he mounted the stairs to set light to the fuel piled in the room above. His second dose of whisky sang in his head, and he said to himself, smiling at the humour of the notion, She always liked a fire in her bedroom; she shall have it now. That seemed a very comical idea, and it dwelt in his head as he struck the match which should light it for her. Then, still grinning, he gave one glance to the bed, and the smile died on his face, and the wild cymbals of panic crashed in his brain. The bed was empty; no huddled shape lay there. Distraught with terror, he thrust the match into the soaked pile and the flame flared up. Perhaps the body had rolled off the bed. It must, in any case, be here somewhere, and when once the room was alight there would be nothing more to fear. High rose the smoky flame, and banging the door, he leaped down the stairs to set light to the pile below and be gone from the house. Yet, whatever monstrous miracle his eye had assured him of, it could not be that she still lived and had left the place where she lay, for she had ceased to breathe when the noose was tight round her neck, and her fight for life and air had long been stilled. But, if by some hideous witchcraft, she was not dead, it would soon be over now with her in the stupefaction of the smoke and the scorching flames. Let be; the door was shut and she within, for him it remained to be finished with the business, and flee from the house of terror, lest he leave the sanity of his soul behind him. The red glare from the hearth in the studio lit his steps down the passage from the stairway, and already he could hear from above the dry crack and snap from the fire that prospered there. As he shuffled in, he held his hands to his head, as if pressing the brain back into its cool case, from which it seemed eager to fly out into the welter of storm and fire and hideous imagination. If he could only control himself for a few moments more, all would be done and he would escape from this disordered haunted place into the night and the gale, leaving behind him the blaze that would burn away all perilous stuff. Again the flames broke out in the embers on the hearth, bravely burning, and he took from the heart of the glare a fragment on which the fire was bursting into yellow flowers. He heeded not the scorching of his hand, for it was but for a moment that he held it, and then plunged it into the pile that dripped with the oil he had poured on it. A tower of flame mounted, licking the rafters of the low ceiling, then died away as if suffocated by its own smoke, but crept onwards, nosing its way along till it reached the straw mat, which blazed fiercely. That blaze kindled the courage in him; whatever trick his imagination had played on him just now, he had nothing to fear except his own terror, which now he mastered again, for nothing real could ever escape from the conflagration, and it was only the real that he feared. Spells and witchcrafts and superstitions, such as for the last twenty years had battened on him, were all enclosed in that tightdrawn noose. It was time to be gone, for all was safe now, and the room was growing to ovenheat. But as he picked his way across the floor over which runnels of flames from the split barrel were beginning to spread this way and that, he heard from above the sound of a door unlatched, and footsteps light and firm tapped on the stairs. For one second the sheer catalepsy of panic seized him, but he recovered his control, and with hands that groped through the thick smoke he found the door. At that moment the fire shot up in a blaze of blinding flame, and there in the doorway stood Ellen. It was no withered body and bloated face that confronted him, but she with whom he had trysted in the wood, with the bloom of eternal youth upon her, and the smooth soft hand, on which was her weddingring, pointed at him. It was in vain that he called on himself to rush forward out of that torrid and suffocating air. The front door was open, he had but to pass her and speed forth safe into the night. But no power from his will reached his limbs; his will screamed to him, Go, go! Push by her it is but a phantom which you fear! but muscle and sinew were in mutiny, and step by step he retreated before that pointing finger and the radiant shape that advanced on him. The flames that flickered over the floor had discovered the paraffin he had spilt, and leaped up his leg. Just one spot in his brain retained lucidity from the encompassing terror. Somewhere behind that barrier of fire there was the second door into the garden. He had but cursorily attempted to unlock its rusty wards; now, surely, the knowledge that there alone was escape would give strength to his hand. He leaped backwards through the flames, still with eyes fixed on her who ever advanced in time with his retreat, and turning, wrestled and strove with the key. Something snapped in his hand, and there still in the keyhole was the bare shaft. Holding his breath, for the heat scorched his throat, he groped towards where he knew was the window through which he had first seen her that night. The flames licked fiercely round it, but there, beneath his hand, was the hasp, and he threw it open. At that the wind poured in as through the nozzle of a plied bellows, and Death rose high and bright around him. Through the flames, as he sank to the floor, a face radiant with revenge smiled on him. Between the Lights The day had been one unceasing fall of snow from sunrise until the gradual withdrawal of the vague white light outside indicated that the sun had set again. But as usual at this hospitable and delightful house of Everard Chandler where I often spent Christmas, and was spending it now, there had been no lack of entertainment, and the hours had passed with a rapidity that had surprised us. A short billiard tournament had filled up the time between breakfast and lunch, with badminton and the morning papers for those who were temporarily not engaged, while afterwards, the interval till teatime had been occupied by the majority of the party in a huge game of hideandseek all over the house, barring the billiardroom, which was sanctuary for any who desired peace. But few had done that; the enchantment of Christmas, I must suppose, had, like some spell, made children of us again, and it was with palsied terror and trembling misgivings that we had tiptoed up and down the dim passages, from any corner of which some wild screaming form might dart out on us. Then, wearied with exercise and emotion, we had assembled again for tea in the hall, a room of shadows and panels on which the light from the wide open fireplace, where there burned a divine mixture of peat and logs, flickered and grew bright again on the walls. Then, as was proper, ghoststories, for the narration of which the electric light was put out, so that the listeners might conjecture anything they pleased to be lurking in the corners, succeeded, and we vied with each other in blood, bones, skeletons, armour and shrieks. I had just given my contribution, and was reflecting with some complacency that probably the worst was now known, when Everard, who had not yet administered to the horror of his guests, spoke. He was sitting opposite me in the full blaze of the fire, looking, after the illness he had gone through during the autumn, still rather pale and delicate. All the same he had been among the boldest and best in the exploration of dark places that afternoon, and the look on his face now rather startled me. No, I dont mind that sort of thing, he said. The paraphernalia of ghosts has become somehow rather hackneyed, and when I hear of screams and skeletons I feel I am on familiar ground, and can at least hide my head under the bedclothes. Ah, but the bedclothes were twitched away by my skeleton, said I, in selfdefence. I know, but I dont even mind that. Why, there are seven, eight skeletons in this room now, covered with blood and skin and other horrors. No, the nightmares of ones childhood were the really frightening things, because they were vague. There was the true atmosphere of horror about them because one didnt know what one feared. Now if one could recapture that Mrs. Chandler got quickly out of her seat. Oh, Everard, she said, surely you dont wish to recapture it again. I should have thought once was enough. This was enchanting. A chorus of invitation asked him to proceed the real true ghoststory firsthand, which was what seemed to be indicated, was too precious a thing to lose. Everard laughed. No, dear, I dont want to recapture it again at all, he said to his wife. Then to us But really thewell, the nightmare perhaps, to which I was referring, is of the vaguest and most unsatisfactory kind. It has no apparatus about it at all. You will probably all say that it was nothing, and wonder why I was frightened. But I was; it frightened me out of my wits. And I only just saw something, without being able to swear what it was, and heard something which might have been a falling stone. Anyhow tell us about the falling stone, said I. There was a stir of movement about the circle round the fire, and the movement was not of purely physical order. It was as ifthis is only what I personally feltit was as if the childish gaiety of the hours we had passed that day was suddenly withdrawn; we had jested on certain subjects, we had played hideandseek with all the power of earnestness that was in us. But nowso it seemed to methere was going to be real hideandseek, real terrors were going to lurk in dark corners, or if not real terrors, terrors so convincing as to assume the garb of reality, were going to pounce on us. And Mrs. Chandlers exclamation as she sat down again, Oh, Everard, wont it excite you? tended in any case to excite us. The room still remained in dubious darkness except for the sudden lights disclosed on the walls by the leaping flames on the hearth, and there was wide field for conjecture as to what might lurk in the dim corners. Everard, moreover, who had been sitting in bright light before, was banished by the extinction of some flaming log into the shadows. A voice alone spoke to us, as he sat back in his low chair, a voice rather slow but very distinct. Last year, he said, on the twentyfourth of December, we were down here, as usual, Amy and I, for Christmas. Several of you who are here now were here then. Three or four of you at least. I was one of these, but like the others kept silence, for the identification, so it seemed to me, was not asked for. And he went on again without a pause. Those of you who were here then, he said, and are here now, will remember how very warm it was this day year. You will remember, too, that we played croquet that day on the lawn. It was perhaps a little cold for croquet, and we played it rather in order to be able to saywith sound evidence to back the statementthat we had done so. Then he turned and addressed the whole little circle. We played ties of halfgames, he said, just as we have played billiards today, and it was certainly as warm on the lawn then as it was in the billiardroom this morning directly after breakfast, while today I should not wonder if there was three feet of snow outside. More, probably; listen. A sudden draught fluted in the chimney, and the fire flared up as the current of air caught it. The wind also drove the snow against the windows, and as he said Listen, we heard a soft scurry of the falling flakes against the panes, like the soft tread of many little people who stepped lightly, but with the persistence of multitudes who were flocking to some rendezvous. Hundreds of little feet seemed to be gathering outside; only the glass kept them out. And of the eight skeletons present four or five anyhow turned and looked at the windows. These were smallpaned, with leaden bars. On the leaden bars little heaps of snow had accumulated, but there was nothing else to be seen. Yes, last Christmas Eve was very warm and sunny, went on Everard. We had had no frost that autumn, and a temerarious dahlia was still in flower. I have always thought that it must have been mad. He paused a moment. And I wonder if I were not mad too, he added. No one interrupted him; there was something arresting, I must suppose, in what he was saying; it chimed in anyhow with the hideandseek, with the suggestions of the lonely snow. Mrs. Chandler had sat down again, but I heard her stir in her chair. But never was there a gay party so reduced as we had been in the last five minutes. Instead of laughing at ourselves for playing silly games, we were all taking a serious game seriously. Anyhow I was sitting out, he said to me, while you and my wife played your halfgame of croquet. Then it struck me that it was not so warm as I had supposed, because quite suddenly I shivered. And shivering I looked up. But I did not see you and her playing croquet at all. I saw something which had no relation to you and herat least I hope not. Now the angler lands his fish, the stalker kills his stag, and the speaker holds his audience. And as the fish is gaffed, and as the stag is shot, so were we held. There was no getting away till he had finished with us. You all know the croquet lawn, he said, and how it is bounded all round by a flower border with a brick wall behind it, through which, you will remember, there is only one gate. Well, I looked up and saw that the lawnI could for one moment see it was still a lawnwas shrinking, and the walls closing in upon it. As they closed in too, they grew higher, and simultaneously the light began to fade and be sucked from the sky, till it grew quite dark overhead and only a glimmer of light came in through the gate. There was, as I told you, a dahlia in flower that day, and as this dreadful darkness and bewilderment came over me, I remember that my eyes sought it in a kind of despair, holding on, as it were, to any familiar object. But it was no longer a dahlia, and for the red of its petals I saw only the red of some feeble firelight. And at that moment the hallucination was complete. I was no longer sitting on the lawn watching croquet, but I was in a lowroofed room, something like a cattleshed, but round. Close above my head, though I was sitting down, ran rafters from wall to wall. It was nearly dark, but a little light came in from the door opposite to me, which seemed to lead into a passage that communicated with the exterior of the place. Little, however, of the wholesome air came into this dreadful den; the atmosphere was oppressive and foul beyond all telling, it was as if for years it had been the place of some human menagerie, and for those years had been uncleaned and unsweetened by the winds of heaven. Yet that oppressiveness was nothing to the awful horror of the place from the view of the spirit. Some dreadful atmosphere of crime and abomination dwelt heavy in it, its denizens, whoever they were, were scarce human, so it seemed to me, and though men and women, were akin more to the beasts of the field. And in addition there was present to me some sense of the weight of years; I had been taken and thrust down into some epoch of dim antiquity. He paused a moment, and the fire on the hearth leaped up for a second and then died down again. But in that gleam I saw that all faces were turned to Everard, and that all wore some look of dreadful expectancy. Certainly I felt it myself, and waited in a sort of shrinking horror for what was coming. As I told you, he continued, where there had been that unseasonable dahlia, there now burned a dim firelight, and my eyes were drawn there. Shapes were gathered round it; what they were I could not at first see. Then perhaps my eyes got more accustomed to the dusk, or the fire burned better, for I perceived that they were of human form, but very small, for when one rose, with a horrible chattering, to his feet, his head was still some inches off the low roof. He was dressed in a sort of shirt that came to his knees, but his arms were bare and covered with hair. Then the gesticulation and chattering increased, and I knew that they were talking about me, for they kept pointing in my direction. At that my horror suddenly deepened, for I became aware that I was powerless and could not move hand or foot; a helpless, nightmare impotence had possession of me. I could not lift a finger or turn my head. And in the paralysis of that fear I tried to scream, but not a sound could I utter. All this I suppose took place with the instantaneousness of a dream, for at once, and without transition, the whole thing had vanished, and I was back on the lawn again, while the stroke for which my wife was aiming was still unplayed. But my face was dripping with perspiration, and I was trembling all over. Now you may all say that I had fallen asleep, and had a sudden nightmare. That may be so; but I was conscious of no sense of sleepiness before, and I was conscious of none afterwards. It was as if someone had held a book before me, whisked the pages open for a second and closed them again. Somebody, I dont know who, got up from his chair with a sudden movement that made me start, and turned on the electric light. I do not mind confessing that I was rather glad of this. Everard laughed. Really I feel like Hamlet in the playscene, he said, and as if there was a guilty uncle present. Shall I go on? I dont think anyone replied, and he went on Well, let us say for the moment that it was not a dream exactly, but a hallucination. Whichever it was, in any case it haunted me; for months, I think, it was never quite out of my mind, but lingered somewhere in the dusk of consciousness, sometimes sleeping quietly, so to speak, but sometimes stirring in its sleep. It was no good my telling myself that I was disquieting myself in vain, for it was as if something had actually entered into my very soul, as if some seed of horror had been planted there. And as the weeks went on the seed began to sprout, so that I could no longer even tell myself that that vision had been a moments disorderment only. I cant say that it actually affected my health. I did not, as far as I know, sleep or eat insufficiently, but morning after morning I used to wake, not gradually and through pleasant dozings into full consciousness, but with absolute suddenness, and find myself plunged in an abyss of despair. Often too, eating or drinking, I used to pause and wonder if it was worth while. Eventually I told two people about my trouble, hoping that perhaps the mere communication would help matters, hoping also, but very distantly, that though I could not believe at present that digestion or the obscurities of the nervous system were at fault, a doctor by some simple dose might convince me of it. In other words I told my wife, who laughed at me, and my doctor who laughed also, and assured me that my health was quite unnecessarily robust. At the same time he suggested that change of air and scene does wonders for the delusions that exist merely in the imagination. He also told me, in answer to a direct question, that he would stake his reputation on the certainty that I was not going mad. Well, we went up to London as usual for the season, and though nothing whatever occurred to remind me in any way of that single moment on Christmas Eve, the reminding was seen to all right, the moment itself took care of that, for instead of fading as is the way of sleeping or waking dreams, it grew every day more vivid, and ate, so to speak, like some corrosive acid into my mind, etching itself there. And to London succeeded Scotland. I took last year for the first time a small forest up in Sutherland, called Glen Callan, very remote and wild, but affording excellent stalking. It was not far from the sea, and the gillies used always to warn me to carry a compass on the hill, because seamists were liable to come up with frightful rapidity, and there was always a danger of being caught by one, and of having perhaps to wait hours till it cleared again. This at first I always used to do, but, as everyone knows, any precaution that one takes which continues to be unjustified gets gradually relaxed, and at the end of a few weeks, since the weather had been uniformly clear, it was natural that, as often as not, my compass remained at home. One day the stalk took me on to a part of my ground that I had seldom been on before, a very high tableland on the limit of my forest, which went down very steeply on one side to a loch that lay below it, and on the other, by gentler gradations, to the river that came from the loch, six miles below which stood the lodge. The wind had necessitated our climbing upor so my stalker had insistednot by the easier way, but up the crags from the loch. I had argued the point with him, for it seemed to me that it was impossible that the deer could get our scent if we went by the more natural path, but he still held to his opinion, and therefore, since after all this was his part of the job, I yielded. A dreadful climb we had of it, over big boulders with deep holes in between, masked by clumps of heather, so that a wary eye and a prodding stick were necessary for each step if one wished to avoid broken bones. Adders also literally swarmed in the heather; we must have seen a dozen at least on our way up, and adders are a beast for which I have no manner of use. But a couple of hours saw us to the top, only to find that the stalker had been utterly at fault, and that the deer must quite infallibly have got wind of us, if they had remained in the place where we last saw them. That, when we could spy the ground again, we saw had happened; in any case they had gone. The man insisted the wind had changed, a palpably stupid excuse, and I wondered at that moment what other reason he hadfor reason I felt sure there must befor not wishing to take what would clearly now have been a better route. But this piece of bad management did not spoil our luck, for within an hour we had spied more deer, and about two oclock I got a shot, killing a heavy stag. Then sitting on the heather I ate lunch, and enjoyed a wellearned bask and smoke in the sun. The pony meantime had been saddled with the stag, and was plodding homewards. The morning had been extraordinarily warm, with a little wind blowing off the sea, which lay a few miles off sparkling beneath a blue haze, and all morning in spite of our abominable climb I had had an extreme sense of peace, so much so that several times I had probed my mind, so to speak, to find if the horror still lingered there. But I could scarcely get any response from it. Never since Christmas had I been so free of fear, and it was with a great sense of repose, both physical and spiritual, that I lay looking up into the blue sky, watching my smokewhorls curl slowly away into nothingness. But I was not allowed to take my ease long, for Sandy came and begged that I would move. The weather had changed, he said, the wind had shifted again, and he wanted me to be off this high ground and on the path again as soon as possible, because it looked to him as if a seamist would presently come up. And yons a bad place to get down in the mist, he added, nodding towards the crags we had come up. I looked at the man in amazement, for to our right lay a gentle slope down on to the river, and there was now no possible reason for again tackling those hideous rocks up which we had climbed this morning. More than ever I was sure he had some secret reason for not wishing to go the obvious way. But about one thing he was certainly right, the mist was coming up from the sea, and I felt in my pocket for the compass, and found I had forgotten to bring it. Then there followed a curious scene which lost us time that we could really ill afford to waste, I insisting on going down by the way that common sense directed, he imploring me to take his word for it that the crags were the better way. Eventually, I marched off to the easier descent, and told him not to argue any more but follow. What annoyed me about him was that he would only give the most senseless reasons for preferring the crags. There were mossy places, he said, on the way I wished to go, a thing patently false, since the summer had been one spell of unbroken weather; or it was longer, also obviously untrue; or there were so many vipers about. But seeing that none of these arguments produced any effect, at last he desisted, and came after me in silence. We were not yet half down when the mist was upon us, shooting up from the valley like the broken water of a wave, and in three minutes we were enveloped in a cloud of fog so thick that we could barely see a dozen yards in front of us. It was therefore another cause for selfcongratulation that we were not now, as we should otherwise have been, precariously clambering on the face of those crags up which we had come with such difficulty in the morning, and as I rather prided myself on my powers of generalship in the matter of direction, I continued leading, feeling sure that before long we should strike the track by the river. More than all, the absolute freedom from fear elated me; since Christmas I had not known the instinctive joy of that; I felt like a schoolboy home for the holidays. But the mist grew thicker and thicker, and whether it was that real rainclouds had formed above it, or that it was of an extraordinary density itself, I got wetter in the next hour than I have ever been before or since. The wet seemed to penetrate the skin, and chill the very bones. And still there was no sign of the track for which I was making. Behind me, muttering to himself, followed the stalker, but his arguments and protestations were dumb, and it seemed as if he kept close to me, as if afraid. Now there are many unpleasant companions in this world; I would not for instance care to be on the hill with a drunkard or a maniac, but worse than either, I think, is a frightened man, because his trouble is infectious, and, insensibly, I began to be afraid of being frightened too. From that it is but a short step to fear. Other perplexities too beset us. At one time we seemed to be walking on flat ground, at another I felt sure we were climbing again, whereas all the time we ought to have been descending, unless we had missed the way very badly indeed. Also, for the month was October, it was beginning to get dark, and it was with a sense of relief that I remembered that the full moon would rise soon after sunset. But it had grown very much colder, and soon, instead of rain, we found we were walking through a steady fall of snow. Things were pretty bad, but then for the moment they seemed to mend, for, far away to the left, I suddenly heard the brawling of the river. It should, it is true, have been straight in front of me and we were perhaps a mile out of our way, but this was better than the blind wandering of the last hour, and turning to the left, I walked towards it. But before I had gone a hundred yards, I heard a sudden choked cry behind me, and just saw Sandys form flying as if in terror of pursuit, into the mists. I called to him but got no reply, and heard only the spurned stones of his running. What had frightened him I had no idea, but certainly with his disappearance, the infection of his fear disappeared also, and I went on, I may almost say, with gaiety. On the moment, however, I saw a sudden welldefined blackness in front of me, and before I knew what I was doing I was half stumbling, half walking up a very steep grass slope. During the last few minutes the wind had got up, and the driving snow was peculiarly uncomfortable, but there had been a certain consolation in thinking that the wind would soon disperse these mists, and I had nothing more than a moonlight walk home. But as I paused on this slope, I became aware of two things, one, that the blackness in front of me was very close, the other that, whatever it was, it sheltered me from the snow. So I climbed on a dozen yards into its friendly shelter, for it seemed to me to be friendly. A wall some twelve feet high crowned the slope, and exactly where I struck it there was a hole in it, or door rather, through which a little light appeared. Wondering at this I pushed on, bending down, for the passage was very low, and in a dozen yards came out on the other side. Just as I did this the sky suddenly grew lighter, the wind, I suppose, having dispersed the mists, and the moon, though not yet visible through the flying skirts of cloud, made sufficient illumination. I was in a circular enclosure, and above me there projected from the walls some four feet from the ground, broken stones which must have been intended to support a floor. Then simultaneously two things occurred. The whole of my nine months terror came back to me, for I saw that the vision in the garden was fulfilled, and at the same moment I saw stealing towards me a little figure as of a man, but only about three foot six in height. That my eyes told me; my ears told me that he stumbled on a stone; my nostrils told me that the air I breathed was of an overpowering foulness, and my soul told me that it was sick unto death. I think I tried to scream, but could not, I know I tried to move and could not. And it crept closer.

Then I suppose the terror which held me spellbound so spurred me that I must move, for next moment I heard a cry break from my lips, and was stumbling through the passage. I made one leap of it down the grass slope, and ran as I hope never to have to run again. What direction I took I did not pause to consider, so long as I put distance between me and that place. Luck, however, favoured me, and before long I struck the track by the river, and an hour afterwards reached the lodge. Next day I developed a chill, and as you know pneumonia laid me on my back for six weeks. Well, that is my story, and there are many explanations. You may say that I fell asleep on the lawn, and was reminded of that by finding myself, under discouraging circumstances, in an old Picts castle, where a sheep or a goat that, like myself, had taken shelter from the storm, was moving about. Yes, there are hundreds of ways in which you may explain it. But the coincidence was an odd one, and those who believe in second sight might find an instance of their hobby in it. And that is all? I asked. Yes, it was nearly too much for me. I think the dressingbell has sounded. Caterpillars I saw a month or two ago in an Italian paper that the Villa Cascana, in which I once stayed, had been pulled down, and that a manufactory of some sort was in process of erection on its site. There is therefore no longer any reason for refraining from writing of those things which I myself saw (or imagined I saw) in a certain room and on a certain landing of the villa in question, nor from mentioning the circumstances which followed, which may or may not (according to the opinion of the reader) throw some light on or be somehow connected with this experience. The Villa Cascana was in all ways but one a perfectly delightful house, yet, if it were standing now, nothing in the worldI use the phrase in its literal sensewould induce me to set foot in it again, for I believe it to have been haunted in a very terrible and practical manner. Most ghosts, when all is said and done, do not do much harm; they may perhaps terrify, but the person whom they visit usually gets over their visitation. They may on the other hand be entirely friendly and beneficent. But the appearances in the Villa Cascana were not beneficent, and had they made their visit in a very slightly different manner, I do not suppose I should have got over it any more than Arthur Inglis did. The house stood on an ilexclad hill not far from Sestri di Levante on the Italian Riviera, looking out over the iridescent blues of that enchanted sea, while behind it rose the pale green chestnut woods that climb up the hillsides till they give place to the pines that, black in contrast with them, crown the slopes. All round it the garden in the luxuriance of midspring bloomed and was fragrant, and the scent of magnolia and rose, borne on the salt freshness of the winds from the sea, flowed like a stream through the cool vaulted rooms. On the ground floor a broad pillared loggia ran round three sides of the house, the top of which formed a balcony for certain rooms of the first floor. The main staircase, broad and of grey marble steps, led up from the hall to the landing outside these rooms, which were three in number, namely two big sittingrooms and a bedroom arranged en suite. The latter was unoccupied, the sittingrooms were in use. From these the main staircase was continued to the second floor, where were situated certain bedrooms, one of which I occupied, while from the other side of the firstfloor landing some halfdozen steps led to another suite of rooms, where, at the time I am speaking of, Arthur Inglis, the artist, had his bedroom and studio. Thus the landing outside my bedroom at the top of the house, commanded both the landing of the first floor, and also the steps that led to Inglis rooms. Jim Stanley and his wife, finally (whose guest I was), occupied rooms in another wing of the house, where also were the servants quarters. I arrived just in time for lunch on a brilliant noon of midMay. The garden was shouting with colour and fragrance, and not less delightful after my broiling walk up from the marina, should have been the coming from the reverberating heat and blaze of the day into the marble coolness of the villa. Only (the reader has my bare word for this, and nothing more), the moment I set foot in the house I felt that something was wrong. This feeling, I may say, was quite vague, though very strong, and I remember that when I saw letters waiting for me on the table in the hall I felt certain that the explanation was here I was convinced that there was bad news of some sort for me. Yet when I opened them I found no such explanation of my premonition my correspondents all reeked of prosperity. Yet this clear miscarriage of a presentiment did not dissipate my uneasiness. In that cool fragrant house there was something wrong. I am at pains to mention this because to the general view it may explain that though I am as a rule so excellent a sleeper that the extinction of my light on getting into bed is apparently contemporaneous with being called on the following morning, I slept very badly on my first night in the Villa Cascana. It may also explain the fact that when I did sleep (if it was indeed in sleep that I saw what I thought I saw) I dreamed in a very vivid and original manner, original, that is to say, in the sense that something that, as far as I knew, had never previously entered into my consciousness, usurped it then. But since, in addition to this evil premonition, certain words and events occurring during the rest of the day, might have suggested something of what I thought happened that night, it will be well to relate them. After lunch, then, I went round the house with Mrs. Stanley, and during our tour she referred, it is true, to the unoccupied bedroom on the first floor, which opened out of the room where we had lunched. We left that unoccupied, she said, because Jim and I have a charming bedroom and dressingroom, as you saw, in the wing, and if we used it ourselves we should have to turn the diningroom into a dressingroom and have our meals downstairs. As it is, however, we have our little flat there, Arthur Inglis has his little flat in the other passage; and I remembered (arent I extraordinary?) that you once said that the higher up you were in a house the better you were pleased. So I put you at the top of the house, instead of giving you that room. It is true, that a doubt, vague as my uneasy premonition, crossed my mind at this. I did not see why Mrs. Stanley should have explained all this, if there had not been more to explain. I allow, therefore, that the thought that there was something to explain about the unoccupied bedroom was momentarily present to my mind. The second thing that may have borne on my dream was this. At dinner the conversation turned for a moment on ghosts. Inglis, with the certainty of conviction, expressed his belief that anybody who could possibly believe in the existence of supernatural phenomena was unworthy of the name of an ass. The subject instantly dropped. As far as I can recollect, nothing else occurred or was said that could bear on what follows. We all went to bed rather early, and personally I yawned my way upstairs, feeling hideously sleepy. My room was rather hot, and I threw all the windows wide, and from without poured in the white light of the moon, and the lovesong of many nightingales. I undressed quickly, and got into bed, but though I had felt so sleepy before, I now felt extremely wideawake. But I was quite content to be awake I did not toss or turn, I felt perfectly happy listening to the song and seeing the light. Then, it is possible, I may have gone to sleep, and what follows may have been a dream. I thought anyhow that after a time the nightingales ceased singing and the moon sank. I thought also that if, for some unexplained reason, I was going to lie awake all night, I might as well read, and I remembered that I had left a book in which I was interested in the diningroom on the first floor. So I got out of bed, lit a candle, and went downstairs. I went into the room, saw on a sidetable the book I had come to look for, and then, simultaneously, saw that the door into the unoccupied bedroom was open. A curious grey light, not of dawn nor of moonshine, came out of it, and I looked in. The bed stood just opposite the door, a big fourposter, hung with tapestry at the head. Then I saw that the greyish light of the bedroom came from the bed, or rather from what was on the bed. For it was covered with great caterpillars, a foot or more in length, which crawled over it. They were faintly luminous, and it was the light from them that showed me the room. Instead of the suckerfeet of ordinary caterpillars they had rows of pincers like crabs, and they moved by grasping what they lay on with their pincers, and then sliding their bodies forward. In colour these dreadful insects were yellowishgrey, and they were covered with irregular lumps and swellings. There must have been hundreds of them, for they formed a sort of writhing, crawling pyramid on the bed. Occasionally one fell off on to the floor, with a soft fleshy thud, and though the floor was of hard concrete, it yielded to the pincerfeet as if it had been putty, and, crawling back, the caterpillar would mount on to the bed again, to rejoin its fearful companions. They appeared to have no faces, so to speak, but at one end of them there was a mouth that opened sideways in respiration. Then, as I looked, it seemed to me as if they all suddenly became conscious of my presence. All the mouths at any rate were turned in my direction, and next moment they began dropping off the bed with those soft fleshy thuds on to the floor, and wriggling towards me. For one second a paralysis as of a dream was on me, but the next I was running upstairs again to my room, and I remember feeling the cold of the marble steps on my bare feet. I rushed into my bedroom, and slammed the door behind me, and thenI was certainly wide awake nowI found myself standing by my bed with the sweat of terror pouring from me. The noise of the banged door still rang in my ears. But, as would have been more usual, if this had been mere nightmare, the terror that had been mine when I saw those foul beasts crawling about the bed or dropping softly on to the floor did not cease then. Awake now, if dreaming before, I did not at all recover from the horror of dream it did not seem to me that I had dreamed. And until dawn, I sat or stood, not daring to lie down, thinking that every rustle or movement that I heard was the approach of the caterpillars. To them and the claws that bit into the cement the wood of the door was childs play steel would not keep them out. But with the sweet and noble return of day the horror vanished the whisper of wind became benignant again the nameless fear, whatever it was, was smoothed out and terrified me no longer. Dawn broke, hueless at first; then it grew dovecoloured, then the flaming pageant of light spread over the sky. The admirable rule of the house was that everybody had breakfast where and when he pleased, and in consequence it was not till lunchtime that I met any of the other members of our party, since I had breakfast on my balcony, and wrote letters and other things till lunch. In fact, I got down to that meal rather late, after the other three had begun. Between my knife and fork there was a small pillbox of cardboard, and as I sat down Inglis spoke. Do look at that, he said, since you are interested in natural history. I found it crawling on my counterpane last night, and I dont know what it is. I think that before I opened the pillbox I expected something of the sort which I found in it. Inside it, anyhow, was a small caterpillar, greyishyellow in colour, with curious bumps and excrescences on its rings. It was extremely active, and hurried round the box, this way and that. Its feet were unlike the feet of any caterpillar I ever saw they were like the pincers of a crab. I looked, and shut the lid down again. No, I dont know it, I said, but it looks rather unwholesome. What are you going to do with it? Oh, I shall keep it, said Inglis. It has begun to spin I want to see what sort of a moth it turns into. I opened the box again, and saw that these hurrying movements were indeed the beginning of the spinning of the web of its cocoon. Then Inglis spoke again. It has got funny feet, too, he said. They are like crabs pincers. Whats the Latin for crab? Oh, yes, Cancer. So in case it is unique, lets christen it Cancer Inglisensis. Then something happened in my brain, some momentary piecing together of all that I had seen or dreamed. Something in his words seemed to me to throw light on it all, and my own intense horror at the experience of the night before linked itself on to what he had just said. In effect, I took the box and threw it, caterpillar and all, out of the window. There was a gravel path just outside, and beyond it, a fountain playing into a basin. The box fell on to the middle of this. Inglis laughed. So the students of the occult dont like solid facts, he said. My poor caterpillar! The talk went off again at once on to other subjects, and I have only given in detail, as they happened, these trivialities in order to be sure myself that I have recorded everything that could have borne on occult subjects or on the subject of caterpillars. But at the moment when I threw the pillbox into the fountain, I lost my head my only excuse is that, as is probably plain, the tenant of it was, in miniature, exactly what I had seen crowded on to the bed in the unoccupied room. And though this translation of those phantoms into flesh and bloodor whatever it is that caterpillars are made ofought perhaps to have relieved the horror of the night, as a matter of fact it did nothing of the kind. It only made the crawling pyramid that covered the bed in the unoccupied room more hideously real. After lunch we spent a lazy hour or two strolling about the garden or sitting in the loggia, and it must have been about four oclock when Stanley and I started off to bathe, down the path that led by the fountain into which I had thrown the pillbox. The water was shallow and clear, and at the bottom of it I saw its white remains. The water had disintegrated the cardboard, and it had become no more than a few strips and shreds of sodden paper. The centre of the fountain was a marble Italian Cupid which squirted the water out of a wineskin held under its arm. And crawling up its leg was the caterpillar. Strange and scarcely credible as it seemed, it must have survived the fallingtobits of its prison, and made its way to shore, and there it was, out of arms reach, weaving and waving this way and that as it evolved its cocoon. Then, as I looked at it, it seemed to me again that, like the caterpillar I had seen last night, it saw me, and breaking out of the threads that surrounded it, it crawled down the marble leg of the Cupid and began swimming like a snake across the water of the fountain towards me. It came with extraordinary speed (the fact of a caterpillar being able to swim was new to me), and in another moment was crawling up the marble lip of the basin. Just then Inglis joined us. Why, if it isnt old Cancer Inglisensis again, he said, catching sight of the beast. What a tearing hurry it is in. We were standing side by side on the path, and when the caterpillar had advanced to within about a yard of us, it stopped, and began waving again, as if in doubt as to the direction in which it should go. Then it appeared to make up its mind, and crawled on to Inglis shoe. It likes me best, he said, but I dont really know that I like it. And as it wont drown I think perhaps He shook it off his shoe on to the gravel path and trod on it. All afternoon the air got heavier and heavier with the Sirocco that was without doubt coming up from the south, and that night again I went up to bed feeling very sleepy; but below my drowsiness, so to speak, there was the consciousness, stronger than before, that there was something wrong in the house, that something dangerous was close at hand. But I fell asleep at once, andhow long after I do not knoweither woke or dreamed I awoke, feeling that I must get up at once, or I should be too late. Then (dreaming or awake) I lay and fought this fear, telling myself that I was but the prey of my own nerves disordered by Sirocco or whatnot, and at the same time quite clearly knowing in another part of my mind, so to speak, that every moments delay added to the danger. At last this second feeling became irresistible, and I put on coat and trousers and went out of my room on to the landing. And then I saw that I had already delayed too long, and that I was now too late. The whole of the landing of the first floor below was invisible under the swarm of caterpillars that crawled there. The folding doors into the sittingroom from which opened the bedroom where I had seen them last night, were shut, but they were squeezing through the cracks of it, and dropping one by one through the keyhole, elongating themselves into mere string as they passed, and growing fat and lumpy again on emerging. Some, as if exploring, were nosing about the steps into the passage at the end of which were Inglis rooms, others were crawling on the lowest steps of the staircase that led up to where I stood. The landing, however, was completely covered with them I was cut off. And of the frozen horror that seized me when I saw that, I can give no idea in words. Then at last a general movement began to take place, and they grew thicker on the steps that led to Inglis room. Gradually, like some hideous tide of flesh, they advanced along the passage, and I saw the foremost, visible by the pale grey luminousness that came from them, reach his door. Again and again I tried to shout and warn him, in terror all the time that they would turn at the sound of my voice and mount my stair instead, but for all my efforts I felt that no sound came from my throat. They crawled along the hingecrack of his door, passing through as they had done before, and still I stood there making impotent efforts to shout to him, to bid him escape while there was time. At last the passage was completely empty they had all gone, and at that moment I was conscious for the first time of the cold of the marble landing on which I stood barefooted. The dawn was just beginning to break in the eastern sky. Six months later I met Mrs. Stanley in a country house in England. We talked on many subjects and at last she said I dont think I have seen you since I got that dreadful news about Arthur Inglis a month ago. I havent heard, said I. No? He has got cancer. They dont even advise an operation, for there is no hope of a cure he is riddled with it, the doctors say. Now during all these six months I do not think a day had passed on which I had not had in my mind the dreams (or whatever you like to call them) which I had seen in the Villa Cascana. It is awful, is it not? she continued, and I feel, I cant help feeling, that he may have Caught it at the villa? I asked. She looked at me in blank surprise. Why did you say that? she asked. How did you know? Then she told me. In the unoccupied bedroom a year before there had been a fatal case of cancer. She had, of course, taken the best advice and had been told that the utmost dictates of prudence would be obeyed so long as she did not put anybody to sleep in the room, which had also been thoroughly disinfected and newly whitewashed and painted. But Colophon Ghost Stories was compiled from short stories between 1912 and 1923 by E. F. Benson. Lance Linimon sponsored the production of this ebook for Standard Ebooks. It was produced by Alex Cabal, and is based on transcriptions produced between 2019 and 2023 by Chuck Greif, Tim Lindell, David E. Brown, and The Online Distributed Proofreading Team for Project Gutenberg and on digital scans from various sources. The cover page is adapted from Friedhofseingang, a painting completed in 1825 by Caspar David Friedrich. The cover and title pages feature the League Spartan and Sorts Mill Goudy typefaces created in 2014 and 2009 by The League of Moveable Type. This edition was released on November 7, 2024, 856 p.m. and is based on revision dc9df8b. The first edition of this ebook was released on March 16, 2024, 306 a.m. You can check for updates to this ebook, view its revision history, or download it for different ereading systems at standardebooks.orgebooksefbensonghoststories. The volunteerdriven Standard Ebooks project relies on readers like you to submit typos, corrections, and other improvements. Anyone can contribute at standardebooks.org. Gavons Eve It is only the largest kind of ordnance map that records the existence of the village of Gavon, in the shire of Sutherland, and it is perhaps surprising that any map on whatever scale should mark so small and huddled a group of huts, set on a bare, bleak headland between moor and sea, and, so one would have thought, of no import at all to any who did not happen to live there. But the river Gavon, on the right bank of which stand this halfdozen of chimneyless and windswept habitations, is a geographical fact of far greater interest to outsiders, for the salmon there are heavy fish, the mouth of the river is clear of nets, and all the way up to Gavon Loch, some six miles inland, the coffeecoloured water lies in pool after deep pool, which verge, if the river is in order and the angler moderately sanguine, on a fishing probability amounting almost to a certainty. In any case during the first fortnight of September last I had no blank day on those delectable waters, and up till the fifteenth of that month there was no day on which someone at the lodge in which I was stopping did not land a fish out of the famous Picts pool. But after the fifteenth that pool was not fished again. The reason why is here set forward. The river at this point, after some hundred yards of rapid, makes a sudden turn round a rocky angle, and plunges madly into the pool itself. Very deep water lies at the head of it, but deeper still further down on the east side, where a portion of the stream flicks back again in a swift dark backwater towards the top of the pool again. It is fishable only from the western bank, for to the east, above this backwater, a great wall of black and basaltic rock, heaved up no doubt by some fault in strata, rises sheer from the river to the height of some sixty feet. It is in fact nearly precipitous on both sides, heavily serrated at the top, and of so curious a thinness, that at about the middle of it where a fissure breaks its topmost edge, and some twenty feet from the top, there exists a long hole, a sort of lancet window, one would say, right through the rock, so that a slit of daylight can be seen through it. Since, therefore, no one would care to cast his line standing perched on that razoredged eminence, the pool must needs be fished from the western bank. A decent fly, however, will cover it all. It is on the western bank that there stand the remains of that which gave its title to the pool, namely, the ruins of a Pict castle, built out of rough and scarcely hewn masonry, unmortared but on a certain large and impressive scale, and in a very wellpreserved condition considering its extreme antiquity. It is circular in shape and measures some twenty yards of diameter in its internal span. A staircase of large blocks with a rise of at least a foot leads up to the main gate, and opposite this on the side towards the river is another smaller postern through which down a rather hazardously steep slope a scrambling path, where progress demands both caution and activity, conducts to the head of the pool which lies immediately beneath it. A gatechamber still roofed over exists in the solid wall inside there are foundation indications of three rooms, and in the centre of all a very deep hole, probably a well. Finally, just outside the postern leading to the river is a small artificially levelled platform, some twenty feet across, as if made to support some superincumbent edifice. Certain stone slabs and blocks are dispersed over it. Brora, the posttown of Gavon, lies some six miles to the southwest, and from it a track over the moor leads to the rapids immediately above the Picts pool, across which by somewhat extravagant striding from boulder to boulder a man can pass dryfoot when the river is low, and make his way up a steep path to the north of the basaltic rock, and so to the village. But this transit demands a steady head, and at the best is a somewhat giddy passage. Otherwise the road between it and Brora lies in a long detour higher up the moor, passing by the gates of Gavon Lodge, where I was stopping. For some vague and illdefined reason the pool itself and the Picts Castle had an uneasy reputation on the country side, and several times trudging back from a days fishing I have known my gillie take a longish circuit, though heavy with fish, rather than make this shortcut in the dusk by the castle. On the first occasion when Sandy, a strapping yellowbearded viking of twentyfive, did this he gave as a reason that the ground round about the castle was mossy, though as a Godfearing man, he must have known he lied. But on another occasion he was more frank, and said that the Picts pool was no canny after sunset. I am now inclined to agree with him, though, when he lied about it, I think it was because as a Godfearing man he feared the devil also. It was on the evening of September 14 that I was walking back with my host, Hugh Graham, from the forest beyond the lodge. It had been a day unseasonably hot for the time of year, and the hills were blanketed with soft, furry clouds. Sandy, the gillie of whom I have spoken, was behind with the ponies, and, idly enough, I told Hugh about his strange distaste for the Picts pool after sunset. He listened, frowning a little. Thats curious, he said. I know there is some dim local superstition about the place, but last year certainly Sandy used to laugh at it. I remember asking him what ailed the place, and he said he thought nothing about the rubbish folk talked. But this year you say he avoids it. On several occasions with me he has done so. Hugh smoked a while in silence, striding noiselessly over the dusky fragrant heather. Poor chap, he said, I dont know what to do about him. Hes becoming useless. Drink? I asked. Yes, drink in a secondary manner. But trouble led to drink, and trouble, I am afraid, is leading him to worse than drink. The only thing worse than drink is the devil, I remarked. Precisely. Thats where he is going. He goes there often. What on earth do you mean? I asked. Well, its rather curious, said Hugh. You know I dabble a bit in folklore and local superstition, and I believe I am on the track of something odder than odd. Just wait a moment. We stood there in the gathering dusk till the ponies laboured up the hillside to us, Sandy with his six feet of lithe strength strolling easily beside them up the steep brae, as if his long days trudging had but served to half awaken his dormant powers of limb. Going to see Mistress Macpherson again tonight? asked Hugh. Aye, puir body, said Sandy. Shes auld, and shes lone. Very kind of you, Sandy, said Hugh, and we walked on. What then? I asked when the ponies had fallen behind again. Why, superstition lingers here, said Hugh, and its supposed shes a witch. To be quite candid with you, the thing interests me a good deal. Supposing you asked me, on oath, whether I believed in witches, I should say No. But if you asked me again, on oath, whether I suspected I believed in them, I should, I think, say Yes. And the fifteenth of this monthtomorrowis Gavons Eve. And what in Heavens name is that? I asked. And who is Gavon? And whats the trouble? Well, Gavon is the person, I suppose, not saint, who is what we should call the eponymous hero of this district. And the trouble is Sandys trouble. Rather a long story. But theres a long mile in front of us yet, if you care to be told. During that mile I heard. Sandy had been engaged a year ago to a girl of Gavon who was in service at Inverness. In March last he had gone, without giving notice, to see her, and as he walked up the street in which her mistress house stood, had met her suddenly face to face, in company with a man whose clipped speech betrayed him English, whose manner a kind of gentleman. He had a flourish of his hat for Sandy, pleasure to see him, and scarcely any need of explanation as to how he came to be walking with Catrine. It was the most natural thing possible, for a city like Inverness boasted its innocent urbanities, and a girl could stroll with a man. And for the time, since also Catrine was so frankly pleased to see him, Sandy was satisfied. But after his return to Gavon, suspicion, funguslike, grew rank in his mind, with the result that a month ago he had, with infinite pains and blottings, written a letter to Catrine, urging her return and immediate marriage. Thereafter it was known that she had left Inverness; it was known that she had arrived by train at Brora. From Brora she had started to walk across the moor by the path leading just above the Picts Castle, crossing the rapids to Gavon, leaving her box to be sent by the carrier. But at Gavon she had never arrived. Also it was said that, though it was a hot afternoon, she wore a big cloak. By this time we had come to the lodge, the lights of which showed dim and blurred through the thick hillmists that had streamed sullenly down from the higher ground. And the rest, said Hugh, which is as fantastic as this is sober fact, I will tell you later. Now, a fruitbearing determination to go to bed is, to my mind, as difficult to ripen as a fruitbearing determination to get up, and in spite of our long day, I was glad when Hugh (the rest of the men having yawned themselves out of the smokingroom) came back from the hospitable dispensing of bedroom candlesticks with a briskness that denoted that, as far as he was concerned, the distressing determination was not imminent. As regards Sandy, I suggested. Ah, I also was thinking of that, he said. Well, Catrine Gordon left Brora, and never arrived here. That is fact. Now for what remains. Have you any remembrance of a woman always alone walking about the moor by the loch? I think I once called your attention to her. Yes, I remember, I said. Not Catrine, surely; a very old woman, awful to look at. Moustache, whiskers, and muttering to herself. Always looking at the ground, too. Yes, that is shenot Catrine. Catrine! My word, a May morning! But the otherit is Mrs. Macpherson, reputed witch. Well, Sandy trudges there, a mile and more away, every night to see her. You know Sandy Adonis of the north. Now, can you account by any natural explanation for that fact? That he goes off after a long day to see an old hag in the hills? It would seem unlikely, said I. Unlikely! Well, yes, unlikely. Hugh got up from his chair and crossed the room to where a bookcase of rather fustylooking volumes stood between windows. He took a small moroccobacked book from a top shelf. Superstitions of Sutherlandshire, he said, as he handed it to me. Turn to page 128, and read. I obeyed, and read. September 15 appears to have been the date of what we may call this devil festival. On the night of that day the powers of darkness held preeminent dominion, and overrode for any who were abroad that night and invoked their aid, the protective Providence of Almighty God. Witches, therefore, above all, were peculiarly potent.

On this night any witch could entice to herself the heart and the love of any young man who consulted her on matters of philtre or love charm, with the result that on any night in succeeding years of the same date, he, though he was lawfully affianced and wedded, would for that night be hers. If, however, he should call on the name of God through any sudden grace of the Spirit, her charm would be of no avail. On this night, too, all witches had the power by certain dreadful incantations and indescribable profanities, to raise from the dead those who had committed suicide. Top of the next page, said Hugh. Leave out this next paragraph; it does not bear on this last. Near a small village in this country, I read, called Gavon, the moon at midnight is said to shine through a certain gap or fissure in a wall of rock close beside the river on to the ruins of a Pict castle, so that the light of its beams falls on to a large flat stone erected there near the gate, and supposed by some to be an ancient and pagan altar. At that moment, so the superstition still lingers in the country side, the evil and malignant spirits which hold sway on Gavons Eve, are at the zenith of their powers, and those who invoke their aid at this moment and in this place, will, though with infinite peril to their immortal souls, get all that they desire of them. The paragraph on the subject ended here, and I shut the book. Well? I asked. Under favourable circumstances two and two make four, said Hugh. And four means This. Sandy is certainly in consultation with a woman who is supposed to be a witch, whose path no crofter will cross after nightfall. He wants to learn, at whatever cost, poor devil, what happened to Catrine. Thus I think it more than possible that tomorrow, at midnight, there will be folk by the Picts pool. There is another curious thing. I was fishing there yesterday, and just opposite the river gate of the castle, someone has set up a great flat stone, which has been dragged (for I noticed the crushed grass) from the debris at the bottom of the slope. You mean that the old hag is going to try to raise the body of Catrine, if she is dead? Yes, and I mean to see myself what happens. Come too. The next day Hugh and I fished down the river from the lodge, taking with us not Sandy, but another gillie, and ate our lunch on the slope of the Picts Castle after landing a couple of fish there. Even as Hugh had said, a great flat slab of stone had been dragged on to the platform outside the river gate of the castle, where it rested on certain rude supports, which, now that it was in place, seemed certainly designed to receive it. It was also exactly opposite that lancet window in the basaltic rock across the pool, so that if the moon at midnight did shine through it, the light would fall on the stone. This then was the almost certain scene of the incantations. Below the platform, as I have said, the ground fell rapidly away to the level of the pool, which owing to rain on the hills was running very high, and, streaked with lines of greyish bubbles, poured down in amazing and earfilling volume. But directly underneath the steep escarpment of rock on the far side of the pool it lay foamless and black, a still backwater of great depth. Above the altarlike erection again the ground rose up seven roughhewn steps to the gate itself, on each side of which, to the height of about four feet, ran the circular wall of the castle. Inside again were the remains of partition walls between the three chambers, and it was in the one nearest to the river gate that we determined to conceal ourselves that night. From there, should the witch and Sandy keep tryst at the altar, any sound of movement would reach us, and through the aperture of the gate itself we could see, concealed in the shadow of the wall, whatever took place at the altar or down below at the pool. The lodge, finally, was but a short ten minutes away, if one went in the direct line, so that by starting at a quarter to twelve that night, we could enter the Picts Castle by the gate away from the river, thus not betraying our presence to those who might be waiting for the moment when the moon should shine through the lancet window in the wall of rock on to the altar in front of the river gate. Night fell very still and windless, and when not long before midnight we let ourselves silently out of the lodge, though to the east the sky was clear, a black continent of cloud was creeping up from the west, and had now nearly reached the zenith. Out of the remote fringes of it occasional lightning winked, and the growl of very distant thunder sounded drowsily at long intervals after. But it seemed to me as if another storm hung over our heads, ready every moment to burst, for the oppression in the air was of a far heavier quality than so distant a disturbance could have accounted for. To the east, however, the sky was still luminously clear; the curiously hard edges of the western cloud were starembroidered, and by the dovecoloured light in the east it was evident that the moonrise over the moor was imminent. And though I did not in my heart believe that our expedition would end in anything but yawns, I was conscious of an extreme tension and rawness of nerves, which I set down to the thundercharged air. For noiselessness of footstep we had both put on indiarubber soled shoes, and all the way down to the pool we heard nothing but the distant thunder and our own padded tread. Very silently and cautiously we ascended the steps of the gate away from the river, and keeping close to the wall inside, sidled round to the river gate and peered out. For the first moment I could see nothing, so black lay the shadow of the rockwall opposite across the pool, but by degrees I made out the lumps and line of the glimmering foam which streaked the water. High as the river was running this morning it was infinitely more voluminous and turbulent now, and the sound of it filled and bewildered the ear with its sonorous roaring. Only under the very base of the rock opposite it ran quite black and unflecked by foam there lay the deep still surface of the backwater. Then suddenly I saw something black move in the dimness in front of me, and against the grey foam rose up first the head, then the shoulders, and finally the whole figure of a woman coming towards us up the bank. Behind her walked another, a man, and the two came to where the altar of stone had been newly erected and stood there side by side silhouetted against the churned white of the stream. Hugh had seen too, and touched me on the arm to call my attention. So far then he was right there was no mistaking the stalwart proportions of Sandy. Suddenly across the gloom shot a tiny spear of light, and momentarily as we watched, it grew larger and longer, till a tall beam, as from some window cut in the rock opposite, was shed on the bank below us. It moved slowly, imperceptibly to the left till it struck full between the two black figures standing there, and shone with a curious bluish gleam on the flat stone in front of them. Then the roar of the river was suddenly overscored by a dreadful screaming voice, the voice of a woman, and from her side her arms shot up and out as if in invocation of some power. At first I could catch none of the words, but soon from repetition they began to convey an intelligible message to my brain, and I was listening as in the paralytic horror of nightmare to a bellowing of the most hideous and unnameable profanity. What I heard I cannot bring myself to record; suffice it to say that Satan was invoked by every adoring and reverent name, that cursing and unspeakable malediction was poured forth on Him whom we hold most holy. Then the yelling voice ceased as suddenly as it had begun, and for a moment there was silence again, but for the reverberating river. Then once more that horror of sound was uplifted. So, Catrine Gordon, it cried, I bid ye in the name of my master and yours to rise from where ye lie. Up with yeup! Once more there was silence; then I heard Hugh at my elbow draw a quick sobbing breath, and his finger pointed unsteadily to the dead black water below the rock. And I too looked and saw. Right under the rock there appeared a pale subaqueous light, which waved and quivered in the stream. At first it was very small and dim, but as we looked it seemed to swim upwards from remote depths and grew larger till I suppose the space of some square yard was illuminated by it. Then the surface of the water was broken, and a head, the head of a girl, deadwhite and with long, flowing hair, appeared above the stream. Her eyes were shut, the corners of her mouth drooped as in sleep, and the moving water stood in a frill round her neck. Higher and higher rose the figure out of the tide, till at last it stood, luminous in itself, so it appeared, up to the middle. The head was bent down over the breast, and the hands clasped together. As it emerged from the water it seemed to get nearer, and was by now halfway across the pool, moving quietly and steadily against the great flood of the hurrying river. Then I heard a mans voice crying out in a sort of strangled agony. Catrine! it cried; Catrine! In Gods name; in Gods name! In two strides Sandy had rushed down the steep bank, and hurled himself out into that mad swirl of waters. For one moment I saw his arms flung up into the sky, the next he had altogether gone. And on the utterance of that name the unholy vision had vanished too, while simultaneously there burst in front of us a light so blinding, followed by a crack of thunder so appalling to the senses, that I know I just hid my face in my hands. At once, as if the floodgates of the sky had been opened, the deluge was on us, not like rain, but like one sheet of solid water, so that we cowered under it. Any hope or attempt to rescue Sandy was out of the question; to dive into that whirlpool of mad water meant instant death, and even had it been possible for any swimmer to live there, in the blackness of the night there was absolutely no chance of finding him. Besides, even if it had been possible to save him, I doubt whether I was sufficiently master of my flesh and blood as to endure to plunge where that apparition had risen. Then, as we lay there, another horror filled and possessed my mind. Somewhere close to us in the darkness was that woman whose yelling voice just now had made my blood run icecold, while it brought the streaming sweat to my forehead. At that moment I turned to Hugh. I cannot stop here, I said. I must run, run right away. Where is she? Did you not see? he asked. No. What happened? The lightning struck the stone within a few inches of where she was standing. Wewe must go and look for her. I followed him down the slope, shaking as if I had the palsy, and groping with my hands on the ground in front of me, in deadly terror of encountering something human. The thunderclouds had in the last few minutes spread over the moon, so that no ray from the window in the rock guided our search. But up and down the bank from the stone that lay shattered there to the edge of the pool we groped and stumbled, but found nothing. At length we gave it up it seemed morally certain that she, too, had rolled down the bank after the lightning stroke, and lay somewhere deep in the pool from which she had called the dead. None fished the pool next day, but men with dragnets came from Brora. Right under the rock in the backwater lay two bodies, close together, Sandy and the dead girl. Of the other they found nothing. It would seem, then, that Catrine Gordon, in answer to Sandys letter, left Inverness in heavy trouble. What happened afterwards can only be conjectured, but it seems likely she took the shortcut to Gavon, meaning to cross the river on the boulders above the Picts pool. But whether she slipped accidentally in her passage, and so was drawn down by the hungry water, or whether, unable to face the future, she had thrown herself into the pool, we can only guess. In any case they sleep together now in the bleak, windswept graveyard at Brora, in obedience to the inscrutable designs of God. How Fear Departed from the Long Gallery ChurchPeveril is a house so beset and frequented by spectres, both visible and audible, that none of the family which it shelters under its acre and a half of green copper roofs takes psychical phenomena with any seriousness. For to the Peverils the appearance of a ghost is a matter of hardly greater significance than is the appearance of the post to those who live in more ordinary houses. It arrives, that is to say, practically every day, it knocks (or makes other noises), it is observed coming up the drive (or in other places). I myself, when staying there have seen the present Mrs. Peveril, who is rather shortsighted, peer into the dusk, while we were taking our coffee on the terrace after dinner, and say to her daughter My dear, was not that the Blue Lady who has just gone into the shrubbery. I hope she wont frighten Flo. Whistle for Flo, dear. (Flo, it may be remarked, is the youngest and most precious of many dachshunds). Blanche Peveril gave a cursory whistle, and crunched the sugar left unmelted at the bottom of her coffeecup between her very white teeth. Oh, darling, Flo isnt so silly as to mind, she said. Poor blue Aunt Barbara is such a bore! Whenever I meet her she always looks as if she wanted to speak to me, but when I say, What is it, Aunt Barbara? she never utters, but only points somewhere towards the house, which is so vague. I believe there was something she wanted to confess about two hundred years ago, but she has forgotten what it is. Here Flo gave two or three short pleased barks, and came out of the shrubbery wagging her tail, and capering round what appeared to me to be a perfectly empty space on the lawn. There! Flo has made friends with her, said Mrs. Peveril. I wonder why she dresses in that very stupid shade of blue. From this it may be gathered that even with regard to psychical phenomena there is some truth in the proverb that speaks of familiarity. But the Peverils do not exactly treat their ghosts with contempt, since most of that delightful family never despised anybody except such people as avowedly did not care for hunting or shooting, or golf or skating. And as all of their ghosts are of their family, it seems reasonable to suppose that they all, even the poor Blue Lady, excelled at one time in fieldsports. So far then they harbour no such unkindness or contempt, but only pity. Of one Peveril, indeed, who broke his neck in vainly attempting to ride up the main staircase on a thoroughbred mare after some monstrous and violent deed in the backgarden, they are very fond, and Blanche comes downstairs in the morning with an eye unusually bright when she can announce that Master Anthony was very loud last night. He (apart from the fact of his having been so foul a ruffian) was a tremendous fellow across country, and they like these indications of the continuance of his superb vitality. In fact, it is supposed to be a compliment, when you go to stay at ChurchPeveril, to be assigned a bedroom which is frequented by defunct members of the family. It means that you are worthy to look on the august and villainous dead, and you will find yourself shown into some vaulted or tapestried chamber, without benefit of electric light, and are told that greatgreatgrandmamma Bridget occasionally has vague business by the fireplace, but it is better not to talk to her, and that you will hear Master Anthony awfully well if he attempts the front staircase any time before morning. There you are left for your nights repose, and, having quakingly undressed, begin reluctantly to put out your candles. It is draughty in these great chambers, and the solemn tapestry swings and bellows and subsides, and the firelight dances on the forms of huntsmen and warriors and stern pursuits. Then you climb into your bed, a bed so huge that you feel as if the desert of Sahara was spread for you, and pray, like the mariners who sailed with St. Paul, for day. And, all the time, you are aware that Freddy and Harry and Blanche and possibly even Mrs. Peveril are quite capable of dressing up and making disquieting tappings outside your door, so that when you open it some inconjecturable horror fronts you. For myself, I stick steadily to the assertion that I have an obscure valvular disease of the heart, and so sleep undisturbed in the new wing of the house where Aunt Barbara, and greatgreatgrandmamma Bridget and Master Anthony never penetrate. I forget the details of greatgreatgrandmamma Bridget, but she certainly cut the throat of some distant relation before she disembowelled herself with the axe that had been used at Agincourt. Before that she had led a very sultry life, crammed with amazing incident. But there is one ghost at ChurchPeveril at which the family never laugh, in which they feel no friendly and amused interest, and of which they only speak just as much as is necessary for the safety of their guests. More properly it should be described as two ghosts, for the haunt in question is that of two very young children, who were twins. These, not without reason, the family take very seriously indeed. The story of them, as told me by Mrs. Peveril, is as follows In the year 1602, the same being the last of Queen Elizabeths reign, a certain Dick Peveril was greatly in favour at Court. He was brother to Master Joseph Peveril, then owner of the family house and lands, who two years previously, at the respectable age of seventyfour, became father of twin boys, firstborn of his progeny. It is known that the royal and ancient virgin had said to handsome Dick, who was nearly forty years his brothers junior, Tis pity that you are not master of Church Peveril, and these words probably suggested to him a sinister design. Be that as it may, handsome Dick, who very adequately sustained the family reputation for wickedness, set off to ride down to Yorkshire, and found that, very conveniently, his brother Joseph had just been seized with an apoplexy, which appeared to be the result of a continued spell of hot weather combined with the necessity of quenching his thirst with an augmented amount of sack, and had actually died while handsome Dick, with God knows what thoughts in his mind, was journeying northwards. Thus it came about that he arrived at ChurchPeveril just in time for his brothers funeral. It was with great propriety that he attended the obsequies, and returned to spend a sympathetic day or two of mourning with his widowed sisterinlaw, who was but a fainthearted dame, little fit to be mated with such hawks as these. On the second night of his stay, he did that which the Peverils regret to this day. He entered the room where the twins slept with their nurse, and quietly strangled the latter as she slept. Then he took the twins and put them into the fire which warms the long gallery. The weather, which up to the day of Josephs death had been so hot, had changed suddenly to bitter cold, and the fire was heaped high with burning logs and was exultant with flame. In the core of this conflagration he struck out a cremationchamber, and into that he threw the two children, stamping them down with his ridingboots. They could just walk, but they could not walk out of that ardent place. It is said that he laughed as he added more logs. Thus he became master of Church Peveril. The crime was never brought home to him, but he lived no longer than a year in the enjoyment of his bloodstained inheritance. When he lay adying he made his confession to the priest who attended him, but his spirit struggled forth from its fleshly coil before Absolution could be given him. On that very night there began in ChurchPeveril the haunting which to this day is but seldom spoken of by the family, and then only in low tones and with serious mien. For, only an hour or two after handsome Dicks death, one of the servants passing the door of the long gallery heard from within peals of the loud laughter so jovial and yet so sinister, which he had thought would never be heard in the house again. In a moment of that cold courage, which is so nearly akin to mortal terror, he opened the door and entered, expecting to see he knew not what manifestation of him who lay dead in the room below. Instead he saw two little whiterobed figures toddling towards him hand in hand across the moonlit floor. The watchers in the room below ran upstairs startled by the crash of his fallen body, and found him lying in the grip of some dread convulsion. Just before morning he regained consciousness and told his tale. Then pointing with trembling and ashgrey finger towards the door, he screamed aloud, and so fell back dead. During the next fifty years this strange and terrible legend of the twinbabies became fixed and consolidated. Their appearance, luckily for those who inhabit the house, was exceedingly rare, and during these years they seem to have been seen four or five times only. On each occasion they appeared at night, between sunset and sunrise, always in the same long gallery, and always as two toddling children scarcely able to walk. And on each occasion the luckless individual who saw them died either speedily or terribly, or with both speed and terror, after the accursed vision had appeared to him. Sometimes he might live for a few months he was lucky if he died, as did the servant who first saw them, in a few hours. Vastly more awful was the fate of a certain Mrs. Canning, who had the illluck to see them in the middle of the next century, or to be quite accurate, in the year 1760. By this time the hours and the place of their appearance were wellknown, and, as up till a year ago, visitors were warned not to go between sunset and sunrise into the long gallery. But Mrs. Canning, a brilliantly clever and beautiful woman, admirer also and friend of the notorious sceptic M. Voltaire, wilfully went and sat night after night, in spite of all protestations, in the haunted place. For four evenings she saw nothing, but on the fifth she had her will, for the door in the middle of the gallery opened, and there came toddling towards her the illomened innocent little pair. It seemed that even then she was not frightened, but she thought good, poor wretch, to mock at them, telling them it was time for them to get back into the fire. They gave no word in answer, but turned away from her crying and sobbing. Immediately after they disappeared from her vision and she rustled downstairs to where the family and guests in the house were waiting for her, with the triumphant announcement that she had seen them both, and must needs write to M. Voltaire, saying that she had spoken to spirits made manifest. It would make him laugh. But when some months later the whole news reached him he did not laugh at all. Mrs. Canning was one of the great beauties of her day, and in the year 1760 she was at the height and zenith of her blossoming. The chief beauty, if it is possible to single out one point where all was so exquisite, lay in the dazzling colour and incomparable brilliance of her complexion. She was now just thirty years of age, but, in spite of the excesses of her life, retained the snow and roses of girlhood, and she courted the bright light of day which other women shunned, for it but showed to greater advantage the splendour of her skin. In consequence she was very considerably dismayed one morning, about a fortnight after her strange experience in the long gallery, to observe on her left cheek an inch or two below her turquoisecoloured eyes, a little greyish patch of skin, about as big as a threepenny piece. It was in vain that she applied her accustomed washes and ungents vain, too, were the arts of her gardeuse and of her medical adviser. For a week she kept herself secluded, martyring herself with solitude and unaccustomed physics, and for result at the end of the week she had no amelioration to comfort herself with instead this woeful grey patch had doubled itself in size. Thereafter the nameless disease, whatever it was, developed in new and terrible ways. From the centre of the discoloured place there sprouted forth little lichenlike tendrils of greenishgrey, and another patch appeared on her lower lip. This, too, soon vegetated, and one morning on opening her eyes to the horror of a new day, she found that her vision was strangely blurred. She sprang to her lookingglass, and what she saw caused her to shriek aloud with horror. From under her upper eyelid a fresh growth had sprung up, mushroomlike, in the night, and its filaments extended downwards, screening the pupil of her eye. Soon after her tongue and throat were attacked the air passages became obstructed, and death by suffocation was merciful after such suffering. More terrible yet was the case of a certain Colonel Blantyre who fired at the children with his revolver. What he went through is not to be recorded here. It is this haunting, then, that the Peverils take quite seriously, and every guest on his arrival in the house is told that the long gallery must not be entered after nightfall on any pretext whatever. By day, however, it is a delightful room and intrinsically merits description, apart from the fact that the due understanding of its geography is necessary for the account that here follows. It is full eighty feet in length, and is lit by a row of six tall windows looking over the gardens at the back of the house. A door communicates with the landing at the top of the main staircase, and about halfway down the gallery in the wall facing the windows is another door communicating with the back staircase and servants quarters, and thus the gallery forms a constant place of passage for them in going to the rooms on the first landing. It was through this door that the babyfigures came when they appeared to Mrs. Canning, and on several other occasions they have been known to make their entry here, for the room out of which handsome Dick took them lies just beyond at the top of the back stairs. Further on again in the gallery is the fireplace into which he thrust them, and at the far end a large bowwindow looks straight down the avenue. Above this fireplace there hangs with grim significance a portrait of handsome Dick, in the insolent beauty of early manhood, attributed to Holbein, and a dozen other portraits of great merit face the windows. During the day this is the most frequented sittingroom in the house, for its other visitors never appear there then, nor does it then ever resound with the harsh jovial laugh of handsome Dick, which sometimes, after dark has fallen, is heard by passersby on the landing outside. But Blanche does not grow brighteyed when she hears it she shuts her ears and hastens to put a greater distance between her and the sound of that atrocious mirth. But during the day the long gallery is frequented by many occupants, and much laughter in no wise sinister or saturnine resounds there. When summer lies hot over the land, those occupants lounge in the deep window seats, and when winter spreads his icy fingers and blows shrilly between his frozen palms, congregate round the fireplace at the far end, and perch, in companies of cheerful chatterers, upon sofa and chair, and chairback and floor. Often have I sat there on long August evenings up till dressingtime, but never have I been there when anyone has seemed disposed to linger overlate without hearing the warning It is close on sunset shall we go? Later on in the shorter autumn days they often have tea laid there, and sometimes it has happened that, even while merriment was most uproarious, Mrs. Peveril has suddenly looked out of the window and said, My dears, it is getting so late let us finish our nonsense downstairs in the hall. And then for a moment a curious hush always falls on loquacious family and guests alike, and as if some bad news had just been known, we all make our silent way out of the place. But the spirits of the Peverils (of the living ones, that is to say) are the most mercurial imaginable, and the blight which the thought of handsome Dick and his doings casts over them passes away again with amazing rapidity. A typical party, large, young, and peculiarly cheerful, was staying at ChurchPeveril shortly after Christmas last year, and as usual on December 31, Mrs. Peveril was giving her annual New Years Eve ball. The house was quite full, and she had commandeered as well the greater part of the Peveril Arms to provide sleepingquarters for the overflow from the house. For some days past a black and windless frost had stopped all hunting, but it is an ill windlessness that blows no good (if so mixed a metaphor may be forgiven), and the lake below the house had for the last day or two been covered with an adequate and admirable sheet of ice. Everyone in the house had been occupied all the morning of that day in performing swift and violent manoeuvres on the elusive surface, and as soon as lunch was over we all, with one exception, hurried out again. This one exception was Madge Dalrymple who had had the misfortune to fall rather badly earlier in the day, but hoped, by resting her injured knee, instead of joining the skaters again, to be able to dance that evening. The hope, it is true, was of the most sanguine sort, for she could but hobble ignobly back to the house, but with the breezy optimism which characterises the Peverils (she is Blanches first cousin), she remarked that it would be but tepid enjoyment that she could, in her present state, derive from further skating, and thus she sacrificed little, but might gain much. Accordingly after a rapid cup of coffee which was served in the long gallery, we left Madge comfortably reclined on the big sofa at rightangles to the fireplace, with an attractive book to beguile the tedium till tea. Being of the family, she knew all about handsome Dick and the babies, and the fate of Mrs. Canning and Colonel Blantyre, but as we went out I heard Blanche say to her, Dont run it too fine, dear, and Madge had replied, No; Ill go away well before sunset. And so we left her alone in the long gallery. Madge read her attractive book for some minutes, but failing to get absorbed in it, put it down and limped across to the window. Though it was still but little after two, it was but a dim and uncertain light that entered, for the crystalline brightness of the morning had given place to a veiled obscurity produced by flocks of thick clouds which were coming sluggishly up from the northeast. Already the whole sky was overcast with them, and occasionally a few snowflakes fluttered waveringly down past the long windows. From the darkness and bitter cold of the afternoon, it seemed to her that there was like to be a heavy snowfall before long, and these outward signs were echoed inwardly in her by that muffled drowsiness of the brain, which to those who are sensitive to the pressures and lightnesses of weather portends storm. Madge was peculiarly the prey of such external influences to her a brisk morning gave an ineffable brightness and briskness of spirit, and correspondingly the approach of heavy weather produced a somnolence in sensation that both drowsed and depressed her. It was in such mood as this that she limped back again to the sofa beside the logfire. The whole house was comfortably heated by waterpipes, and though the fire of logs and peat, an adorable mixture, had been allowed to burn low, the room was very warm. Idly she watched the dwindling flames, not opening her book again, but lying on the sofa with face towards the fireplace, intending drowsily and not immediately to go to her own room and spend the hours, until the return of the skaters made gaiety in the house again, in writing one or two neglected letters.

Still drowsily she began thinking over what she had to communicate one letter several days overdue should go to her mother, who was immensely interested in the psychical affairs of the family. She would tell her how Master Anthony had been prodigiously active on the staircase a night or two ago, and how the Blue Lady, regardless of the severity of the weather, had been seen by Mrs. Peveril that morning, strolling about. It was rather interesting the Blue Lady had gone down the laurel walk and had been seen by her to enter the stables, where, at the moment, Freddy Peveril was inspecting the frostbound hunters. Identically then, a sudden panic had spread through the stables, and the horses had whinnied and kicked, and shied, and sweated. Of the fatal twins nothing had been seen for many years past, but, as her mother knew, the Peverils never used the long gallery after dark. Then for a moment she sat up, remembering that she was in the long gallery now. But it was still but a little after halfpast two, and if she went to her room in half an hour, she would have ample time to write this and another letter before tea. Till then she would read her book. But she found she had left it on the windowsill, and it seemed scarcely worth while to get it. She felt exceedingly drowsy. The sofa where she lay had been lately recovered, in a greyish green shade of velvet, somewhat the colour of lichen. It was of very thick soft texture, and she luxuriously stretched her arms out, one on each side of her body, and pressed her fingers into the nap. How horrible that story of Mrs. Canning was the growth on her face was of the colour of lichen. And then without further transition or blurring of thought Madge fell asleep. She dreamed. She dreamed that she awoke and found herself exactly where she had gone to sleep, and in exactly the same attitude. The flames from the logs had burned up again, and leaped on the walls, fitfully illuminating the picture of handsome Dick above the fireplace. In her dream she knew exactly what she had done today, and for what reason she was lying here now instead of being out with the rest of the skaters. She remembered also (still dreaming), that she was going to write a letter or two before tea, and prepared to get up in order to go to her room. As she halfrose she caught sight of her own arms lying out on each side of her on the grey velvet sofa. But she could not see where her hands ended, and where the grey velvet began her fingers seemed to have melted into the stuff. She could see her wrists quite clearly, and a blue vein on the backs of her hands, and here and there a knuckle. Then, in her dream she remembered, the last thought which had been in her mind before she fell asleep, namely the growth of the lichencoloured vegetation on the face and the eyes and the throat of Mrs. Canning. At that thought the strangling terror of real nightmare began she knew that she was being transformed into this grey stuff, and she was absolutely unable to move. Soon the grey would spread up her arms, and over her feet; when they came in from skating they would find here nothing but a huge misshapen cushion of lichencoloured velvet, and that would be she. The horror grew more acute, and then by a violent effort she shook herself free of the clutches of this very evil dream, and she awoke. For a minute or two she lay there, conscious only of the tremendous relief at finding herself awake. She felt again with her fingers the pleasant touch of the velvet, and drew them backwards and forwards, assuring herself that she was not, as her dream had suggested, melting into greyness and softness. But she was still, in spite of the violence of her awakening, very sleepy, and lay there till, looking down, she was aware that she could not see her hands at all. It was very nearly dark. At that moment a sudden flicker of flame came from the dying fire, and a flare of burning gas from the peat flooded the room. The portrait of handsome Dick looked evilly down on her, and her hands were visible again. And then a panic worse than the panic of her dreams seized her. Daylight had altogether faded, and she knew that she was alone in the dark in the terrible gallery. This panic was of the nature of nightmare, for she felt unable to move for terror. But it was worse than nightmare because she knew she was awake. And then the full cause of this frozen fear dawned on her; she knew with the certainty of absolute conviction that she was about to see the twinbabies. She felt a sudden moisture break out on her face, and within her mouth her tongue and throat went suddenly dry, and she felt her tongue grate along the inner surface of her teeth. All power of movement had slipped from her limbs, leaving them dead and inert, and she stared with wide eyes into the blackness. The spurt of flame from the peat had burned itself out again, and darkness encompassed her. Then on the wall opposite her, facing the windows, there grew a faint light of dusky crimson. For a moment she thought it but heralded the approach of the awful vision, then hope revived in her heart, and she remembered that thick clouds had overcast the sky before she went to sleep, and guessed that this light came from the sun not yet quite sunk and set. This sudden revival of hope gave her the necessary stimulus, and she sprang off the sofa where she lay. She looked out of the window and saw the dull glow on the horizon. But before she could take a step forward it was obscured again. A tiny sparkle of light came from the hearth which did no more than illuminate the tiles of the fireplace, and snow falling heavily tapped at the window panes. There was neither light nor sound except these. But the courage that had come to her, giving her the power of movement, had not quite deserted her, and she began feeling her way down the gallery. And then she found that she was lost. She stumbled against a chair, and, recovering herself, stumbled against another. Then a table barred her way, and, turning swiftly aside, she found herself up against the back of a sofa. Once more she turned and saw the dim gleam of the firelight on the side opposite to that on which she expected it. In her blind gropings she must have reversed her direction. But which way was she to go now? She seemed blocked in by furniture. And all the time insistent and imminent was the fact that the two innocent terrible ghosts were about to appear to her. Then she began to pray, Lighten our darkness, O Lord, she said to herself. But she could not remember how the prayer continued, and she had sore need of it. There was something about the perils of the night. All this time she felt about her with groping, fluttering hands. The fireglimmer which should have been on her left was on her right again; therefore she must turn herself round again. Lighten our darkness, she whispered, and then aloud she repeated, Lighten our darkness. She stumbled up against a screen, and could not remember the existence of any such screen. Hastily she felt beside it with blind hands, and touched something soft and velvety. Was it the sofa on which she had lain? If so, where was the head of it. It had a head and a back and feetit was like a person, all covered with grey lichen. Then she lost her head completely. All that remained to her was to pray; she was lost, lost in this awful place, where no one came in the dark except the babies that cried. And she heard her voice rising from whisper to speech, and speech to scream. She shrieked out the holy words, she yelled them as if blaspheming as she groped among tables and chairs and the pleasant things of ordinary life which had become so terrible. Then came a sudden and an awful answer to her screamed prayer. Once more a pocket of inflammable gas in the peat on the hearth was reached by the smouldering embers, and the room started into light. She saw the evil eyes of handsome Dick, she saw the little ghostly snowflakes falling thickly outside. And she saw where she was, just opposite the door through which the terrible twins made their entrance. Then the flame went out again, and left her in blackness once more. But she had gained something, for she had her geography now. The centre of the room was bare of furniture, and one swift dart would take her to the door of the landing above the main staircase and into safety. In that gleam she had been able to see the handle of the door, brightbrassed, luminous like a star. She would go straight for it; it was but a matter of a few seconds now. She took a long breath, partly of relief, partly to satisfy the demands of her galloping heart. But the breath was only halftaken when she was stricken once more into the immobility of nightmare. There came a little whisper, it was no more than that, from the door opposite which she stood, and through which the twinbabies entered. It was not quite dark outside it, for she could see that the door was opening. And there stood in the opening two little white figures, side by side. They came towards her slowly, shufflingly. She could not see face or form at all distinctly, but the two little white figures were advancing. She knew them to be the ghosts of terror, innocent of the awful doom they were bound to bring, even as she was innocent. With the inconceivable rapidity of thought, she made up her mind what to do. She had not hurt them or laughed at them, and they, they were but babies when the wicked and bloody deed had sent them to their burning death. Surely the spirits of these children would not be inaccessible to the cry of one who was of the same blood as they, who had committed no fault that merited the doom they brought. If she entreated them they might have mercy, they might forebear to bring the curse on her, they might allow her to pass out of the place without blight, without the sentence of death, or the shadow of things worse than death upon her. It was but for the space of a moment that she hesitated, then she sank down on to her knees, and stretched out her hands towards them. Oh, my dears, she said, I only fell asleep. I have done no more wrong than that She paused a moment, and her tender girls heart thought no more of herself, but only of them, those little innocent spirits on whom so awful a doom was laid, that they should bring death where other children bring laughter, and doom for delight. But all those who had seen them before had dreaded and feared them, or had mocked at them. Then, as the enlightenment of pity dawned on her, her fear fell from her like the wrinkled sheath that holds the sweet folded buds of Spring. Dears, I am so sorry for you, she said. It is not your fault that you must bring me what you must bring, but I am not afraid any longer. I am only sorry for you. God bless you, you poor darlings. She raised her head and looked at them. Though it was so dark, she could now see their faces, though all was dim and wavering, like the light of pale flames shaken by a draught. But the faces were not miserable or fiercethey smiled at her with shy little baby smiles. And as she looked they grew faint, fading slowly away like wreaths of vapour in frosty air. Madge did not at once move when they had vanished, for instead of fear there was wrapped round her a wonderful sense of peace, so happy and serene that she would not willingly stir, and so perhaps disturb it. But before long she got up, and feeling her way, but without any sense of nightmare pressing her on, or frenzy of fear to spur her, she went out of the long gallery, to find Blanche just coming upstairs whistling and swinging her skates. Hows the leg, dear, she asked, Youre not limping any more. Till that moment Madge had not thought of it. I think it must be all right, she said, I had forgotten it anyhow. Blanche, dear, you wont be frightened for me, will you, butbut I have seen the twins. For a moment Blanches face whitened with terror. What? she said in a whisper. Yes, I saw them just now. But they were kind, they smiled at me, and I was so sorry for them. And somehow I am sure I have nothing to fear. It seems that Madge was right, for nothing untoward has come to her. Something, her attitude to them, we must suppose, her pity, her sympathy, touched and dissolved and annihilated the curse. Indeed, I was at Church Peveril only last week, arriving there after dark. Just as I passed the gallery door, Blanche came out. Ah, there you are, she said, Ive just been seeing the twins. They looked too sweet and stopped nearly ten minutes. Let us have tea at once. Imprint This ebook is the product of many hours of hard work by volunteers for Standard Ebooks, and builds on the hard work of other literature lovers made possible by the public domain. This particular ebook is based on transcriptions from Project Gutenberg and on digital scans from various sources. The source text and artwork in this ebook are believed to be in the United States public domain; that is, they are believed to be free of copyright restrictions in the United States. They may still be copyrighted in other countries, so users located outside of the United States must check their local laws before using this ebook. The creators of, and contributors to, this ebook dedicate their contributions to the worldwide public domain via the terms in the CC0 1.0 Universal Public Domain Dedication. For full license information, see the Uncopyright at the end of this ebook. Standard Ebooks is a volunteerdriven project that produces ebook editions of public domain literature using modern typography, technology, and editorial standards, and distributes them free of cost. You can download this and other ebooks carefully produced for true book lovers at standardebooks.org. In the Tube Its a convention, said Anthony Carling cheerfully, and not a very convincing one. Time, indeed! Theres no such thing as Time really; it has no actual existence. Time is nothing more than an infinitesimal point in eternity, just as space is an infinitesimal point in infinity. At the most, Time is a sort of tunnel through which we are accustomed to believe that we are travelling. Theres a roar in our ears and a darkness in our eyes which makes it seem real to us. But before we came into the tunnel we existed forever in an infinite sunlight, and after we have got through it we shall exist in an infinite sunlight again. So why should we bother ourselves about the confusion and noise and darkness which only encompass us for a moment? For a firmrooted believer in such immeasurable ideas as these, which he punctuated with brisk application of the poker to the brave sparkle and glow of the fire, Anthony has a very pleasant appreciation of the measurable and the finite, and nobody with whom I have acquaintance has so keen a zest for life and its enjoyments as he. He had given us this evening an admirable dinner, had passed round a port beyond praise, and had illuminated the jolly hours with the light of his infectious optimism. Now the small company had melted away, and I was left with him over the fire in his study. Outside the tattoo of winddriven sleet was audible on the windowpanes, overscoring now and again the flap of the flames on the open hearth, and the thought of the chilly blasts and the snowcovered pavement in Brompton Square, across which, to skidding taxicabs, the last of his other guests had scurried, made my position, resident here till tomorrow morning, the more delicately delightful. Above all there was this stimulating and suggestive companion, who, whether he talked of the great abstractions which were so intensely real and practical to him, or of the very remarkable experiences which he had encountered among these conventions of time and space, was equally fascinating to the listener. I adore life, he said. I find it the most entrancing plaything. Its a delightful game, and, as you know very well, the only conceivable way to play a game is to treat it extremely seriously. If you say to yourself, Its only a game, you cease to take the slightest interest in it. You have to know that its only a game, and behave as if it was the one object of existence. I should like it to go on for many years yet. But all the time one has to be living on the true plane as well, which is eternity and infinity. If you come to think of it, the one thing which the human mind cannot grasp is the finite, not the infinite, the temporary, not the eternal. That sounds rather paradoxical, said I. Only because youve made a habit of thinking about things that seem bounded and limited. Look it in the face for a minute. Try to imagine finite Time and Space, and you find you cant. Go back a million years, and multiply that million of years by another million, and you find that you cant conceive of a beginning. What happened before that beginning? Another beginning and another beginning? And before that? Look at it like that, and you find that the only solution comprehensible to you is the existence of an eternity, something that never began and will never end. Its the same about space. Project yourself to the farthest star, and what comes beyond that? Emptiness? Go on through the emptiness, and you cant imagine it being finite and having an end. It must needs go on forever thats the only thing you can understand. Theres no such thing as before or after, or beginning or end, and what a comfort that is! I should fidget myself to death if there wasnt the huge soft cushion of eternity to lean ones head against. Some people sayI believe Ive heard you say it yourselfthat the idea of eternity is so tiring; you feel that you want to stop. But thats because you are thinking of eternity in terms of Time, and mumbling in your brain, And after that, and after that? Dont you grasp the idea that in eternity there isnt any after, any more than there is any before? Its all one. Eternity isnt a quantity its a quality. Sometimes, when Anthony talks in this manner, I seem to get a glimpse of that which to his mind is so transparently clear and solidly real, at other times (not having a brain that readily envisages abstractions) I feel as though he was pushing me over a precipice, and my intellectual faculties grasp wildly at anything tangible or comprehensible. This was the case now, and I hastily interrupted. But there is a before and after, I said. A few hours ago you gave us an admirable dinner, and after thatyes, afterwe played bridge. And now you are going to explain things a little more clearly to me, and after that I shall go to bed He laughed. You shall do exactly as you like, he said, and you shant be a slave to Time either tonight or tomorrow morning. We wont even mention an hour for breakfast, but you shall have it in eternity whenever you awake. And as I see it is not midnight yet, well slip the bonds of Time, and talk quite infinitely. I will stop the clock, if that will assist you in getting rid of your illusion, and then Ill tell you a story, which to my mind, shows how unreal socalled realities are; or, at any rate, how fallacious are our senses as judges of what is real and what is not. Something occult, something spookish? I asked, pricking up my ears, for Anthony has the strangest clairvoyances and visions of things unseen by the normal eye. I suppose you might call some of it occult, he said, though theres a certain amount of rather grim reality mixed up in it. Go on; excellent mixture, said I. He threw a fresh log on the fire. Its a longish story, he said. You may stop me as soon as youve had enough. But there will come a point for which I claim your consideration. You, who cling to your before and after, has it ever occurred to you how difficult it is to say when an incident takes place? Say that a man commits some crime of violence, can we not, with a good deal of truth, say that he really commits that crime when he definitely plans and determines upon it, dwelling on it with gusto? The actual commission of it, I think we can reasonably argue, is the mere material sequel of his resolve he is guilty of it when he makes that determination. When, therefore, in the term of before and after, does the crime truly take place? There is also in my story a further point for your consideration. For it seems certain that the spirit of a man, after the death of his body, is obliged to reenact such a crime, with a view, I suppose we may guess, to his remorse and his eventual redemption. Those who have second sight have seen such reenactments. Perhaps he may have done his deed blindly in this life; but then his spirit recommits it with its spiritual eyes open, and able to comprehend its enormity. So, shall we view the mans original determination and the material commission of his crime only as preludes to the real commission of it, when with eyes unsealed he does it and repents of it? That all sounds very obscure when I speak in the abstract, but I think you will see what I mean, if you follow my tale. Comfortable? Got everything you want? Here goes, then. He leaned back in his chair, concentrating his mind, and then spoke The story that I am about to tell you, he said, had its beginning a month ago, when you were away in Switzerland. It reached its conclusion, so I imagine, last night. I do not, at any rate, expect to experience any more of it. Well, a month ago I was returning late on a very wet night from dining out. There was not a taxi to be had, and I hurried through the pouring rain to the tubestation at Piccadilly Circus, and thought myself very lucky to catch the last train in this direction. The carriage into which I stepped was quite empty except for one other passenger, who sat next the door immediately opposite to me. I had never, to my knowledge, seen him before, but I found my attention vividly fixed on him, as if he somehow concerned me. He was a man of middle age, in dressclothes, and his face wore an expression of intense thought, as if in his mind he was pondering some very significant matter, and his hand which was resting on his knee clenched and unclenched itself. Suddenly he looked up and stared me in the face, and I saw there suspicion and fear, as if I had surprised him in some secret deed. At that moment we stopped at Dover Street, and the conductor threw open the doors, announced the station and added, Change here for Hyde Park Corner and Gloucester Road. That was all right for me since it meant that the train would stop at Brompton Road, which was my destination. It was all right apparently, too, for my companion, for he certainly did not get out, and after a moments stop, during which no one else got in, we went on. I saw him, I must insist, after the doors were closed and the train had started. But when I looked again, as we rattled on, I saw that there was no one there. I was quite alone in the carriage. Now you may think that I had had one of those swift momentary dreams which flash in and out of the mind in the space of a second, but I did not believe it was so myself, for I felt that I had experienced some sort of premonition or clairvoyant vision. A man, the semblance of whom, astral body or whatever you may choose to call it, I had just seen, would sometime sit in that seat opposite to me, pondering and planning. But why? I asked. Why should it have been the astral body of a living man which you thought you had seen? Why not the ghost of a dead one? Because of my own sensations. The sight of the spirit of someone dead, which has occurred to me two or three times in my life, has always been accompanied by a physical shrinking and fear, and by the sensation of cold and of loneliness. I believed, at any rate, that I had seen a phantom of the living, and that impression was confirmed, I might say proved, the next day. For I met the man himself. And the next night, as you shall hear, I met the phantom again. We will take them in order. I was lunching, then, the next day with my neighbour Mrs. Stanley there was a small party, and when I arrived we waited but for the final guest. He entered while I was talking to some friend, and presently at my elbow I heard Mrs. Stanleys voice Let me introduce you to Sir Henry Payle, she said. I turned and saw my visvis of the night before. It was quite unmistakably he, and as we shook hands he looked at me I thought with vague and puzzled recognition. Havent we met before, Mr. Carling? he said. I seem to recollect For the moment I forgot the strange manner of his disappearance from the carriage, and thought that it had been the man himself whom I had seen last night. Surely, and not so long ago, I said. For we sat opposite each other in the last tubetrain from Piccadilly Circus yesterday night. He still looked at me, frowning, puzzled, and shook his head. That can hardly be, he said. I only came up from the country this morning. Now this interested me profoundly, for the astral body, we are told, abides in some halfconscious region of the mind or spirit, and has recollections of what has happened to it, which it can convey only very vaguely and dimly to the conscious mind. All lunchtime I could see his eyes again and again directed to me with the same puzzled and perplexed air, and as I was taking my departure he came up to me. I shall recollect some day, he said, where we met before, and I hope we may meet again. Was it not?and he stopped. No it has gone from me, he added. The log that Anthony had thrown on the fire was burning bravely now, and its highflickering flame lit up his face. Now, I dont know whether you believe in coincidences as chance things, he said, but if you do, get rid of the notion. Or if you cant at once, call it a coincidence that that very night I again caught the last train on the tube going westwards. This time, so far from my being a solitary passenger, there was a considerable crowd waiting at Dover Street, where I entered, and just as the noise of the approaching train began to reverberate in the tunnel I caught sight of Sir Henry Payle standing near the opening from which the train would presently emerge, apart from the rest of the crowd. And I thought to myself how odd it was that I should have seen the phantom of him at this very hour last night and the man himself now, and I began walking towards him with the idea of saying, Anyhow, it is in the tube that we meet tonight. And then a terrible and awful thing happened. Just as the train emerged from the tunnel he jumped down on to the line in front of it, and the train swept along over him up the platform. For a moment I was stricken with horror at the sight, and I remember covering my eyes against the dreadful tragedy. But then I perceived that, though it had taken place in full sight of those who were waiting, no one seemed to have seen it except myself. The driver, looking out from his window, had not applied his brakes, there was no jolt from the advancing train, no scream, no cry, and the rest of the passengers began boarding the train with perfect nonchalance. I must have staggered, for I felt sick and faint with what I had seen, and some kindly soul put his arm round me and supported me into the train. He was a doctor, he told me, and asked if I was in pain, or what ailed me. I told him what I thought I had seen, and he assured me that no such accident had taken place. It was clear then to my own mind that I had seen the second act, so to speak, in this psychical drama, and I pondered next morning over the problem as to what I should do. Already I had glanced at the morning paper, which, as I knew would be the case, contained no mention whatever of what I had seen. The thing had certainly not happened, but I knew in myself that it would happen. The flimsy veil of Time had been withdrawn from my eyes, and I had seen into what you would call the future. In terms of Time of course it was the future, but from my point of view the thing was just as much in the past as it was in the future. It existed, and waited only for its material fulfilment. The more I thought about it, the more I saw that I could do nothing. I interrupted his narrative. You did nothing? I exclaimed. Surely you might have taken some step in order to try to avert the tragedy. He shook his head. What step precisely? he said. Was I to go to Sir Henry and tell him that once more I had seen him in the tube in the act of committing suicide? Look at it like this. Either what I had seen was pure illusion, pure imagination, in which case it had no existence or significance at all, or it was actual and real, and essentially it had happened. Or take it, though not very logically, somewhere between the two. Say that the idea of suicide, for some cause of which I knew nothing, had occurred to him or would occur. Should I not, if that was the case, be doing a very dangerous thing, by making such a suggestion to him? Might not the fact of my telling him what I had seen put the idea into his mind, or, if it was already there, confirm it and strengthen it? Its a ticklish matter to play with souls, as Browning says. But it seems so inhuman not to interfere in any way, said I, not to make any attempt. What interference? asked he. What attempt? The human instinct in me still seemed to cry aloud at the thought of doing nothing to avert such a tragedy, but it seemed to be beating itself against something austere and inexorable. And cudgel my brain as I would, I could not combat the sense of what he had said. I had no answer for him, and he went on. You must recollect, too, he said, that I believed then and believe now that the thing had happened. The cause of it, whatever that was, had begun to work, and the effect, in this material sphere, was inevitable. That is what I alluded to when, at the beginning of my story, I asked you to consider how difficult it was to say when an action took place. You still hold that this particular action, this suicide of Sir Henry, had not yet taken place, because he had not yet thrown himself under the advancing train. To me that seems a materialistic view. I hold that in all but the endorsement of it, so to speak, it had taken place. I fancy that Sir Henry, for instance, now free from the material dusks, knows that himself. Exactly as he spoke there swept through the warm lit room a current of icecold air, ruffling my hair as it passed me, and making the wood flames on the hearth to dwindle and flare. I looked round to see if the door at my back had opened, but nothing stirred there, and over the closed window the curtains were fully drawn. As it reached Anthony, he sat up quickly in his chair and directed his glance this way and that about the room. Did you feel that? he asked. Yes a sudden draught, I said. Icecold. Anything else? he asked. Any other sensation? I paused before I answered, for at the moment there occurred to me Anthonys differentiation of the effects produced on the beholder by a phantasm of the living and the apparition of the dead. It was the latter which accurately described my sensations now, a certain physical shrinking, a fear, a feeling of desolation. But yet I had seen nothing. I felt rather creepy, I said. As I spoke I drew my chair rather closer to the fire, and sent a swift and, I confess, a somewhat apprehensive scrutiny round the walls of the brightly lit room. I noticed at the same time that Anthony was peering across to the chimneypiece, on which, just below a sconce holding two electric lights, stood the clock which at the beginning of our talk he had offered to stop. The hands I noticed pointed to twentyfive minutes to one. But you saw nothing? he asked. Nothing whatever, I said. Why should I? What was there to see? Or did you I dont think so, he said. Somehow this answer got on my nerves, for the queer feeling which had accompanied that cold current of air had not left me. If anything it had become more acute. But surely you know whether you saw anything or not? I said. One cant always be certain, said he.

I say that I dont think I saw anything. But Im not sure, either, whether the story I am telling you was quite concluded last night. I think there may be a further incident. If you prefer it, I will leave the rest of it, as far as I know it, unfinished till tomorrow morning, and you can go off to bed now. His complete calmness and tranquillity reassured me. But why should I do that? I asked. Again he looked round on the bright walls. Well, I think something entered the room just now, he said, and it may develop. If you dont like the notion, you had better go. Of course theres nothing to be alarmed at; whatever it is, it cant hurt us. But it is close on the hour when on two successive nights I saw what I have already told you, and an apparition usually occurs at the same time. Why that is so, I cannot say, but certainly it looks as if a spirit that is earthbound is still subject to certain conventions, the conventions of time for instance. I think that personally I shall see something before long, but most likely you wont. Youre not such a sufferer as I from thesethese delusions I was frightened and knew it, but I was also intensely interested, and some perverse pride wriggled within me at his last words. Why, so I asked myself, shouldnt I see whatever was to be seen? I dont want to go in the least, I said. I want to hear the rest of your story. Where was I, then? Ah, yes you were wondering why I didnt do something after I saw the train move up to the platform, and I said that there was nothing to be done. If you think it over, I fancy you will agree with me. A couple of days passed, and on the third morning I saw in the paper that there had come fulfilment to my vision. Sir Henry Payle, who had been waiting on the platform of Dover Street Station for the last train to South Kensington, had thrown himself in front of it as it came into the station. The train had been pulled up in a couple of yards, but a wheel had passed over his chest, crushing it in and instantly killing him. An inquest was held, and there emerged at it one of those dark stories which, on occasions like these, sometimes fall like a midnight shadow across a life that the world perhaps had thought prosperous. He had long been on bad terms with his wife, from whom he had lived apart, and it appeared that not long before this he had fallen desperately in love with another woman. The night before his suicide he had appeared very late at his wifes house, and had a long and angry scene with her in which he entreated her to divorce him, threatening otherwise to make her life a hell to her. She refused, and in an ungovernable fit of passion he attempted to strangle her. There was a struggle, and the noise of it caused her manservant to come up, who succeeded in overmastering him. Lady Payle threatened to proceed against him for assault with the intention to murder her. With this hanging over his head, the next night, as I have already told you, he committed suicide. He glanced at the clock again, and I saw that the hands now pointed to ten minutes to one. The fire was beginning to burn low and the room surely was growing strangely cold. Thats not quite all, said Anthony, again looking round. Are you sure you wouldnt prefer to hear it tomorrow? The mixture of shame and pride and curiosity again prevailed. No tell me the rest of it at once, I said. Before speaking, he peered suddenly at some point behind my chair, shading his eyes. I followed his glance, and knew what he meant by saying that sometimes one could not be sure whether one saw something or not. But was that an outlined shadow that intervened between me and the wall? It was difficult to focus; I did not know whether it was near the wall or near my chair. It seemed to clear away, anyhow, as I looked more closely at it. You see nothing? asked Anthony. No I dont think so, said I. And you? I think I do, he said, and his eyes followed something which was invisible to mine. They came to rest between him and the chimneypiece. Looking steadily there, he spoke again. All this happened some weeks ago, he said, when you were out in Switzerland, and since then, up till last night, I saw nothing further. But all the time I was expecting something further. I felt that, as far as I was concerned, it was not all over yet, and last night, with the intention of assisting any communication to come through to me fromfrom beyond, I went into the Dover Street tubestation at a few minutes before one oclock, the hour at which both the assault and the suicide had taken place. The platform when I arrived on it was absolutely empty, or appeared to be so, but presently, just as I began to hear the roar of the approaching train, I saw there was the figure of a man standing some twenty yards from me, looking into the tunnel. He had not come down with me in the lift, and the moment before he had not been there. He began moving towards me, and then I saw who it was, and I felt a stir of wind icycold coming towards me as he approached. It was not the draught that heralds the approach of a train, for it came from the opposite direction. He came close up to me, and I saw there was recognition in his eyes. He raised his face towards me and I saw his lips move, but, perhaps in the increasing noise from the tunnel, I heard nothing come from them. He put out his hand, as if entreating me to do something, and with a cowardice from which I cannot forgive myself, I shrank from him, for I knew, by the sign that I have told you, that this was one from the dead, and my flesh quaked before him, drowning for the moment all pity and all desire to help him, if that was possible. Certainly he had something which he wanted of me, but I recoiled from him. And by now the train was emerging from the tunnel, and next moment, with a dreadful gesture of despair, he threw himself in front of it. As he finished speaking he got up quickly from his chair, still looking fixedly in front of him. I saw his pupils dilate, and his mouth worked. It is coming, he said. I am to be given a chance of atoning for my cowardice. There is nothing to be afraid of I must remember that myself. As he spoke there came from the panelling above the chimneypiece one loud shattering crack, and the cold wind again circled about my head. I found myself shrinking back in my chair with my hands held in front of me as instinctively I screened myself against something which I knew was there but which I could not see. Every sense told me that there was a presence in the room other than mine and Anthonys, and the horror of it was that I could not see it. Any vision, however terrible, would, I felt, be more tolerable than this clear certain knowledge that close to me was this invisible thing. And yet what horror might not be disclosed of the face of the dead and the crushed chest. But all I could see, as I shuddered in this cold wind, was the familiar walls of the room, and Anthony standing in front of me stiff and firm, making, as I knew, a call on his courage. His eyes were focused on something quite close to him, and some semblance of a smile quivered on his mouth. And then he spoke again. Yes, I know you, he said. And you want something of me. Tell me, then, what it is. There was absolute silence, but what was silence to my ears could not have been so to his, for once or twice he nodded, and once he said, Yes I see. I will do it. And with the knowledge that, even as there was someone here whom I could not see, so there was speech going on which I could not hear, this terror of the dead and of the unknown rose in me with the sense of powerlessness to move that accompanies nightmare. I could not stir, I could not speak. I could only strain my ears for the inaudible and my eyes for the unseen, while the cold wind from the very valley of the shadow of death streamed over me. It was not that the presence of death itself was terrible; it was that from its tranquillity and serene keeping there had been driven some unquiet soul unable to rest in peace for whatever ultimate awakening rouses the countless generations of those who have passed away, driven, no less, from whatever activities are theirs, back into the material world from which it should have been delivered. Never, until the gulf between the living and the dead was thus bridged, had it seemed so immense and so unnatural. It is possible that the dead may have communication with the living, and it was not that exactly that so terrified me, for such communication, as we know it, comes voluntarily from them. But here was something icycold and crimeladen, that was chased back from the peace that would not pacify it. And then, most horrible of all, there came a change in these unseen conditions. Anthony was silent now, and from looking straight and fixedly in front of him, he began to glance sideways to where I sat and back again, and with that I felt that the unseen presence had turned its attention from him to me. And now, too, gradually and by awful degrees I began to see. There came an outline of shadow across the chimneypiece and the panels above it. It took shape it fashioned itself into the outline of a man. Within the shape of the shadow details began to form themselves, and I saw wavering in the air, like something concealed by haze, the semblance of a face, stricken and tragic, and burdened with such a weight of woe as no human face had ever worn. Next, the shoulders outlined themselves, and a stain livid and red spread out below them, and suddenly the vision leaped into clearness. There he stood, the chest crushed in and drowned in the red stain, from which broken ribs, like the bones of a wrecked ship, protruded. The mournful, terrible eyes were fixed on me, and it was from them, so I knew, that the bitter wind proceeded. Then, quick as the switching off of a lamp, the spectre vanished, and the bitter wind was still, and opposite to me stood Anthony, in a quiet, brightlit room. There was no sense of an unseen presence any more; he and I were then alone, with an interrupted conversation still dangling between us in the warm air. I came round to that, as one comes round after an anaesthetic. It all swam into sight again, unreal at first, and gradually assuming the texture of actuality. You were talking to somebody, not to me, I said. Who was it? What was it? He passed the back of his hand over his forehead, which glistened in the light. A soul in hell, he said. Now it is hard ever to recall mere physical sensations, when they have passed. If you have been cold and are warmed, it is difficult to remember what cold was like if you have been hot and have got cool, it is difficult to realise what the oppression of heat really meant. Just so, with the passing of that presence, I found myself unable to recapture the sense of the terror with which, a few moments ago only, it had invaded and inspired me. A soul in hell? I said. What are you talking about? He moved about the room for a minute or so, and then came and sat on the arm of my chair. I dont know what you saw, he said, or what you felt, but there has never in all my life happened to me anything more real than what these last few minutes have brought. I have talked to a soul in the hell of remorse, which is the only possible hell. He knew, from what happened last night, that he could perhaps establish communication through me with the world he had quitted, and he sought me and found me. I am charged with a mission to a woman I have never seen, a message from the contrite. You can guess who it is. He got up with a sudden briskness. Lets verify it anyhow, he said. He gave me the street and the number. Ah, theres the telephone book! Would it be a coincidence merely if I found that at No. 20 in Chasemore Street, South Kensington, there lived a Lady Payle? He turned over the leaves of the bulky volume. Yes, thats right, he said. Inscrutable Decrees I had found nothing momentous in the more august pages of the Times that morning, and so, just because I was lazy and unwilling to embark on a host of businesses that were waiting for me, I turned to the first page and, beginning with the seventh column, pondered profoundly over Situations Vacant, and hoped that the Gentlewoman fond of games, who desired the position of governess, would find the very thing to suit her. I glanced at the notices of lectures to be delivered under the auspices of various learned societies, and was thankful that I had not got to give or to listen to any of them. I debated over Business Opportunities; I vainly tried to conjecture clues to mysterious Personal paragraphs, and, still pursuing my sideways, crabfashion course, came to Deaths Continued. There, with a shock of arrest, I saw that Sybil Rorke, widow of the late Sir Ernest Rorke, had died at Torquay, suddenly, at the age of thirtytwo. It seemed strange that there should be only this bare announcement concerning a woman who at one time had been so wellknown and dazzling a figure; and turning to the obituary notices, I found that my inattentive skimming had overlooked a paragraph there of appreciation and regret. She had died during her sleep, and it was announced that an inquest would be held. My laziness then had been of some use, for Archie Rorke, distant cousin but successor to Sir Ernests estates and title, was arriving that evening to spend a few country days with me, and I was glad to have known this before he came. How it would affect him, or whether, indeed, it would affect him at all, I had no idea. What a mysterious affair it had been! No one, I supposed, knew the history of it except he, now that Lady Rorke was dead. If anyone knew, it should have been myself, and yet Archie, my oldest friend, whose best man I was to have been, had never opened his lips to a syllable of explanation. I knew, in fact, no whit more than the whole world knew, namely, that a year after Sir Ernest Rorkes death the engagement of his widow to the new baronet, Sir Archibald Rorke, was made public, and that within a fortnight of the date fixed for the wedding it was laconically announced that the marriage would not take place. When, on seeing that, I rang Archie up on the telephone, I was told that he had already left London, and he wrote to me a few days later from Lincotethe place in Hampshire, which he had inherited from his cousinsaying that he had nothing to tell me about the breaking off of his engagement beyond the fact that it was true. The wholehe had written a word and carefully erased itepisode was now an excised leaf from his life. He was proposing to stay down at Lincote alone for a month or so, and would then turn on to the new page. Lady Rorke, so I heard, had also left London immediately and passed the summer in Italy. Then she took a furnished house in Torquay, where she lived for the remainder of the year which intervened between the breaking off of her engagement and her death. She cut herself completely off from all her friendsand no woman, surely, ever commanded a larger host of themsaw nobody, seldom went outside her house and garden, and observed the same unbroken silence as did Archie about what had happened. And now, with all her youth and charm and beauty, she had gone down dumb into the Great Silence. With the prospect of seeing Archie that evening it was no wonder that the thought of Lady Rorke ran all day in my head like a tune heard long ago which now recalled itself to my mind in scattered staves of melody. Meetings and talks with her, phrase by phrase, reconstructed themselves, and as these memories grew definite and complete I found that, even as before, when I was actually experiencing them, there lurked underneath the gay rhythms and joyousness something macabre and mysterious. Today that was accentuated, whereas before when I listened for it, trying to isolate it from the rest and so perhaps dispel it, it was always overscored by some triumphant crescendo her presence diverted eye and ear alike. Yet such a simile halts; perhaps, still in simile, I shall more accurately define this underlying something by saying that her presence was like some gorgeous rosebush, full of flowers, and sun, and sweetness; then, even as one admired and applauded and inhaled, one saw that among its buds and blossoms there emerged the spikes of some other plant, bitter and poisonous, but growing from the same soil as the rose, and intertwined with it. But immediately a fresh glory met your eye, a fresh fragrance enchanted you. As I rummaged among my memories of her, certain scenes which significantly illustrated this curiously vivid impression stirred and made themselves manifest to me, and now they were not broken in upon by her presence. One such occurred on the first evening that I ever met her, which was in the summer before the death of her husband. The moment that she entered the room where we were waiting before dinner for her arrival, the stale, sultry air of a June evening grew fresh and effervescent; never have I come across so radiant and infectious a vitality. She was tall and big, with the splendour of the Junotype, and though she was then close on thirty, the iridescence of girlhood was still hers. Without effort she Piedpipered a rather stodgy party to dance to her flutings, she caused everyone to become silly and pleased and full of laughter. At her bidding we indulged in ridiculous games, dumbcrambo, and whatnot, and after that the carpet was rolled up and we capered to the strains of a gramophone. And then the incident occurred. I was standing with her, for a breath of air, on the balcony outside the drawingroom windows which faced the park. She had just made a great curtsey to a slip of the moon that rose above the trees and had borrowed a shilling of me in order to turn it. No, I cant swear that I believe in moonluck, she said, but after all it does no harm, and, in case its true, you cant afford to make an enemy of her. Ah, whats that? A thrush, attracted by the lights inside, had flown between us, dashed itself against the window, and now lay fluttering on the ground at our feet. Instantly she was all pity and tenderness. She picked up the bird, examined it, and found that its wing was broken. Ah, poor thing! she said. Look, its wingbone is snapped; the end protrudes. And how terrified it is! What are we to do? It was clear that the kindest thing to do would be to put the bird out of its pain, but when I suggested that, she took a step back from me, and covered it with her other hand. Her eyes gleamed, her mouth smiled, and I saw the tip of her tongue swiftly pass over her lips as if licking them. No, that would be a terrible thing to do, she said. I shall take it home with me ever so carefully, and watch over it. I am afraid it is badly hurt. But it may live. Suddenlyperhaps it was that swift licking of her lips that suggested the thought to meI felt instinctively that she was not so much pitiful as pleased. She stood there with eyes fixed on it, as it feebly struggled in her hands. And then her face clouded; over its brightness there came a look of displeasure, of annoyance. Im afraid it is dying, she said. Its poor frightened eyes are closing. The bird fluttered once more, then its legs stretched themselves stiffly out, and it lay still. She tossed it out of her hands on to the paved balcony, with a little shrug of her shoulders. What a fuss over a bird, she said. It was silly of it to fly against the glass. But I have too soft a heart; I cannot bear that the poor creatures should die. Let us go in and have one more romp. Oh, here is your shilling; I hope it will have brought me good luck. And then I must get home. My husbanddo you know him?always sits up till I get back, and he will scold me for being so late! There, then, was my first meeting with her, and there, too, were the spikes of the poisonous plant pushing up among the magnificence of her roses. And yet, so I thought to myself then, and so I think to myself now, I perhaps was utterly wrong about it all, in thus attributing to her a secret glee of which she was wholly incapable. So, with a certain effort I wiped the impression I had received off my mind, determining to consider myself quite mistaken. But, involuntarily, my mind as if to justify itself in having delineated such a picture, proceeded to delineate another. Very shortly after that first meeting I received from her a charming note, asking me to dine with her on a date not far distant. I telephoned a delighted acceptance, for, indeed, I wanted then, even as I did this morning, to convince myself that I was wholly in error concerning my interpretation of that incident concerning the thrush. Though I hold that no man has the right to accept the hospitality offered by one he does not like, in all points except one I admired and liked Lady Rorke immensely and wished to get rid of that one. So I gratefully accepted, and then hurried out on a dismal and overdue visit to the dentists. In the waitingroom was a girl of about twelve, with a hand nursing a rueful face, and from time to time she stifled a sob of pain or apprehension. I was just wondering whether it would be a breach of waitingroom etiquette to attempt to administer comfort or supply diversion, when the door opened and in came Lady Rorke. She laughed delightfully when she saw me. Hurrah! Youre another occupant of the condemned cell, she said, and very soon we shall both be sent for to the scaffold. I cant describe to you what a coward I am about it. Why havent we got beaks like birds? Her glance fell on the forlorn little figure by the window, with the rueful face and the wet eyes. Why, heres another of us, she said. And have they sent you to the dentists all alone, my dear? Yyes. How horrid of them! said Lady Rorke. Theyve sent me alone, too, and I think its most unfeeling. But you shant be alone, anyhow, Ill come in with you, and sit by you, if you like that, and box the mans ears for him if he hurts you. Or shall you and I set on him, as soon as weve got him by himself, and take out all his teeth one after the other? Just to teach him to be a dentist. A faint smile began the break through the clouds. Oh, will you come in with me? she asked. I shant mind nearly so much, then. Itsits got to come out, you know, and I maynt have gas. Just the same gleam of a smile as I had seen on Lady Rorkes face once before quivered there now, a light not of pity, surely. Ah, but it wont ache any more after that, she said, and after all, it is so soon over. Youll just open your mouth as if you were going to put the largest of all strawberries into it, and youll hold tight on to my hand, and the dentist takes up something which you neednt look at There was a want of tact in the vividness of this picture, and the child began to sob again. Oh, dont, dont! she cried. Again the door opened, and she clung to Lady Rorke. Oh, I know its for me! she wailed. Lady Rorke bent over her, scanning her terrified face. Come along, my dear, she said, and it will be over in no time. Youll be back here again before this gentleman can count a hundred, and hell have all his troubles in front of him still. Again this morning I tried to expunge from that picture, so trivial and yet so vivid to me, the sinister something which seemed to connect it with the incident about the thrush, and, leaving it, my mind strayed on over other reminiscences of Lady Rorke. Before the season was over I had got to know her well, and the better I knew her the more I marvelled at that manypetalled vitality, which never ceased unfolding itself. She entertained largely, and had that crowning gift of a good hostess, namely, that she enjoyed her own parties quite enormously. She was a very fine horsewoman, and after being up till dawn at some dance, she would be in the Row by halfpast eight on a peculiarly vicious mare to whom she seemed to pay only the most cursory attention. She had a good knowledge of music, she dressed amazingly, she was charming to her meagre little husband, playing piquet with him by the hour (which was the only thing, apart from herself, that he cared about), and if in this modern democratic London there could be said to be a queen, there is no doubt who that season would have worn the crown. Less publicly, she was a great student of the psychical and occult, and I remembered hearing that she was herself possessed of very remarkable mediumistic gifts. But to me that was a matter of hearsay, for I never was present at any sance of hers. Yet through the triumphant music of her pageant, there sounded, to my ears at least, fragments of a very ugly tune. It was not only in these two instances of its emergence that I heard it, it was chiefly and most persistently audible in her treatment of Archie Rorke, her husbands cousin. Everyone knew, for none could help knowing, that he was desperately in love with her, and it is impossible to imagine that she alone was ignorant of it. It is, no doubt, the instinct of many women to fan a passion which they do not share, and which they have no intention of indulging, just as the male instinct is to gratify a passion that he does not really feel, but there are limits to mercilessness. She was not cruel to be kind; she was kind to be demoniacally cruel. She had him always by her; she gave him those little touches and comradelike licences which meant nothing to her, but crazed him with thirst; she held the glass close to his lips and then tilted it up and showed it him empty. The more charitable explanation was that she, perhaps, knew that her husband could not live long, and that she intended to marry Archie, and such, so it subsequently appeared, her intentions were. But when I saw her feeding him with husks and putting an empty glass to his lips, nothing, to my mind, could account for her treatment of him except a rapture of cruelty at the sight of his aching. And somehow, awfully and aptly, that seemed to fit in with the affair of the thrush, and the meeting with the forlorn child in the dentists waitingroom. Yet ever, through that gruesome twilight, there blazed forth her charm and her beauty and the beam of her joyous vitality, and I would cudgel myself for my nasty interpretations. It was early in the spring of next year that I was spending a weekend with her and her husband at Lincote. She had suggested my coming down on Saturday morning before the party assembled later in the day, and at lunch I was alone with her husband and her. Sir Ernest was very silent; he looked ill and haggard, and, in fact, hardly spoke a word except when suddenly he turned to the butler and said, Has anything been heard of the child yet? He was told that there was no news, and subsided into silence again. I thought that some queer shadow as of suspense or anxiety crossed Lady Rorkes face at the question; but on the answer, it cleared off again, and, as if to sweep the subject wholly away, she asked me if I could tolerate a saunter with her through the woods till her guests arrived. Out she came like some splendid Diana of the Forests, and like the goddesss was the swift, swinging pace of her saunter. Spring all round was riotous in blossom and birdsong; it was just that ecstatic moment of the year when the hounds of spring have run winter to death, and as we gained the high ridge of down above the woods she stopped and threw her arms wide. Oh, the sense of spring! she cried. The daffodils, and the west wind, and the shadows of the clouds. How I wish I could take the whole lot into my arms and hug them. Miracles are flowering every moment now in the country, while the only miracle in London is the mud. What sunshine, what air! Drink them in, for they are the one divine medicine. One wants that medicine sometimes, for there are sad things and terrible things all round us, pain and anguish, and decay. Yet I suppose that even those call out the splendour of fortitude or endurance. Even when one looks on a struggle which one knows is hopeless, it warms the heart to see it. The gleam that shone from her paled, her arms dropped, and she moved on. Then, soft of voice and soft of eye, she spoke again. Such a sad thing happened here two days ago, she said. A small girlnow what was her name? YesEllen Davenportbrought a note from the village up to the house. I was out, so she left it, and started, it is supposed, to go back home. She has not been seen since. Descriptions of her were circulated in all the villages for miles round; but, as you heard at lunch, there has been no news of her, and the copses and coverts in the park have been searched, but with no result. And yet out of that comes splendour. I went to see her mother yesterday, bowed down with grief, but she wont give up hope. If it is Gods will, she said to me, we shall find my Ellen alive; and if we find her dead, it will be Gods will, too. She paused. But I didnt ask you down here to moan over tragedies, she said. I wanted you after all your weeks in town to come and have a springcleaning. Doesnt the wind take the dust out of you, like one of those suckingmachines which you put on to carpets? And the sun! Make a sponge of yourself and soak it up till youre dripping with it. For a couple of miles, at the least, we kept along this high ridge of down, and the larks were springing from the grass, vocal with song uncongealed, as they aspired and sank again, dropping at last dumb and spent with rapture. Then we descended steeply, through the woods and glades of the park, past thickets of catkinned sallows, and of willows with soft moleskin buttons, and in the hollows the daffodils were dancing, and the herbs of the springtime were pushing up through the brittle withered stuff of the winter. Then, passing along the one street of the redtiled village, in which my companion pointed me out the house where the poor vanished girl had lived, we turned homewards across the grass and joined the road again at the bottom of the great lake that lies below the terraced gardens of the house. This lake was artificial, made a hundred years ago by the erection of a huge dam across the dip of the valley, so that the stream which flowed down it was thereby confined and must needs form this sheet of water before it found outlet again through the sluices. At the centre the dam is some twentyfive feet in height, and by the side of the road which crosses it clumps of rhododendrons lean out over the deep water. The margin on the side towards the lake is reinforced with concrete, now mossy and overgrown with herbage, and the face of it, burrows down to the level of the bottom of the dam through four fathoms of dusky water. The lake was high and the overflow poured sonorously through the sluices, and the sun in the west made broken rainbows in the foam of its outpouring. As we paused there a moment, my companion seemed the incarnation of the sights and sounds that went to the spell of the spring; singing larks and dancing daffodils, west wind and rainbowed foam and, no less, the dark, deep water, were all distilled into her radiant vitality. And now for the house again, she said, going briskly up the steep slope. Is it inhospitable of me to wish that no one was coming except, of course, our delightful Archie? A houseful brings London into the country, and we shall talk scandal and stir up mud instead of watching miracles. Another faint memory of her lingered somewhere in the dusk, and I groped for it, as one gropes in slime for the roots of a waterplant, and pulled it out. A notorious murderer had been guillotined that morning in France, and in some Sunday paper next day there was a brutal, brilliant, inexcusable little sketch of his being led out between guards for the final scene at dawn outside the prison at Versailles.

And, as I wrote my name in Lady Rorkes visitors book on Monday morning, I spilt a blot of ink on the page and hastily had recourse to the blottingpad on her writingtable in order to minimize the disfigurement. Inside it was this unpardonable picture, cut out and put away, and I thought of the thrush and the dentists waitingroom A month afterwards her husband died, after three weeks of intolerable torment. The doctor insisted on his having two trained nurses, but Lady Rorke never left him. She was present at the painful dressings of the wound from the operation that only prolonged the misery of his existence, and even slept on the sofa of the room where he lay. Archie Rorke arrived that evening. He let me know at once that he had seen the announcement of Lady Rorkes death, and said no more about it till later, when he and I were left alone over the fire in the smokingroom. He looked round to see that the door was shut behind the last bedgoer of my little party, and then turned to me. Ive got to tell you something, he said. Itll take half an hour, so tomorrow will do if you want to be off. But I dont, said I. He pulled himself together from his sprawling sunkenness in his chair. Very well, he said. What I want to tell you is the story of the breakingoff of my engagement with Sybil. I have often wanted to do so before, but while she was alive, as you will presently see, I could tell nobody. I shall ask you, when you know everything, whether you think I could have done otherwise. And please do not interrupt me till I have finished, unless there is something you dont understand, for it wont be very easy to get through with it. But I think I can make it intelligible. He was silent a moment, and I saw his face working and twitching. I must tell somebody, he said, and I choose you, unless you mind it awfully. But I simply cant bear it alone any more. Go on, then, old boy, I said. Im glad you chose me, do you know. And I wont interrupt. Archie spoke. A week or two only before our marriage was to have taken place, he said, I went down to Lincote for a couple of days. I had had the house done up and redecorated, and now the work was finished and I wanted to see that all was in order. Nothing could be worthy of Sybil, butwell, you can guess, more or less, what my feelings were. For a week before there had been very heavy rains, and the lakeyou know itbelow the garden was very high, higher than I had ever seen it the water poured over the road across the dam which leads to the village. Under the weight and press of it a great crack had appeared in the concrete with which it is faced, and there was danger of the dam being carried away. If that happened the whole lake would have been suddenly released and no end of damage might have been done. It was therefore necessary to draw off the water as fast as possible to relieve the pressure and repair the crack. This was done by means of big siphons. For two days we had them working, but the crack seemed to extend right to the foundations of the dam, and before it could be repaired all the water in the lake would have to be drawn off. I was just leaving for town, when the foreman came up to the house to tell me that they had found something there. In the ooze and mud at the base of the dam, twentyfive feet below waterlevel, they had come upon the body of a young girl. He gripped the arms of his chair tight. Little did he know that I was horribly aware of what he was going to tell me next. About a month before my cousin Ernests death, he said, a mysterious affair happened in the village. A girl named Ellen Davenport had disappeared. She came up one afternoon to the house with a note, and was never seen again, dead or alive. Her disappearance was now explained. A chain of beads round the neck and various fragments of clothing established, beyond any doubt, the identity of what they had found at the bottom of the lake. I waited for the inquest, telegraphing to Sybil that business had detained me, and then returned to town, not intending to tell her what that business was, for our marriage was close at hand and it was not a topic one would choose. She was very superstitious, you know, and I thought that it would shock her. That she would feel it to be unlucky and illomened. So I said nothing to her. Sybil had extraordinary mediumistic powers. She did not often exercise them and she never would give a sance to anyone she did not know extremely well, for she believed that people brought with them the spiritual influences with which they were surrounded, and that there was the possibility of very evil intelligences being set free. But she had sat several times with me, and I had witnessed some very remarkable manifestations. Her procedure was to put herself, by abstraction of her mind, into a state of trance, and spirits of the dead who were connected with the sitters could then communicate through her. On one occasion my mother, whom she had never seen, and who died many years ago, spoke through her and told me certain facts which Sybil could not have known, and which I did not know. But an old friend of my mothers, still alive, told me that they were correct. They were of an exceedingly private nature. Sybil also, so she told me, could produce materialisations, but up till now I had never seen any. A remarkable thing about her mediumship was that she would sometimes regain consciousness from her trance while still these communications were being made, and she knew what was going on. She could hear herself speak and be mentally aware of what she was saying. On the occasion, for instance, of which I have told you, when my mother spoke to me she was in this state. The same thing occurred at the sitting of which I shall now speak. That night, on my return to London, she and I dined alone. I felt a very strong desire, for which I could not account, that she should hold a sittingjust herself and meand she consented. We sat in her room, with a shaded lamp, but there was sufficient illumination for me to see her quite distinctly, for her face was towards the light. There was a small table in front of us covered with a dark cloth. She sat close to it, in a high chair, composed herself, and almost immediately went into trance. Her head fell forward and by her slow breathing and her absolute immobility I knew she was unconscious. For a long time we sat there in silence, and I began to think that we should get no manifestations at all, and that the sitting, as sometimes was the case, would be a failure; but then I saw that something was happening. His hands, with which he gripped the arms of his chair, were trembling. Twice he tried to speak, but it was not till the third attempt that he mastered himself. There was forming a mist above the table, he said. It was slightly luminous and it spread upwards, pillarshaped, in height between two and three feet. Then I saw that below the outlying skeins of it something was materialising. It moulded itself into human shape, rising waisthigh from the table, and presently shoulders and arms and neck and head were visible, and features began to outline themselves. For some time it remained vague and fluid, swaying backwards and forwards a little; then very quickly it solidified, and there, close in front of me, was the halffigure of a young girl. The eyes were still closed, but now they opened. Round her neck was a chain of beads just such as I had seen laid by the body that had been found in the lake. And then I spoke to her, asking her who she was, though I already knew. Her answer was no more than a whisper, but quite distinct. Ellen Davenport, she said. A disordered terror seized me. Yet perhaps this little white figure, with its widegazing eyes, was some hallucination, something that had no objective existence at all. All day the thought of the poor kiddie whose remains I had seen taken out of the ooze at the bottom of the lake had been vivid in my mind, and I tried to think that what I saw was no more than some strange projection of my thought. And yet I felt it was not so; it was independent of myself. And why was it made manifest, and on what errand had it come? I had pressed Sybil to give me this sance, and God knows what I would have given not to have done so! For one thing I was thankful, namely, that she was in unconscious trance. Perhaps the phantom would fade again before she came out of it. And then I heard a stir of movement from the chair where she sat, and, turning, I saw that she had raised her head. Her eyes were open and on her face such a mask of terror as I have never known human being could wear. Recognition was there, too; I saw that Sybil knew who the phantom was. The figure that palely gleamed above the table turned its head towards her, and once more the white lips opened. Yes, I am Ellen Davenport, she said. The whisper grew louder. You might have saved me, she said, or you might have tried to save me; but you watched me struggling till I sank. And then the apparition vanished. It did not die away; it was there clear and distinct one moment, at the next it was gone. Sybil and I were sitting alone in her room with the lowburning lamp, and the silence sang in my ears. I got up and turned on the switch that kindled the electric lights, and knew that something within me had grown cold and that something had snapped. She still sat where she was, not looking at me at all, but blankly in front of her. She said no word of denial in answer to the terrible accusation that had been uttered. And I think I was glad of that, for there are times when it is not only futility to deny, but blasphemy. For my part, I could neither look at her nor speak to her. I remember holding out my hands to the empty grate, as if there had been a fire burning there. And standing there I heard her rise, and drearily wondered what she would say and knew how useless it would be. And then I heard the whisper of her dress on the carpet and the noise of the door opening and shutting, and when I turned I found that I was alone in the room. Presently I let myself out of the house. There was a long pause, but I did not break it, for I felt he had not quite finished. I had loved her with my whole heart, he said, and she knew it. Perhaps that was why I never attempted to see her again and why she did not attempt to see me. That little white figure would always have been with us, for she could not deny the reality of it and the truth of that which it had spoken. Thats my story, then. You neednt even tell me if you think I could have done differently, for I knew I couldnt. And she couldnt. He rose. I see there is to be an inquest, he said. I hope they will find that she killed herself. It will mean, wont it, that her remorse was unbearable. And thats atonement. He moved towards the door. Inscrutable decrees, he said. Machaon I was returning at the close of the short winter day from my visit to St. Jamess Hospital, where my old servant Parkes, who had been in my service for twenty years, was lying. I had sent him there three days before, not for treatment, but for observation, and this afternoon I had gone up to London, to hear the doctors report on the case. He told me that Parkes was suffering from an internal tumour, the nature of which could not be diagnosed for certain, but all the symptoms pointed directly to its being cancerous. That, however, must not be regarded as proved; it could only be proved by an exploratory operation to reveal the nature and the extent of the growth, which must then, if possible, be excised. It might involve, so my old friend Godfrey Symes told me, certain tissues and would be found to be inoperable, but he hoped this would not be the case, and that it would be possible to remove it removal gave the only chance of recovery. It was fortunate that the patient had been sent for examination in an early stage, for thus the chances of success were much greater than if the growth had been one of long standing. Parkes was not, however, in a fit state to stand the operation at once; a recuperative week or ten days in bed was advisable. In these circumstances Symes recommended that he should not be told at once what lay in front of him. I can see that he is a nervous fellow, he said, and to lie in bed thinking of what he has got to face will probably undo all the good that lying in bed will bring to him. You dont get used to the idea of being cut open; the more you think about it, the more intolerable it becomes. If that sort of adventure faced me, I should infinitely prefer not to be told about it until they came to give me the anaesthetic. Naturally, he will have to consent to the operation, but I shouldnt tell him anything about it till the day before. Hes not married, I think, is he? No hes alone in the world, said I. Hes been with me twenty years. Yes, I remember Parkes almost as long as I remember you. But thats all I can recommend. Of course, if the pain became severe, it might be better to operate sooner, but at present he suffers hardly at all, and he sleeps well, so the nurse tells me. And theres nothing else that you can try for it? I asked. Ill try anything you like, but it will be perfectly useless. Ill let him have any quack nostrum you and he wish, as long as it doesnt injure his health, or make you put off the operation. There are Xrays and ultraviolet rays, and violet leaves and radium; there are fresh cures for cancer discovered every day, and whats the result? They only make people put off the operation till its no longer possible to operate. Naturally, I will welcome any further opinion you want. Now Godfrey Symes is easily the first authority on this subject, and has a far higher percentage of cures to his credit than anyone else. No, I dont want any fresh opinion, said I. Very well, Ill have him carefully watched. By the way, cant you stop in town and dine with me? There are one or two people coming, and among them a perfectly mad spiritualist who has more messages from the other world than I ever get on my telephone. Trunkcalls, eh? I wonder where the exchange is. Do come! You like cranks, I know! I cant, Im afraid, said I. Ive a couple of guests coming to stay with me today down in the country. They are both cranks ones a medium. He laughed. Well, I can only offer you one crank, and youve got two, he said. I must get back to the wards. Ill write to you in about a weeks time or so, unless theres any urgency which I dont foresee, and I should suggest your coming up to tell Parkes. Goodbye. I caught my train at Charing Cross with about three seconds to spare, and we slid clanking out over the bridge through the cold, dense air. Snow had been falling intermittently since morning, and when we got out of the grime and fog of London, it was lying thickly on field and hedgerow, retarding by its reflection of such light as lingered the oncoming of darkness, and giving to the landscape an aloof and lonely austerity. All day I had felt that drowsiness which accompanies snowfall, and sometimes, half losing myself in a doze, my mind crept, like a thing crawling about in the dark, over what Godfrey Symes had told me. For all these years Parkes, as much friend as servant, had given me his faithfulness and devotion, and now, in return for that, all that apparently I could do was to tell him of his plight. It was clear, from what the surgeon had said, that he expected a serious disclosure, and I knew from the experience of two friends of mine who had been in his condition what might be expected of this exploratory operation. Exactly similar had been these cases; there was clear evidence of an internal growth possibly not malignant, and in each case the same dismal sequence had followed. The growth had been removed, and within a couple of months there had been a recrudescence of it. Indeed, surgery had proved no more than a pruningknife, which had stimulated that which the surgeon had hoped to extirpate into swifter activity. And that apparently was the best chance that Symes held out the rest of the treatments were but rubbish or quackery. My mind crawled away towards another subject probably the two visitors whom I expected, Charles Hope and the medium whom he was bringing with him, were in the same train as I, and I ran over in my mind all that he had told me of Mrs. Forrest. It was certainly an odd story he had brought me two days before. Mrs. Forrest was a medium of considerable reputation in psychical circles, and had produced some very extraordinary booktests which, by all accounts, seemed inexplicable, except on a spiritualistic hypothesis, and no imputation of trickery had, at any rate as yet, come near her. When in trance, she spoke and wrote, as is invariably the case with mediums, under the direction of a certain controlthat is to say, a spiritual and discarnate intelligence which for the time was in possession of her. But lately there had been signs that a fresh control had inspired her, the nature of whom, his name, and his identity was at present unknown. And then came the following queer incident. Last week only when in trance, and apparently under the direction of this new control, she began describing in considerable detail a certain house where the control said that he had work to do. At first the description aroused no association in Charles Hopes mind, but as it went on, it suddenly struck him that Mrs. Forrest was speaking of my house in Tilling. She gave its general features, its position in a small town on a hill, its walledin garden, and then went on to speak with great minuteness of a rather peculiar feature in the house. She described a big room built out in the garden a few yards away from the house itself at rightangles to its front, and approached by half a dozen stone steps. There was a railing, so she said, on each side of them, and into the railing were twisted, like snake coils, the stems of a tree which bore pale mauve flowers. This was all a correct description of my garden room and the wistaria which writhes in and out of the railings which line the steps. She then went on to speak of the interior of the room. At one end was a fireplace, at the other a big bowwindow looking out on to the street and the front of the house, and there were two other windows opposite each other, in one of which was a table, while the other, looking out on to the garden, was shadowed by the tree that twisted itself about the railings. Bookcases lined the walls, and there was a big sofa at rightangles to the fire. Now all this, though it was a perfectly accurate description of a place that, as far as could be ascertained, Mrs. Forrest had never seen, might conceivably have been derived from Charles Hopes mind, since he knew the room well, having often stayed with me. But the medium added a detail which could not conceivably have been thus derived, for Charles believed it to be incorrect. She said that there was a big piano near the bowwindow, while he was sure that there was not. But oddly enough I had hired a piano only a week or so ago, and it stood in the place that she mentioned. The control then repeated that there was work for him to do in that house. There was some situation or complication there in which he could help, and he could get through better (that is, make a clearer communication) if the medium could hold a sance there. Charles Hope then told the control that he believed he knew the house that he had been speaking of, and promised to do his best. Shortly afterwards Mrs. Forrest came out of trance, and, as usual, had no recollection of what had passed. So Charles came to me with the story exactly as I have given it here, and though I could not think of any situation or complication in which an unknown control of a medium I had never seen could be of assistance, the whole thing (and in especial that detail about the piano) was so odd that I asked him to bring the medium down for a sitting or a series of sittings. The day of their arrival was arranged, but when three days ago Parkes had to go into hospital, I was inclined to put them off. But a neighbour away for a week obligingly lent me a parlourmaid, and I let the engagement stand. With regard to the situation in which the control would be of assistance, I can but assure the reader that as far as I thought about it at all, I only wondered whether it was concerned with a book on which I was engaged, which dealt (if I could ever succeed in writing it) with psychical affairs. But at present I could not get on with it at all. I had made half a dozen beginnings which had all gone into the wastepaper basket. My guests proved not to have come by the same train as I, but arrived shortly before dinnertime, and after Mrs. Forrest had gone to her room, I had a few words with Charles, who told me exactly how the situation now stood. I know your caution and your captiousness in these affairs, he said, so I have told Mrs. Forrest nothing about the description she gave of this house, or of the reason why I asked her to come here. I said only, as we settled, that you were a great friend of mine and immensely interested in psychical affairs, but a countrymouse whom it was difficult to get up to town. But you would be delighted if she would come down for a few days and give some sittings here. And does she recognise the house, do you think? I asked. No sign of it. As I told you, when she comes out of trance she never seems to have the faintest recollection of what she has said or written. We shall have a sance, I hope, tonight after dinner. Certainly, if she will, said I. I thought we had better hold it in the gardenroom, for that was the place that was so minutely described. Its quite warm there, centralheating and a fire, and its only half a dozen yards from the house. Ive had the snow swept from the steps. Mrs. Forrest turned out to be a very intelligent woman, well spiced with humour, gifted with a sane appreciation of the comforts of life, and most agreeably furnished with the small change of talk. She was inclined to be stout, but carried herself with briskness, and neither in body nor mind did she suggest that she was one who held communication with the unseen there was nothing wan or occult about her. Her general outlook on life appeared to be rather materialistic than otherwise, and she was very interesting on the topic when, about halfway through dinner, the subject of her mediumship came on the conversational board. My gifts, such as they are, she said, have nothing to do with this person who sits eating and drinking and talking to you. She, as Mr. Hope may have told you, is quite expunged before the subconscious part of methat is the latest notion, is it not?gets into touch with discarnate intelligences. Until that happens, the door is shut, and when it is over, the door is shut again, and I have no recollection of what I have said or written. The control uses my hand and my voice, but that is all. I know no more about it than a piano on which a tune has been played. And there is a new control who has lately been using you? I asked. She laughed. You must ask Mr. Hope about that, she said. I know nothing whatever of it. He tells me it is so, and he tells medont you, Mr. Hope?that he hasnt any idea who or what the new control is. I look forward to its development; my idea is that the control has to get used to me, as in learning a new instrument. I assure you I am as eager as anyone that he should gain facility in communication through me. I hope, indeed, that we are to have a sance tonight. The talk veered again, and I learned that Mrs. Forrest had never been in Tilling before, and was enchanted with the snowy moonlit glance she had had of its narrow streets and ancient residences. She liked, too, the atmosphere of the house it seemed tranquil and kindly; especially so was the little drawingroom where we had assembled before dinner. I glanced at Charles. I had thought of proposing that we should sit in the gardenroom, I said, if you dont mind half a dozen steps in the open. It adjoins the house. Just as you wish, she said, though I think we have excellent conditions in here without going there. This confirmed her statement that she had no idea after she had come out of trance what she had said, for otherwise she must have recognised at the mention of the gardenroom her own description of it, and when soon after dinner we adjourned there, it was clear that, unless she was acting an inexplicable part, the sight of it twanged no chord of memory. There we made the very simple arrangements to which she was accustomed. As the procedure in such sittings is possibly unfamiliar to the reader, I will describe quite shortly what our arrangements were. We had no idea what form these manifestationsif there were anymight take, and therefore we, Charles and I, were prepared to record them on the spot. We three sat round a small table about a couple of yards from the fire, which was burning brightly; Mrs. Forrest seated herself in a big armchair. Exactly in front of her on the table were a pencil and a block of paper in case, as often happened, the manifestation took the form of automatic scriptwriting, that is, while in a state of trance. Charles and I sat on each side of her, also provided with pencil and paper in order to take down what she said if and when (as lawyers say) the control took possession of her. In case materialised spirits appeared, a phenomenon not as yet seen at her sances, our idea was to jot down as quickly as possible whatever we saw or thought we saw. Should there be rappings or movements of furniture, we were to make similar notes of our impressions. The lamp was then turned down, so that just a ring of flame encircled the wick, but the firelight was of sufficient brightness, as we tested before the sance began, to enable us to write and to see what we had written. The red glow of it illuminated the room, and it was settled that Charles should note by his watch the time at which anything occurred. Occasionally, throughout the sance a bubble of coalgas caught fire, and then the whole room started into strong light. I had given orders that my servants should not interrupt the sitting at all, unless somebody rang the bell from the gardenroom. In that case it was to be answered. Finally, before the sance began, we bolted all the windows on the inside and locked the door. We took no other precautions against trickery, though, as a matter of fact, Mrs. Forrest suggested that she should be tied into her chair. But in the firelight any movement of hers would be so visible that we did not adopt this precaution. Charles and I had settled to read to each other the notes we made during the sitting, and cut out anything that both of us had not recorded. The accounts, therefore, of this sitting and of that which followed next day are founded on our joint evidence. The sitting began. Mrs. Forrest was leaning back at ease with her eyes open and her hands on the arms of her chair. Then her eyes closed and a violent trembling seized her. That passed, and shortly afterwards her head fell forward and her breathing became very rapid. Presently that quieted to normal pace again, and she began to speak at first in a scarcely audible whisper and then in a high shrill voice, quite unlike her usual tones. I do not think that in all England there was a more disappointed man than I during the next halfhour. Starlight, it appeared, was in control, and Starlight was a personage of platitudes. She had been a nun in the time of Henry VII, and her work was to help those who had lately passed over. She was very busy and very happy, and was in the third sphere where they had a great deal of beautiful music. We must all be good, said Starlight, and it didnt matter much whether we were clever or not. Love was the great thing; we had to love each other and help each other, and death was no more than the gate of life, and everything would be tremendously jolly. Starlight, in fact, might be better described as claptrap, and I began thinking about Parkes. And then I ceased to think about Parkes, for the shrill moralities of Starlight ceased, and Mrs. Forrests voice changed again. The stale facility of her utterance stopped and she began to speak, quite unintelligibly, in a voice of low baritone range. Charles leaned across the table and whispered to me. Thats the new control, he said. The voice that was speaking stumbled and hesitated it was like that of a man trying to express himself in some language which he knew very imperfectly. Sometimes it stopped altogether, and in one of these pauses I asked Can you tell us your name? There was no reply, but presently I saw Mrs. Forrests hand reach out for the pencil. Charles put it into her fingers and placed the writingpad more handily for her. I watched the letters, in capitals, being traced. They were made hesitatingly, but were perfectly legible. Swallow, she wrote, and again Swallow, and stopped. The bird? I asked. The voice spoke in answer; now I could hear the words, uttered in that low baritone voice. No, not a bird, it said. Not a bird, but it flies. I was utterly at sea; my mind could form no conjecture whatever as to what was meant. And then the pencil began writing again. Swallow, swallow, and then with a sudden briskness of movement, as if the guiding intelligence had got over some difficulty, it wrote Swallowtail. This seemed more abstrusely senseless than ever. The only connection with swallowtail in my mind was a swallowtailed coat, but whoever heard of a swallowtailed coat flying? Ive got it, said Charles. Swallowtail butterfly. Is it that? There came three sudden raps on the table, loud and startling. These raps, I may explain, in the usual code mean Yes. As if to confirm it the pencil began to write again, and spelled out Swallowtail butterfly. Is that your name? I asked. There was one rap, which signifies No, followed by three, which means Yes. I had not the slightest idea of what it all signified (indeed it seemed to signify nothing at all), but the sitting had become extraordinarily interesting if only for its very unexpectedness. The control was trying to establish himself by three methods simultaneouslyby the voice, by the automatic writing, and by rapping. But how a swallowtail butterfly could assist in some situation which was now existing in my house was utterly beyond me. Then an idea struck me the swallowtail butterfly no doubt had a scientific name, and that we could easily ascertain, for I knew that there was on my shelves a copy of Newmans Butterflies and Moths of Great Britain, a sumptuous volume bound in morocco, which I had won as an entomological prize at school. A moments search gave me the book, and by the firelight I turned up the description of this butterfly in the index. Its scientific name was Papilio machaon. Is Machaon your name? I asked. The voice came clear now. Yes, I am Machaon, it said. With that came the end of the sance, which had lasted not more than an hour. Whatever the power was that had made Mrs. Forrest speak in that male voice and struggle, through that roundabout method of swallow, swallowtail, Machaon, to establish its identity, it now began to fail. Mrs. Forrests pencil made a few illegible scribbles, she whispered a few inaudible words, and presently with a stretch and a sigh she came out of trance. We told her that the name of the control was established, but apparently Machaon meant nothing to her. She was much exhausted, and very soon I took her across to the house to go to bed, and presently rejoined Charles. Who was Machaon, anyhow? he asked. He sounds classical more in your line than mine. I remembered enough Greek mythology to supply elementary facts, while I hunted for a particular book about Athens. Machaon was the son of Asclepios, I said, and Asclepios was the Greek god of healing.

He had precincts, hydropathic establishments, where people went to be cured. The Romans called him Aesculapius. What can he do for you then? asked Charles. Youre fairly fit, arent you? Not till he spoke did a light dawn on me. Though I had been thinking so much of Parkes that day, I had not consciously made the connection. But Parkes isnt, said I. Is that possible? By Jove! said he. I found my book, and turned to the accounts of the precinct of Asclepios in Athens. Yes, Asclepios had two sons, I saidMachaon and Podaleirios. In Homeric times he wasnt a god, but only a physician, and his sons were physicians too. The myth of his godhead is rather a late one I shut the book. Best not to read any more, I said. If we know all about Asclepios, we shall possibly be suggesting things to the mediums mind. Lets see what Machaon can tell us about himself, and we can verify it afterwards. It was therefore with no further knowledge than this on the subject of Machaon that we proposed to hold another sance the next day. All morning the bitter air had been laden with snow, and now the street in front of my house, a byway at the best in the slender traffic of the town, lay white and untrodden, save on the pavement where a few passengers had gone by. Mrs. Forrest had not appeared at breakfast, and from then till lunchtime I sat in the bowwindow of the gardenroom, for the warmth of the central heating, of which a stack of pipes was there installed, and for securing the utmost benefit of light that penetrated this cowl of snowladen sky, busy with belated letters. The drowsiness that accompanies snowfall weighed heavily on my faculties, but as far as I can assert anything, I can assert that I did not sleep. From one letter I went on to another, and then for the sixth or seventh time I tried to open my story. It promised better now than before, and searching for a word that would not come to my pen, I happened to look up along the street which lay in front of me. I expected nothing I was thinking of nothing but my work; probably I had looked up like that a dozen times before, and had seen the empty street, with snow lying thickly on the roadway. But now the roadway was not untenanted. Someone was walking down the middle of it, and his aspect, incredible though it seemed, was not startling. Why I was not startled I have no idea I can only say that the vision appeared perfectly natural. The figure was that of a young man, whose hair, black and curly, lay crisply over his forehead. A large white cloak reaching down to his knees enveloped him, and he had thrown the end of it over his shoulder. Below his knees his legs and feet were bare, so too was the arm up to the elbow, with which he pressed his cloak to him, and there he was walking briskly down the snowy street. As he came directly below the window where I sat, he raised his head and looked at me directly, and smiled. And now I saw his face there was the low brow, the straight nose, the curved and sunny mouth, the short chin, and I thought to myself that this was none other than the Hermes of Praxiteles, he whose statue at Olympia makes all those who look on it grow young again. There, anyhow, was a boyish Greek god, stepping blithely and with gay, incomparable grace along the street, and raising his face to smile at this stolid, middleaged man who blankly regarded him. Then with the certainty of one returning home, he mounted the steps outside the front door, and seemed to pass into and through it. Certainly he was no longer in the street, and, so real and solidseeming had he been to my vision, that I jumped up, ran across the few steps of garden, and went into the house, and I should not have been amazed if I had found him standing in the hall. But there was no one there, and I opened the front door the snow lay smooth and untrodden down the centre of the road where he had walked and on my doorstep. And at that moment the memory of the sance the evening before, about which up till now I had somehow felt distrustful and suspicious, passed into the realm of sober fact, for had not Machaon just now entered my house, with a smile as of recognition on some friendly mission? We sat again that afternoon by daylight, and now, I must suppose, the control was more actively and powerfully present, for hardly had Mrs. Forrest passed into trance than the voice began, louder than it had been the night before, and far more distinct. HeMachaon I must call himseemed to be anxious to establish his identity beyond all doubt, like some newcomer presenting his credentials, and he began to speak of the precinct of Asclepios in Athens. Often he hesitated for a word in English, often he put in a word in Greek, and as he spoke, fragments of things I had learned when an archaeological student in Athens came back into my mind, and I knew that he was accurately describing the portico and the temple and the well. All this I toss to the sceptic to growl and worry over and tear to bits; for certainly it seems possible that my mind, holding these facts in its subconsciousness, was suggesting them to the mediums mind, who thereupon spoke of them and, conveying them back to me, made me aware that I had known them. My forgotten knowledge of these things and of the Greek language came flooding back on me, as he told us, now half in Greek, and half in English, of the patients who came to consult the god, how they washed in the sacred well for purification, and lay down to sleep in the portico. They often dreamed, and in the interpretation of their dreams, which they told to the priest next day, lay the indication of the cure. Or sometimes the god healed more directly, and accompanied by the sacred snake walked among the sleepers and by his touch made them whole. His temple was hung with exvotos, the gifts of those whom he had cured. And at Epidaurus, where was another shrine of his, there were great mural tablets recording the same. Then the voice stopped, and as if to prove identity by another means, the medium drew the pencil and paper to her, and in Greek characters, unknown apparently to her, she traced the words Machaon, son of Asclepios. There was a pause, and I asked a direct question, which now had been long simmering in my mind. Have you come to help me about Parkes? I asked. Can you tell me what will cure him? The pencil began to move again, tracing out characters in Greek. It wrote , and repeated it. I did not at once guess what it meant, and asked for an explanation. There was no answer, and presently the medium stirred, stretched herself and sighed, and came out of trance. She took up the paper on which she had written. Did that come through? she asked. And what does it mean? I dont even know the characters. Then suddenly the possible significance of flashed on me, and I marvelled at my slowness. , a beam of light, a ray, and the letter , the equivalent of the English x. That had come in direct answer to my question as to what would cure Parkes, and it was without hesitation or delay that I wrote to Symes. I reminded him that he had said that he had no objection to any possible remedy, provided it was not harmful, being tried on his patient, and I asked him to treat him with Xrays. The whole sequence of events had been so frankly amazing, that I believe the veriest sceptic would not have done otherwise than I did. Our sittings continued, but after this day we had no further evidence of this second control. It looked as if the intelligence (even the most incredulous will allow me, for the sake of convenience, to call that intelligence Machaon) that had described this room, and told Mrs. Forrest that he had work to do here, had finished his task. Machaon had said, or so my interpretation was, that Xrays would cure Parkes. In justification of this view it is proper to quote from a letter which I got from Symes a week later. There is no need for you to come up to break to Parkes that an operation lies in front of him. In answer to your request, and without a grain of faith in its success, I treated him with Xrays, which I assured you were useless. Today, to speak quite frankly, I dont know what to think, for the growth has been steadily diminishing in size and hardness, and it is perfectly evident that it is being absorbed and is disappearing. The treatment through which I put Parkes is that of . Here in this hospital we have had patients to whom it brought no shadow of benefit. Often it had been continued on these deluded wretches till any operation which might possibly have been successful was out of the question owing to the encroachment of the growth. But from the first dose of the Xrays, Parkes began to get better, the growth was first arrested, and then diminished. I am trying to put the whole thing before you with as much impartiality as I can command. So, on the other side, you must remember that Parkess was never a proved case of cancer. I told you that it could not be proved till the exploratory operation took place. All the symptoms pointed to canceryou see, I am trying to save my own facebut my diagnosis, though confirmed by , may have been wrong. If he only had what we call a benign tumour, the case is not so extraordinary; there have been plenty of cases when a benign tumour has disappeared by absorption or whatnot. It is unusual, but by no means unknown. For instance. But Parkess case was quite different. I certainly believe he had a cancerous growth, and thought that an operation was inevitable if his life was to be saved. Even then, the most I hoped for was an alleviation of pain, as the disease progressed, and a year or two more, at the most, of life. Instead, I apply another remedy, at your suggestion, and if he goes on as he has been doing, the growth will be a nodule in another week or two, and I should expect it to disappear altogether. Taking everything into consideration, if you asked me the question whether this Xray treatment was the cause of the cure, I should be obliged to say Yes. I dont believe in such a treatment, but I believe it is curing him. I suppose that it was suggested to you by a fraudulent, spiritualistic medium in a feigned trance, who was inspired by Aesculapius or some exploded heathen deity, for I remember you said you were going down into the country for some spiritual business. Well, Parkes is getting better, and I am so oldfashioned a fellow that I would sooner a patient of mine got better by incredible methods, than died under my skilful knife. Of course, we trained people know nothing, but we have to act according to the best chances of our ignorance. I entirely believed that the knife was the only means of saving the man, and now, when I stand confuted, the only thing that I can save is my honesty, which I hereby have done. Let me know, at your leisure, whether you just thought you would, on your own idea, like me to try Xrays, or whether some faked voice from the grave suggested it. Ever yours, Godfrey Symes. P.S.If it was some beastly voice from the grave, you might tell me in confidence who the medium was. I want to be fair. That is the story; the reader will explain it according to his temperament. And as I have told Parkes, who is now back with me again, to look into the gardenroom before posttime and take a registered packet to the office, it is time that I got it ready for him. So here is the completed packet in manuscript, to be sent to the printers. From my window I shall see him go briskly along the street down which Machaon walked on a snowy morning. Mr. Tillys Sance Mr. Tilly had only the briefest moment for reflection, when, as he slipped and fell on the greasy wood pavement at Hyde Park Corner, which he was crossing at a smart trot, he saw the huge tractionengine with its grooved ponderous wheels towering high above him. Oh, dear! oh, dear! he said petulantly, it will certainly crush me quite flat, and I shant be able to be at Mrs. Cumberbatchs sance! Most provoking! Aow! The words were hardly out of his mouth, when the first half of his horrid anticipations was thoroughly fulfilled. The heavy wheels passed over him from head to foot and flattened him completely out. Then the driver (too late) reversed his engine and passed over him again, and finally lost his head, whistled loudly and stopped. The policeman on duty at the corner turned quite faint at the sight of the catastrophe, but presently recovered sufficiently to hold up the traffic, and ran to see what on earth could be done. It was all so much up with Mr. Tilly that the only thing possible was to get the hysterical enginedriver to move clear. Then the ambulance from the hospital was sent for, and Mr. Tillys remains, detached with great difficulty from the road (so firmly had they been pressed into it), were reverently carried away into the mortuary. Mr. Tilly during this had experienced one moments excruciating pain, resembling the severest neuralgia as his head was ground beneath the wheel, but almost before he realised it, the pain was past, and he found himself, still rather dazed, floating or standing (he did not know which) in the middle of the road. There had been no break in his consciousness; he perfectly recollected slipping, and wondered how he had managed to save himself. He saw the arrested traffic, the policeman with white wan face making suggestions to the gibbering enginedriver, and he received the very puzzling impression that the traction engine was all mixed up with him. He had a sensation of redhot coals and boiling water and rivets all around him, but yet no feeling of scalding or burning or confinement. He was, on the contrary, extremely comfortable, and had the most pleasant consciousness of buoyancy and freedom. Then the engine puffed and the wheels went round, and immediately, to his immense surprise, he perceived his own crushed remains, flat as a biscuit, lying on the roadway. He identified them for certain by his clothes, which he had put on for the first time that morning, and one patent leather boot which had escaped demolition. But what on earth has happened? he said. Here am I, and yet that poor pressed flower of arms and legs is meor rather Ialso. And how terribly upset the driver looks. Why, I do believe that Ive been run over! It did hurt for a moment, now I come to think of it. My good man, where are you shoving to? Dont you see me? He addressed these two questions to the policeman, who appeared to walk right through him. But the man took no notice, and calmly came out on the other side it was quite evident that he did not see him, or apprehend him in any way. Mr. Tilly was still feeling rather at sea amid these unusual occurrences, and there began to steal into his mind a glimpse of the fact which was so obvious to the crowd which formed an interested but respectful ring round his body. Men stood with bared heads; women screamed and looked away and looked back again. I really believe Im dead, said he. Thats the only hypothesis which will cover the facts. But I must feel more certain of it before I do anything. Ah! Here they come with the ambulance to look at me. I must be terribly hurt, and yet I dont feel hurt. I should feel hurt surely if I was hurt. I must be dead. Certainly it seemed the only thing for him to be, but he was far from realising it yet. A lane had been made through the crowd for the stretcherbearers, and he found himself wincing when they began to detach him from the road. Oh, do take care! he said. Thats the sciatic nerve protruding there surely, isnt it? Aow! No, it didnt hurt after all. My new clothes, too I put them on today for the first time. What bad luck! Now youre holding my leg upside down. Of course all my money comes out of my trouser pocket. And theres my ticket for the sance; I must have that I may use it after all. He tweaked it out of the fingers of the man who had picked it up, and laughed to see the expression of amazement on his face as the card suddenly vanished. That gave him something fresh to think about, and he pondered for a moment over some touch of association set up by it. I have it, he thought. It is clear that the moment I came into connection with that card, it became invisible. Im invisible myself (of course to the grosser sense), and everything I hold becomes invisible. Most interesting! That accounts for the sudden appearances of small objects at a sance. The spirit has been holding them, and as long as he holds them they are invisible. Then he lets go, and theres the flower or the spiritphotograph on the table. It accounts, too, for the sudden disappearances of such objects. The spirit has taken them, though the scoffers say that the medium has secreted them about his person. It is true that when searched he sometimes appears to have done so; but, after all, that may be a joke on the part of the spirit. Now, what am I to do with myself. Let me see, theres the clock. Its just halfpast ten. All this has happened in a few minutes, for it was a quarter past when I left my house. Halfpast ten now what does that mean exactly? I used to know what it meant, but now it seems nonsense. Ten what? Hours, is it? Whats an hour? This was very puzzling. He felt that he used to know what an hour and a minute meant, but the perception of that, naturally enough, had ceased with his emergence from time and space into eternity. The conception of time was like some memory which, refusing to record itself on the consciousness, lies perdu in some dark corner of the brain, laughing at the efforts of the owner to ferret it out. While he still interrogated his mind over this lapsed perception, he found that space as well as time, had similarly grown obsolete for him, for he caught sight of his friend Miss Ida Soulsby, whom he knew was to be present at the sance for which he was bound, hurrying with birdlike steps down the pavement opposite. Forgetting for the moment that he was a disembodied spirit, he made the effort of will which in his past human existence would have set his legs in pursuit of her, and found that the effort of will alone was enough to place him at her side. My dear Miss Soulsby, he said, I was on my way to Mrs. Cumberbatchs house when I was knocked down and killed. It was far from unpleasant, a moments headache So far his natural volubility had carried him before he recollected that he was invisible and inaudible to those still closed in by the muddy vesture of decay, and stopped short. But though it was clear that what he said was inaudible to Miss Soulsbys rather large intelligentlooking ears, it seemed that some consciousness of his presence was conveyed to her finer sense, for she looked suddenly startled, a flush rose to her face, and he heard her murmur, Very odd. I wonder why I received so vivid an impression of dear Teddy. That gave Mr. Tilly a pleasant shock. He had long admired the lady, and here she was alluding to him in her supposed privacy as dear Teddy. That was followed by a momentary regret that he had been killed he would have liked to have been possessed of this information before, and have pursued the primrose path of dalliance down which it seemed to lead. (His intentions, of course, would, as always, have been strictly honourable the path of dalliance would have conducted them both, if she consented, to the altar, where the primroses would have been exchanged for orange blossom.) But his regret was quite shortlived; though the altar seemed inaccessible, the primrose path might still be open, for many of the spiritualistic circle in which he lived were on most affectionate terms with their spiritual guides and friends who, like himself, had passed over. From a human point of view these innocent and even elevating flirtations had always seemed to him rather bloodless; but now, looking on them from the far side, he saw how charming they were, for they gave him the sense of still having a place and an identity in the world he had just quitted. He pressed Miss Idas hand (or rather put himself into the spiritual condition of so doing), and could vaguely feel that it had some hint of warmth and solidity about it. This was gratifying, for it showed that though he had passed out of the material plane, he could still be in touch with it. Still more gratifying was it to observe that a pleased and secret smile overspread Miss Idas fine features as he gave this token of his presence perhaps she only smiled at her own thoughts, but in any case it was he who had inspired them. Encouraged by this, he indulged in a slightly more intimate token of affection, and permitted himself a respectful salute, and saw that he had gone too far, for she said to herself, Hush, hush! and quickened her pace, as if to leave these amorous thoughts behind. He felt that he was beginning to adjust himself to the new conditions in which he would now live, or, at any rate, was getting some sort of inkling as to what they were. Time existed no more for him, nor yet did space, since the wish to be at Miss Idas side had instantly transported him there, and with a view to testing this further he wished himself back in his flat. As swiftly as the change of scene in a cinematograph show he found himself there, and perceived that the news of his death must have reached his servants, for his cook and parlourmaid with excited faces, were talking over the event. Poor little gentleman, said his cook. It seems a shame it does. He never hurt a fly, and to think of one of those great engines laying him out flat. I hope theyll take him to the cemetery from the hospital I never could bear a corpse in the house. The great strapping parlourmaid tossed her head. Well, Im not sure that it doesnt serve him right, she observed. Always messing about with spirits he was, and the knockings and concertinas was awful sometimes when Ive been laying out supper in the diningroom. Now perhaps hell come himself and visit the rest of the loonies. But Im sorry all the same. A less troublesome little gentleman never stepped. Always pleasant, too, and wages paid to the day. These regretful comments and encomiums were something of a shock to Mr. Tilly. He had imagined that his excellent servants regarded him with a respectful affection, as befitted some sort of demigod, and the role of the poor little gentleman was not at all to his mind. This revelation of their true estimate of him, although what they thought of him could no longer have the smallest significance, irritated him profoundly. I never heard such impertinence, he said (so he thought) quite out loud, and still intensely earthbound, was astonished to see that they had no perception whatever of his presence. He raised his voice, replete with extreme irony, and addressed his cook. You may reserve your criticism on my character for your saucepans, he said. They will no doubt appreciate them. As regards the arrangements for my funeral, I have already provided for them in my will, and do not propose to consult your convenience. At present Lor! said Mrs. Inglis, I declare I can almost hear his voice, poor little fellow. Husky it was, as if he would do better by clearing his throat. I suppose Id best be making a black bow to my cap. His lawyers and whatnot will be here presently. Mr. Tilly had no sympathy with this suggestion. He was immensely conscious of being quite alive, and the idea of his servants behaving as if he were dead, especially after the way in which they had spoken about him, was very vexing. He wanted to give them some striking evidence of his presence and his activity, and he banged his hand angrily on the diningroom table, from which the breakfast equipage had not yet been cleared. Three tremendous blows he gave it, and was rejoiced to see that his parlourmaid looked startled. Mrs. Ingliss face remained perfectly placid. Why, if I didnt hear a sort of rapping sound, said Miss Talton. Where did it come from? Nonsense! Youve the jumps, dear, said Mrs. Inglis, picking up a remaining rasher of bacon on a fork, and putting it into her capacious mouth. Mr. Tilly was delighted at making any impression at all on either of these impercipient females. Talton! he called at the top of his voice. Why, whats that? said Talton. Almost hear his voice, do you say, Mrs. Inglis? I declare I did hear his voice then. A pack o nonsense, dear, said Mrs. Inglis placidly. Thats a prime bit of bacon, and theres a good cut of it left. Why, youre all of a tremble! Its your imagination. Suddenly it struck Mr. Tilly that he might be employing himself much better than, with such extreme exertion, managing to convey so slight a hint of his presence to his parlourmaid, and that the sance at the house of the medium, Mrs. Cumberbatch, would afford him much easier opportunities of getting through to the earthplane again. He gave a couple more thumps to the table and, wishing himself at Mrs. Cumberbatchs, nearly a mile away, scarcely heard the faint scream of Talton at the sound of his blows before he found himself in West Norfolk Street. He knew the house well, and went straight to the drawingroom, which was the scene of the sances he had so often and so eagerly attended. Mrs. Cumberbatch, who had a long spoonshaped face, had already pulled down the blinds, leaving the room in total darkness except for the glimmer of the nightlight which, under a shade of rubyglass, stood on the chimneypiece in front of the coloured photograph of Cardinal Newman. Round the table were seated Miss Ida Soulsby, Mr. and Mrs. Meriott (who paid their guineas at least twice a week in order to consult their spiritual guide Abibel and received mysterious advice about their indigestion and investments), and Sir John Plaice, who was much interested in learning the details of his previous incarnation as a Chaldean priest, completed the circle. His guide, who revealed to him his sacerdotal career, was playfully called Mespot. Naturally many other spirits visited them, for Miss Soulsby had no less than three guides in her spiritual household, Sapphire, Semiramis, and Sweet William, while Napoleon and Plato were not infrequent guests. Cardinal Newman, too, was a great favourite, and they encouraged his presence by the singing in unison of Lead, Kindly Light he could hardly ever resist that. Mr. Tilly observed with pleasure that there was a vacant seat by the table which no doubt had been placed there for him. As he entered, Mrs. Cumberbatch peered at her watch. Eleven oclock already, she said, and Mr. Tilly is not here yet. I wonder what can have kept him. What shall we do, dear friends? Abibel gets very impatient sometimes if we keep him waiting. Mr. and Mrs. Meriott were getting impatient too, for he terribly wanted to ask about Mexican oils, and she had a very vexing heartburn. And Mespot doesnt like waiting either, said Sir John, jealous for the prestige of his protector, not to mention Sweet William. Miss Soulsby gave a little silvery laugh. Oh, but my Sweet Williams so good and kind, she said; besides, I have a feeling, quite a psychic feeling, Mrs. Cumberbatch, that Mr. Tilly is very close. So I am, said Mr. Tilly. Indeed, as I walked here, continued Miss Soulsby, I felt that Mr. Tilly was somewhere quite close to me. Dear me, whats that? Mr. Tilly was so delighted at being sensed, that he could not resist giving a tremendous rap on the table, in a sort of pleased applause. Mrs. Cumberbatch heard it too. Im sure thats Abibel come to tell us that he is ready, she said. I know Abibels knock. A little patience, Abibel. Lets give Mr. Tilly three minutes more and then begin. Perhaps, if we put up the blinds, Abibel will understand we havent begun. This was done, and Miss Soulsby glided to the window, in order to make known Mr. Tillys approach, for he always came along the opposite pavement and crossed over by the little island in the river of traffic. There was evidently some lately published news, for the readers of early editions were busy, and she caught sight of one of the advertisementboards bearing in large letters the announcement of a terrible accident at Hyde Park Corner. She drew in her breath with a hissing sound and turned away, unwilling to have her psychic tranquillity upset by the intrusion of painful incidents. But Mr. Tilly, who had followed her to the window and saw what she had seen, could hardly restrain a spiritual whoop of exultation. Why, its all about me! he said. Such large letters, too. Very gratifying. Subsequent editions will no doubt contain my name. He gave another loud rap to call attention to himself, and Mrs. Cumberbatch, sitting down in her antique chair which had once belonged to Madame Blavatsky, again heard. Well, if that isnt Abibel again, she said. Be quiet, naughty. Perhaps we had better begin. She recited the usual invocation to guides and angels, and leaned back in her chair. Presently she began to twitch and mutter, and shortly afterwards with several loud snorts, relapsed into cataleptic immobility. There she lay, stiff as a poker, a port of call, so to speak, for any voyaging intelligence. With pleased anticipation Mr. Tilly awaited their coming. How gratifying if Napoleon, with whom he had so often talked, recognised him and said, Pleased to see you, Mr. Tilly. I perceive you have joined us. The room was dark except for the rubyshaded lamp in front of Cardinal Newman, but to Mr. Tillys emancipated perceptions the withdrawal of mere material light made no difference, and he idly wondered why it was generally supposed that disembodied spirits like himself produced their most powerful effects in the dark. He could not imagine the reason for that, and, what puzzled him still more, there was not to his spiritual perception any sign of those colleagues of his (for so he might now call them) who usually attended Mrs. Cumberbatchs sances in such gratifying numbers. Though she had been moaning and muttering a long time now, Mr. Tilly was in no way conscious of the presence of Abibel and Sweet William and Sapphire and Napoleon. They ought to be here by now, he said to himself. But while he still wondered at their absence, he saw to his amazed disgust that the mediums hand, now covered with a black glove, and thus invisible to ordinary human vision in the darkness, was groping about the table and clearly searching for the megaphonetrumpet which lay there. He found that he could read her mind with the same ease, though far less satisfaction, as he had read Miss Idas half an hour ago, and knew that she was intending to apply the trumpet to her own mouth and pretend to be Abibel or Semiramis or somebody, whereas she affirmed that she never touched the trumpet herself. Much shocked at this, he snatched up the trumpet himself, and observed that she was not in trance at all, for she opened her sharp black eyes, which always reminded him of buttons covered with American cloth, and gave a great gasp. Why, Mr. Tilly! she said. On the spiritual plane too! The rest of the circle was now singing Lead, Kindly Light in order to encourage Cardinal Newman, and this conversation was conducted under cover of the hoarse crooning voices. But Mr. Tilly had the feeling that though Mrs. Cumberbatch saw and heard him as clearly as he saw her, he was quite imperceptible to the others. Yes, Ive been killed, he said, and I want to get into touch with the material world. Thats why I came here. But I want to get into touch with other spirits too, and surely Abibel or Mespot ought to be here by this time. He received no answer, and her eyes fell before his like those of a detected charlatan. A terrible suspicion invaded his mind. What? Are you a fraud, Mrs. Cumberbatch? he asked. Oh, for shame! Think of all the guineas I have paid you. You shall have them all back, said Mrs. Cumberbatch. But dont tell of me. She began to whimper, and he remembered that she often made that sort of sniffling noise when Abibel was taking possession of her.

That usually means that Abibel is coming, he said, with withering sarcasm. Come along, Abibel were waiting. Give me the trumpet, whispered the miserable medium. Oh, please give me the trumpet! I shall do nothing of the kind, said Mr. Tilly indignantly. I would sooner use it myself. She gave a sob of relief. Oh do, Mr. Tilly! she said. What a wonderful idea! It will be most interesting to everybody to hear you talk just after youve been killed and before they know. It would be the making of me! And Im not a fraud, at least not altogether. I do have spiritual perceptions sometimes; spirits do communicate through me. And when they wont come through its a dreadful temptation to a poor woman toto supplement them by human agency. And how could I be seeing and hearing you now, and be able to talk to youso pleasantly, Im sureif I hadnt supernormal powers? Youve been killed, so you assure me, and yet I can see and hear you quite plainly. Where did it happen, may I ask, if its not a painful subject? Hyde Park Corner, half an hour ago, said Mr. Tilly. No, it only hurt for a moment, thanks. But about your other suggestion While the third verse of Lead, Kindly Light was going on, Mr. Tilly applied his mind to this difficult situation. It was quite true that if Mrs. Cumberbatch had no power of communication with the unseen she could not possibly have seen him. But she evidently had, and had heard him too, for their conversation had certainly been conducted on the spiritplane, with perfect lucidity. Naturally, now that he was a genuine spirit, he did not want to be mixed up in fraudulent mediumship, for he felt that such a thing would seriously compromise him on the other side, where, probably, it was widely known that Mrs. Cumberbatch was a person to be avoided. But, on the other hand, having so soon found a medium through whom he could communicate with his friends, it was hard to take a high moral view, and say that he would have nothing whatever to do with her. I dont know if I trust you, he said. I shouldnt have a moments peace if I thought that you would be sending all sorts of bogus messages from me to the circle, which I wasnt responsible for at all. Youve done it with Abibel and Mespot. How can I know that when I dont choose to communicate through you, you wont make up all sorts of piffle on your own account? She positively squirmed in her chair. Oh, Ill turn over a new leaf, she said. I will leave all that sort of thing behind me. And I am a medium. Look at me! Arent I more real to you than any of the others? Dont I belong to your plane in a way that none of the others do? I may be occasionally fraudulent, and I can no more get Napoleon here than I can fly, but Im genuine as well. Oh, Mr. Tilly, be indulgent to us poor human creatures! It isnt so long since you were one of us yourself. The mention of Napoleon, with the information that Mrs. Cumberbatch had never been controlled by that great creature, wounded Mr. Tilly again. Often in this darkened room he had held long colloquies with him, and Napoleon had given him most interesting details of his life on St. Helena, which, so Mr. Tilly had found, were often borne out by Lord Roseberys pleasant volume The Last Phase. But now the whole thing wore a more sinister aspect, and suspicion as solid as certainty bumped against his mind. Confess! he said. Where did you get all that Napoleon talk from? You told us you had never read Lord Roseberys book, and allowed us to look through your library to see that it wasnt there. Be honest for once, Mrs. Cumberbatch. She suppressed a sob. I will, she said. The book was there all the time. I put it into an old cover called Elegant Extracts. But Im not wholly a fraud. Were talking together, you a spirit and I a mortal female. They cant hear us talk. But only look at me, and youll see. You can talk to them through me, if youll only be so kind. I dont often get in touch with a genuine spirit like yourself. Mr. Tilly glanced at the other sitters and then back to the medium, who, to keep the others interested, was making weird gurgling noises like an undervitalised siphon. Certainly she was far clearer to him than were the others, and her argument that she was able to see and hear him had great weight. And then a new and curious perception came to him. Her mind seemed spread out before him like a pool of slightly muddy water, and he figured himself as standing on a headerboard above it, perfectly able, if he chose, to immerse himself in it. The objection to so doing was its muddiness, its materiality; the reason for so doing was that he felt that then he would be able to be heard by the others, possibly to be seen by them, certainly to come into touch with them. As it was, the loudest bangs on the table were only faintly perceptible. Im beginning to understand, he said. Oh, Mr. Tilly! Just jump in like a kind good spirit, she said. Make your own testconditions. Put your hand over my mouth to make sure that Im not speaking, and keep hold of the trumpet. And youll promise not to cheat any more? he asked. Never! He made up his mind. All right then, he said, and, so to speak, dived into her mind. He experienced the oddest sensation. It was like passing out of some fine, sunny air into the stuffiest of unventilated rooms. Space and time closed over him again his head swam, his eyes were heavy. Then, with the trumpet in one hand, he laid the other firmly over her mouth. Looking round, he saw that the room seemed almost completely dark, but that the outline of the figures sitting round the table had vastly gained in solidity. Here I am! he said briskly. Miss Soulsby gave a startled exclamation. Thats Mr. Tillys voice! she whispered. Why, of course it is, said Mr. Tilly. Ive just passed over at Hyde Park Corner under a traction engine. He felt the dead weight of the mediums mind, her conventional conceptions, her mild, unreal piety pressing in on him from all sides, stifling and confusing him. Whatever he said had to pass through muddy water. Theres a wonderful feeling of joy and lightness, he said. I cant tell you of the sunshine and happiness. Were all very busy and active, helping others. And its such a pleasure, dear friends, to be able to get into touch with you all again. Death is not death it is the gate of life. He broke off suddenly. Oh, I cant stand this, he said to the medium. You make me talk such twaddle. Do get your stupid mind out of the way. Cant we do anything in which you wont interfere with me so much? Can you give us some spirit lights round the room? suggested Mrs. Cumberbatch in a sleepy voice. You have come through beautifully, Mr. Tilly. Its too dear of you! Youre sure you havent arranged some phosphorescent patches already? asked Mr. Tilly suspiciously. Yes, there are one or two near the chimneypiece, said Mrs. Cumberbatch, but none anywhere else. Dear Mr. Tilly, I swear there are not. Just give us a nice star with long rays on the ceiling! Mr. Tilly was the most goodnatured of men, always willing to help an unattractive female in distress, and whispering to her, I shall require the phosphorescent patches to be given into my hands after the sance, he proceeded, by the mere effort of his imagination, to light a beautiful big star with red and violet rays on the ceiling. Of course it was not nearly as brilliant as his own conception of it, for its light had to pass through the opacity of the mediums mind, but it was still a most striking object, and elicited gasps of applause from the company. To enhance the effect of it he intoned a few very pretty lines about a star by Adelaide Anne Procter, whose poems had always seemed to him to emanate from the topmost peak of Parnassus. Oh, thank you, Mr. Tilly! whispered the medium. It was lovely! Would a photograph of it be permitted on some future occasion, if you would be so kind as to reproduce it again? Oh, I dont know, said Mr. Tilly irritably. I want to get out. Im very hot and uncomfortable. And its all so cheap. Cheap? ejaculated Mrs. Cumberbatch. Why, theres not a medium in London whose future wouldnt be made by a real genuine star like that, say, twice a week. But I wasnt run over in order that I might make the fortune of mediums, said Mr. Tilly. I want to go its all rather degrading. And I want to see something of my new world. I dont know what its like yet. Oh, but, Mr. Tilly, said she. You told us lovely things about it, how busy and happy you were. No, I didnt. It was you who said that, at least it was you who put it into my head. Even as he wished, he found himself emerging from the dull waters of Mrs. Cumberbatchs mind. Theres the whole new world waiting for me, he said. I must go and see it. Ill come back and tell you, for it must be full of marvellous revelations. Suddenly he felt the hopelessness of it. There was that thick fluid of materiality to pierce, and, as it dripped off him again, he began to see that nothing of that fine rare quality of life which he had just begun to experience, could penetrate these opacities. That was why, perhaps, all that thus came across from the spiritworld, was so stupid, so banal. They, of whom he now was one, could tap on furniture, could light stars, could abound with commonplace, could read as in a book the mind of medium or sitters, but nothing more. They had to pass into the region of gross perceptions, in order to be seen of blind eyes and be heard of deaf ears. Mrs. Cumberbatch stirred. The power is failing, she said, in a deep voice, which Mr. Tilly felt was meant to imitate his own. I must leave you now, dear friends He felt much exasperated. The power isnt failing, he shouted. It wasnt I who said that. But he had emerged too far, and perceived that nobody except the medium heard him. Oh, dont be vexed, Mr. Tilly, she said. Thats only a formula. But youre leaving us very soon. Not time for just one materialisation? They are more convincing than anything to most inquirers. Not one, said he. You dont understand how stifling it is even to speak through you and make stars. But Ill come back as soon as I find theres anything new that I can get through to you. Whats the use of my repeating all that stale stuff about being busy and happy? Theyve been told that often enough already. Besides, I have got to see if its true. Goodbye dont cheat any more. He dropped his card of admittance to the sance on the table and heard murmurs of excitement as he floated off. The news of the wonderful star, and the presence of Mr. Tilly at the sance within half an hour of his death, which at the time was unknown to any of the sitters, spread swiftly through spiritualistic circles. The Psychical Research Society sent investigators to take independent evidence from all those present, but were inclined to attribute the occurrence to a subtle mixture of thoughttransference and unconscious visual impression, when they heard that Miss Soulsby had, a few minutes previously, seen a newsboard in the street outside recording the accident at Hyde Park Corner. This explanation was rather elaborate, for it postulated that Miss Soulsby, thinking of Mr. Tillys nonarrival, had combined that with the accident at Hyde Park Corner, and had probably (though unconsciously) seen the name of the victim on another newsboard and had transferred the whole by telepathy to the mind of the medium. As for the star on the ceiling, though they could not account for it, they certainly found remains of phosphorescent paint on the panels of the wall above the chimneypiece, and came to the conclusion that the star had been produced by some similar contrivance. So they rejected the whole thing, which was a pity, since, for once, the phenomena were absolutely genuine. Miss Soulsby continued to be a constant attendant at Mrs. Cumberbatchs sance, but never experienced the presence of Mr. Tilly again. On that the reader may put any interpretation he pleases. It looks to me somewhat as if he had found something else to do. Mrs. Amworth The village of Maxley, where, last summer and autumn, these strange events took place, lies on a heathery and pineclad upland of Sussex. In all England you could not find a sweeter and saner situation. Should the wind blow from the south, it comes laden with the spices of the sea; to the east high downs protect it from the inclemencies of March; and from the west and north the breezes which reach it travel over miles of aromatic forest and heather. The village itself is insignificant enough in point of population, but rich in amenities and beauty. Halfway down the single street, with its broad road and spacious areas of grass on each side, stands the little Norman Church and the antique graveyard long disused for the rest there are a dozen small, sedate Georgian houses, redbricked and longwindowed, each with a square of flowergarden in front, and an ampler strip behind; a score of shops, and a couple of score of thatched cottages belonging to labourers on neighbouring estates, complete the entire cluster of its peaceful habitations. The general peace, however, is sadly broken on Saturdays and Sundays, for we lie on one of the main roads between London and Brighton and our quiet street becomes a racecourse for flying motorcars and bicycles. A notice just outside the village begging them to go slowly only seems to encourage them to accelerate their speed, for the road lies open and straight, and there is really no reason why they should do otherwise. By way of protest, therefore, the ladies of Maxley cover their noses and mouths with their handkerchiefs as they see a motorcar approaching, though, as the street is asphalted, they need not really take these precautions against dust. But late on Sunday night the horde of scorchers has passed, and we settle down again to five days of cheerful and leisurely seclusion. Railway strikes which agitate the country so much leave us undisturbed because most of the inhabitants of Maxley never leave it at all. I am the fortunate possessor of one of these small Georgian houses, and consider myself no less fortunate in having so interesting and stimulating a neighbour as Francis Urcombe, who, the most confirmed of Maxleyites, has not slept away from his house, which stands just opposite to mine in the village street, for nearly two years, at which date, though still in middle life, he resigned his Physiological Professorship at Cambridge University and devoted himself to the study of those occult and curious phenomena which seem equally to concern the physical and the psychical sides of human nature. Indeed his retirement was not unconnected with his passion for the strange uncharted places that lie on the confines and borders of science, the existence of which is so stoutly denied by the more materialistic minds, for he advocated that all medical students should be obliged to pass some sort of examination in mesmerism, and that one of the tripos papers should be designed to test their knowledge in such subjects as appearances at time of death, haunted houses, vampirism, automatic writing, and possession. Of course they wouldnt listen to me, ran his account of the matter, for there is nothing that these seats of learning are so frightened of as knowledge, and the road to knowledge lies in the study of things like these. The functions of the human frame are, broadly speaking, known. They are a country, anyhow, that has been charted and mapped out. But outside that lie huge tracts of undiscovered country, which certainly exist, and the real pioneers of knowledge are those who, at the cost of being derided as credulous and superstitious, want to push on into those misty and probably perilous places. I felt that I could be of more use by setting out without compass or knapsack into the mists than by sitting in a cage like a canary and chirping about what was known. Besides, teaching is very bad for a man who knows himself only to be a learner you only need to be a selfconceited ass to teach. Here, then, in Francis Urcombe, was a delightful neighbour to one who, like myself, has an uneasy and burning curiosity about what he called the misty and perilous places; and this last spring we had a further and most welcome addition to our pleasant little community, in the person of Mrs. Amworth, widow of an Indian civil servant. Her husband had been a judge in the Northwest Provinces, and after his death at Peshawar she came back to England, and after a year in London found herself starving for the ampler air and sunshine of the country to take the place of the fogs and griminess of town. She had, too, a special reason for settling in Maxley, since her ancestors up till a hundred years ago had long been native to the place, and in the old churchyard, now disused, are many gravestones bearing her maiden name of Chaston. Big and energetic, her vigorous and genial personality speedily woke Maxley up to a higher degree of sociality than it had ever known. Most of us were bachelors or spinsters or elderly folk not much inclined to exert ourselves in the expense and effort of hospitality, and hitherto the gaiety of a small teaparty, with bridge afterwards and goloshes (when it was wet) to trip home in again for a solitary dinner, was about the climax of our festivities. But Mrs. Amworth showed us a more gregarious way, and set an example of luncheonparties and little dinners, which we began to follow. On other nights when no such hospitality was on foot, a lone man like myself found it pleasant to know that a call on the telephone to Mrs. Amworths house not a hundred yards off, and an inquiry as to whether I might come over after dinner for a game of piquet before bedtime, would probably evoke a response of welcome. There she would be, with a comradelike eagerness for companionship, and there was a glass of port and a cup of coffee and a cigarette and a game of piquet. She played the piano, too, in a free and exuberant manner, and had a charming voice and sang to her own accompaniment; and as the days grew long and the light lingered late, we played our game in her garden, which in the course of a few months she had turned from being a nursery for slugs and snails into a glowing patch of luxuriant blossoming. She was always cheery and jolly; she was interested in everything, and in music, in gardening, in games of all sorts was a competent performer. Everybody (with one exception) liked her, everybody felt her to bring with her the tonic of a sunny day. That one exception was Francis Urcombe; he, though he confessed he did not like her, acknowledged that he was vastly interested in her. This always seemed strange to me, for pleasant and jovial as she was, I could see nothing in her that could call forth conjecture or intrigued surmise, so healthy and unmysterious a figure did she present. But of the genuineness of Urcombes interest there could be no doubt; one could see him watching and scrutinising her. In matter of age, she frankly volunteered the information that she was fortyfive; but her briskness, her activity, her unravaged skin, her coalblack hair, made it difficult to believe that she was not adopting an unusual device, and adding ten years on to her age instead of subtracting them. Often, also, as our quite unsentimental friendship ripened, Mrs. Amworth would ring me up and propose her advent. If I was busy writing, I was to give her, so we definitely bargained, a frank negative, and in answer I could hear her jolly laugh and her wishes for a successful evening of work. Sometimes, before her proposal arrived, Urcombe would already have stepped across from his house opposite for a smoke and a chat, and he, hearing who my intending visitor was, always urged me to beg her to come. She and I should play our piquet, said he, and he would look on, if we did not object, and learn something of the game. But I doubt whether he paid much attention to it, for nothing could be clearer than that, under that penthouse of forehead and thick eyebrows, his attention was fixed not on the cards, but on one of the players. But he seemed to enjoy an hour spent thus, and often, until one particular evening in July, he would watch her with the air of a man who has some deep problem in front of him. She, enthusiastically keen about our game, seemed not to notice his scrutiny. Then came that evening, when, as I see in the light of subsequent events, began the first twitching of the veil that hid the secret horror from my eyes. I did not know it then, though I noticed that thereafter, if she rang up to propose coming round, she always asked not only if I was at leisure, but whether Mr. Urcombe was with me. If so, she said, she would not spoil the chat of two old bachelors, and laughingly wished me good night. Urcombe, on this occasion, had been with me for some halfhour before Mrs. Amworths appearance, and had been talking to me about the medieval beliefs concerning vampirism, one of those borderland subjects which he declared had not been sufficiently studied before it had been consigned by the medical profession to the dustheap of exploded superstitions. There he sat, grim and eager, tracing, with that pellucid clearness which had made him in his Cambridge days so admirable a lecturer, the history of those mysterious visitations. In them all there were the same general features one of those ghoulish spirits took up its abode in a living man or woman, conferring supernatural powers of batlike flight and glutting itself with nocturnal bloodfeasts. When its host died it continued to dwell in the corpse, which remained undecayed. By day it rested, by night it left the grave and went on its awful errands. No European country in the Middle Ages seemed to have escaped them; earlier yet, parallels were to be found, in Roman and Greek and in Jewish history. Its a large order to set all that evidence aside as being moonshine, he said. Hundreds of totally independent witnesses in many ages have testified to the occurrence of these phenomena, and theres no explanation known to me which covers all the facts. And if you feel inclined to say Why, then, if these are facts, do we not come across them now? there are two answers I can make you. One is that there were diseases known in the Middle Ages, such as the Black Death, which were certainly existent then and which have become extinct since, but for that reason we do not assert that such diseases never existed. Just as the Black Death visited England and decimated the population of Norfolk, so here in this very district about three hundred years ago there was certainly an outbreak of vampirism, and Maxley was the centre of it. My second answer is even more convincing, for I tell you that vampirism is by no means extinct now. An outbreak of it certainly occurred in India a year or two ago. At that moment I heard my knocker plied in the cheerful and peremptory manner in which Mrs. Amworth is accustomed to announce her arrival, and I went to the door to open it. Come in at once, I said, and save me from having my blood curdled. Mr. Urcombe has been trying to alarm me. Instantly her vital, voluminous presence seemed to fill the room. Ah, but how lovely! she said. I delight in having my blood curdled. Go on with your ghoststory, Mr. Urcombe. I adore ghoststories. I saw that, as his habit was, he was intently observing her. It wasnt a ghoststory exactly, said he. I was only telling our host how vampirism was not extinct yet. I was saying that there was an outbreak of it in India only a few years ago. There was a more than perceptible pause, and I saw that, if Urcombe was observing her, she on her side was observing him with fixed eye and parted mouth. Then her jolly laugh invaded that rather tense silence. Oh, what a shame! she said. Youre not going to curdle my blood at all. Where did you pick up such a tale, Mr. Urcombe? I have lived for years in India and never heard a rumour of such a thing. Some storyteller in the bazaars must have invented it they are famous at that. I could see that Urcombe was on the point of saying something further, but checked himself. Ah! very likely that was it, he said. But something had disturbed our usual peaceful sociability that night, and something had damped Mrs. Amworths usual high spirits. She had no gusto for her piquet, and left after a couple of games. Urcombe had been silent too, indeed he hardly spoke again till she departed. That was unfortunate, he said, for the outbreak ofof a very mysterious disease, let us call it, took place at Peshawar, where she and her husband were. And Well? I asked. He was one of the victims of it, said he. Naturally I had quite forgotten that when I spoke. The summer was unreasonably hot and rainless, and Maxley suffered much from drought, and also from a plague of big black nightflying gnats, the bite of which was very irritating and virulent. They came sailing in of an evening, settling on ones skin so quietly that one perceived nothing till the sharp stab announced that one had been bitten. They did not bite the hands or face, but chose always the neck and throat for their feedingground, and most of us, as the poison spread, assumed a temporary goitre. Then about the middle of August appeared the first of those mysterious cases of illness which our local doctor attributed to the longcontinued heat coupled with the bite of these venomous insects. The patient was a boy of sixteen or seventeen, the son of Mrs. Amworths gardener, and the symptoms were an anaemic pallor and a languid prostration, accompanied by great drowsiness and an abnormal appetite. He had, too, on his throat two small punctures where, so Dr. Ross conjectured, one of these great gnats had bitten him. But the odd thing was that there was no swelling or inflammation round the place where he had been bitten. The heat at this time had begun to abate, but the cooler weather failed to restore him, and the boy, in spite of the quantity of good food which he so ravenously swallowed, wasted away to a skinclad skeleton. I met Dr. Ross in the street one afternoon about this time, and in answer to my inquiries about his patient he said that he was afraid the boy was dying. The case, he confessed, completely puzzled him some obscure form of pernicious anaemia was all he could suggest. But he wondered whether Mr. Urcombe would consent to see the boy, on the chance of his being able to throw some new light on the case, and since Urcombe was dining with me that night, I proposed to Dr. Ross to join us. He could not do this, but said he would look in later. When he came, Urcombe at once consented to put his skill at the others disposal, and together they went off at once. Being thus shorn of my sociable evening, I telephoned to Mrs. Amworth to know if I might inflict myself on her for an hour. Her answer was a welcoming affirmative, and between piquet and music the hour lengthened itself into two. She spoke of the boy who was lying so desperately and mysteriously ill, and told me that she had often been to see him, taking him nourishing and delicate food. But todayand her kind eyes moistened as she spokeshe was afraid she had paid her last visit. Knowing the antipathy between her and Urcombe, I did not tell her that he had been called into consultation; and when I returned home she accompanied me to my door, for the sake of a breath of night air, and in order to borrow a magazine which contained an article on gardening which she wished to read. Ah, this delicious night air, she said, luxuriously sniffing in the coolness. Night air and gardening are the great tonics. There is nothing so stimulating as bare contact with rich mother earth. You are never so fresh as when you have been grubbing in the soilblack hands, black nails, and boots covered with mud. She gave her great jovial laugh. Im a glutton for air and earth, she said. Positively I look forward to death, for then I shall be buried and have the kind earth all round me. No leaden caskets for meI have given explicit directions. But what shall I do about air? Well, I suppose one cant have everything. The magazine? A thousand thanks, I will faithfully return it. Good night garden and keep your windows open, and you wont have anaemia. I always sleep with my windows open, said I. I went straight up to my bedroom, of which one of the windows looks out over the street, and as I undressed I thought I heard voices talking outside not far away. But I paid no particular attention, put out my lights, and falling asleep plunged into the depths of a most horrible dream, distortedly suggested no doubt, by my last words with Mrs. Amworth. I dreamed that I woke, and found that both my bedroom windows were shut. Halfsuffocating I dreamed that I sprang out of bed, and went across to open them. The blind over the first was drawn down, and pulling it up I saw, with the indescribable horror of incipient nightmare, Mrs. Amworths face suspended close to the pane in the darkness outside, nodding and smiling at me. Pulling down the blind again to keep that terror out, I rushed to the second window on the other side of the room, and there again was Mrs. Amworths face. Then the panic came upon me in full blast; here was I suffocating in the airless room, and whichever window I opened Mrs. Amworths face would float in, like those noiseless black gnats that bit before one was aware. The nightmare rose to screaming point, and with strangled yells I awoke to find my room cool and quiet with both windows open and blinds up and a halfmoon high in its course, casting an oblong of tranquil light on the floor. But even when I was awake the horror persisted, and I lay tossing and turning. I must have slept long before the nightmare seized me, for now it was nearly day, and soon in the east the drowsy eyelids of morning began to lift. I was scarcely downstairs next morningfor after the dawn I slept latewhen Urcombe rang up to know if he might see me immediately. He came in, grim and preoccupied, and I noticed that he was pulling on a pipe that was not even filled. I want your help, he said, and so I must tell you first of all what happened last night. I went round with the little doctor to see his patient, and found him just alive, but scarcely more. I instantly diagnosed in my own mind what this anaemia, unaccountable by any other explanation, meant. The boy is the prey of a vampire. He put his empty pipe on the breakfasttable, by which I had just sat down, and folded his arms, looking at me steadily from under his overhanging brows. Now about last night, he said. I insisted that he should be moved from his fathers cottage into my house. As we were carrying him on a stretcher, whom should we meet but Mrs. Amworth? She expressed shocked surprise that we were moving him. Now why do you think she did that? With a start of horror, as I remembered my dream that night before, I felt an idea come into my mind so preposterous and unthinkable that I instantly turned it out again. I havent the smallest idea, I said. Then listen, while I tell you about what happened later. I put out all light in the room where the boy lay, and watched. One window was a little open, for I had forgotten to close it, and about midnight I heard something outside, trying apparently to push it farther open. I guessed who it wasyes, it was full twenty feet from the groundand I peeped round the corner of the blind. Just outside was the face of Mrs. Amworth and her hand was on the frame of the window. Very softly I crept close, and then banged the window down, and I think I just caught the tip of one of her fingers. But its impossible, I cried. How could she be floating in the air like that? And what had she come for? Dont tell me such Once more, with closer grip, the remembrance of my nightmare seized me. I am telling you what I saw, said he. And all night long, until it was nearly day, she was fluttering outside, like some terrible bat, trying to gain admittance.

Now put together various things I have told you. He began checking them off on his fingers. Number one, he said there was an outbreak of disease similar to that which this boy is suffering from at Peshawar, and her husband died of it. Number two Mrs. Amworth protested against my moving the boy to my house. Number three she, or the demon that inhabits her body, a creature powerful and deadly, tries to gain admittance. And add this, too in medieval times there was an epidemic of vampirism here at Maxley. The vampire, so the accounts run, was found to be Elizabeth Chaston I see you remember Mrs. Amworths maiden name. Finally, the boy is stronger this morning. He would certainly not have been alive if he had been visited again. And what do you make of it? There was a long silence, during which I found this incredible horror assuming the hues of reality. I have something to add, I said, which may or may not bear on it. You say that thethe spectre went away shortly before dawn. Yes. I told him of my dream, and he smiled grimly. Yes, you did well to awake, he said. That warning came from your subconscious self, which never wholly slumbers, and cried out to you of deadly danger. For two reasons, then, you must help me one to save others, the second to save yourself. What do you want me to do? I asked. I want you first of all to help me in watching this boy, and ensuring that she does not come near him. Eventually I want you to help me in tracking the thing down, in exposing and destroying it. It is not human it is an incarnate fiend. What steps we shall have to take I dont yet know. It was now eleven of the forenoon, and presently I went across to his house for a twelvehour vigil while he slept, to come on duty again that night, so that for the next twentyfour hours either Urcombe or myself was always in the room where the boy, now getting stronger every hour, was lying. The day following was Saturday and a morning of brilliant, pellucid weather, and already when I went across to his house to resume my duty the stream of motors down to Brighton had begun. Simultaneously I saw Urcombe with a cheerful face, which boded good news of his patient, coming out of his house, and Mrs. Amworth, with a gesture of salutation to me and a basket in her hand, walking up the broad strip of grass which bordered the road. There we all three met. I noticed (and saw that Urcombe noticed it too) that one finger of her left hand was bandaged. Good morning to you both, said she. And I hear your patient is doing well, Mr. Urcombe. I have come to bring him a bowl of jelly, and to sit with him for an hour. He and I are great friends. I am overjoyed at his recovery. Urcombe paused a moment, as if making up his mind, and then shot out a pointing finger at her. I forbid that, he said. You shall not sit with him or see him. And you know the reason as well as I do. I have never seen so horrible a change pass over a human face as that which now blanched hers to the colour of a grey mist. She put up her hand as if to shield herself from that pointing finger, which drew the sign of the cross in the air, and shrank back cowering on to the road. There was a wild hoot from a horn, a grinding of brakes, a shouttoo latefrom a passing car, and one long scream suddenly cut short. Her body rebounded from the roadway after the first wheel had gone over it, and the second followed. It lay there, quivering and twitching, and was still. She was buried three days afterwards in the cemetery outside Maxley, in accordance with the wishes she had told me that she had devised about her interment, and the shock which her sudden and awful death had caused to the little community began by degrees to pass off. To two people only, Urcombe and myself, the horror of it was mitigated from the first by the nature of the relief that her death brought; but, naturally enough, we kept our own counsel, and no hint of what greater horror had been thus averted was ever let slip. But, oddly enough, so it seemed to me, he was still not satisfied about something in connection with her, and would give no answer to my questions on the subject. Then as the days of a tranquil mellow September and the October that followed began to drop away like the leaves of the yellowing trees, his uneasiness relaxed. But before the entry of November the seeming tranquillity broke into hurricane. I had been dining one night at the far end of the village, and about eleven oclock was walking home again. The moon was of an unusual brilliance, rendering all that it shone on as distinct as in some etching. I had just come opposite the house which Mrs. Amworth had occupied, where there was a board up telling that it was to let, when I heard the click of her front gate, and next moment I saw, with a sudden chill and quaking of my very spirit, that she stood there. Her profile, vividly illuminated, was turned to me, and I could not be mistaken in my identification of her. She appeared not to see me (indeed the shadow of the yew hedge in front of her garden enveloped me in its blackness) and she went swiftly across the road, and entered the gate of the house directly opposite. There I lost sight of her completely. My breath was coming in short pants as if I had been runningand now indeed I ran, with fearful backward glances, along the hundred yards that separated me from my house and Urcombes. It was to his that my flying steps took me, and next minute I was within. What have you come to tell me? he asked. Or shall I guess? You cant guess, said I. No; its no guess. She has come back and you have seen her. Tell me about it. I gave him my story. Thats Major Pearsalls house, he said. Come back with me there at once. But what can we do? I asked. Ive no idea. Thats what we have got to find out. A minute later, we were opposite the house. When I had passed it before, it was all dark; now lights gleamed from a couple of windows upstairs. Even as we faced it, the front door opened, and next moment Major Pearsall emerged from the gate. He saw us and stopped. Im on my way to Dr. Ross, he said quickly. My wife has been taken suddenly ill. She had been in bed an hour when I came upstairs, and I found her white as a ghost and utterly exhausted. She had been to sleep, it seemedbut you will excuse me. One moment, Major, said Urcombe. Was there any mark on her throat? How did you guess that? said he. There was one of those beastly gnats must have bitten her twice there. She was streaming with blood. And theres someone with her? asked Urcombe. Yes, I roused her maid. He went off, and Urcombe turned to me. I know now what we have to do, he said. Change your clothes, and Ill join you at your house. What is it? I asked. Ill tell you on our way. Were going to the cemetery. He carried a pick, a shovel, and a screwdriver when he rejoined me, and wore round his shoulders a long coil of rope. As we walked, he gave me the outlines of the ghastly hour that lay before us. What I have to tell you, he said, will seem to you now too fantastic for credence, but before dawn we shall see whether it outstrips reality. By a most fortunate happening, you saw the spectre, the astral body, whatever you choose to call it, of Mrs. Amworth, going on its grisly business, and therefore, beyond doubt, the vampire spirit which abode in her during life animates her again in death. That is not exceptionalindeed, all these weeks since her death I have been expecting it. If I am right, we shall find her body undecayed and untouched by corruption. But she has been dead nearly two months, said I. If she had been dead two years it would still be so, if the vampire has possession of her. So remember whatever you see done, it will be done not to her, who in the natural course would now be feeding the grasses above her grave, but to a spirit of untold evil and malignancy, which gives a phantom life to her body. But what shall I see done? said I. I will tell you. We know that now, at this moment, the vampire clad in her mortal semblance is out; dining out. But it must get back before dawn, and it will pass into the material form that lies in her grave. We must wait for that, and then with your help I shall dig up her body. If I am right, you will look on her as she was in life, with the full vigour of the dreadful nutriment she has received pulsing in her veins. And then, when dawn has come, and the vampire cannot leave the lair of her body, I shall strike her with thisand he pointed to his pickthrough the heart, and she, who comes to life again only with the animation the fiend gives her, she and her hellish partner will be dead indeed. Then we must bury her again, delivered at last. We had come to the cemetery, and in the brightness of the moonshine there was no difficulty in identifying her grave. It lay some twenty yards from the small chapel, in the porch of which, obscured by shadow, we concealed ourselves. From there we had a clear and open sight of the grave, and now we must wait till its infernal visitor returned home. The night was warm and windless, yet even if a freezing wind had been raging I think I should have felt nothing of it, so intense was my preoccupation as to what the night and dawn would bring. There was a bell in the turret of the chapel, that struck the quarters of the hour, and it amazed me to find how swiftly the chimes succeeded one another. The moon had long set, but a twilight of stars shone in a clear sky, when five oclock of the morning sounded from the turret. A few minutes more passed, and then I felt Urcombes hand softly nudging me; and looking out in the direction of his pointing finger, I saw that the form of a woman, tall and large in build, was approaching from the right. Noiselessly, with a motion more of gliding and floating than walking, she moved across the cemetery to the grave which was the centre of our observation. She moved round it as if to be certain of its identity, and for a moment stood directly facing us. In the greyness to which now my eyes had grown accustomed, I could easily see her face, and recognise its features. She drew her hand across her mouth as if wiping it, and broke into a chuckle of such laughter as made my hair stir on my head. Then she leaped on to the grave, holding her hands high above her head, and inch by inch disappeared into the earth. Urcombes hand was laid on my arm, in an injunction to keep still, but now he removed it. Come, he said. With pick and shovel and rope we went to the grave. The earth was light and sandy, and soon after six struck we had delved down to the coffin lid. With his pick he loosened the earth round it, and, adjusting the rope through the handles by which it had been lowered, we tried to raise it. This was a long and laborious business, and the light had begun to herald day in the east before we had it out, and lying by the side of the grave. With his screwdriver he loosed the fastenings of the lid, and slid it aside, and standing there we looked on the face of Mrs. Amworth. The eyes, once closed in death, were open, the cheeks were flushed with colour, the red, fulllipped mouth seemed to smile. One blow and it is all over, he said. You need not look. Even as he spoke he took up the pick again, and, laying the point of it on her left breast, measured his distance. And though I knew what was coming I could not look away. He grasped the pick in both hands, raised it an inch or two for the taking of his aim, and then with full force brought it down on her breast. A fountain of blood, though she had been dead so long, spouted high in the air, falling with the thud of a heavy splash over the shroud, and simultaneously from those red lips came one long, appalling cry, swelling up like some hooting siren, and dying away again. With that, instantaneous as a lightning flash, came the touch of corruption on her face, the colour of it faded to ash, the plump cheeks fell in, the mouth dropped. Thank God, thats over, said he, and without pause slipped the coffin lid back into its place. Day was coming fast now, and, working like men possessed, we lowered the coffin into its place again, and shovelled the earth over it. The birds were busy with their earliest pipings as we went back to Maxley. Negotium Perambulans. The casual tourist in West Cornwall may just possibly have noticed, as he bowled along over the bare high plateau between Penzance and the Lands End, a dilapidated signpost pointing down a steep lane and bearing on its battered finger the faded inscription Polearn 2 miles, but probably very few have had the curiosity to traverse those two miles in order to see a place to which their guidebooks award so cursory a notice. It is described there, in a couple of unattractive lines, as a small fishing village with a church of no particular interest except for certain carved and painted wooden panels (originally belonging to an earlier edifice) which form an altarrail. But the church at St. Creed (the tourist is reminded) has a similar decoration far superior in point of preservation and interest, and thus even the ecclesiastically disposed are not lured to Polearn. So meagre a bait is scarce worth swallowing, and a glance at the very steep lane which in dry weather presents a carpet of sharppointed stones, and after rain a muddy watercourse, will almost certainly decide him not to expose his motor or his bicycle to risks like these in so sparsely populated a district. Hardly a house has met his eye since he left Penzance, and the possible trundling of a punctured bicycle for half a dozen weary miles seems a high price to pay for the sight of a few painted panels. Polearn, therefore, even in the high noon of the tourist season, is little liable to invasion, and for the rest of the year I do not suppose that a couple of folk a day traverse those two miles (long ones at that) of steep and stony gradient. I am not forgetting the postman in this exiguous estimate, for the days are few when, leaving his pony and cart at the top of the hill, he goes as far as the village, since but a few hundred yards down the lane there stands a large white box, like a seatrunk, by the side of the road, with a slit for letters and a locked door. Should he have in his wallet a registered letter or be the bearer of a parcel too large for insertion in the square lips of the seatrunk, he must needs trudge down the hill and deliver the troublesome missive, leaving it in person on the owner, and receiving some small reward of coin or refreshment for his kindness. But such occasions are rare, and his general routine is to take out of the box such letters as may have been deposited there, and insert in their place such letters as he has brought. These will be called for, perhaps that day or perhaps the next, by an emissary from the Polearn postoffice. As for the fishermen of the place, who, in their export trade, constitute the chief link of movement between Polearn and the outside world, they would not dream of taking their catch up the steep lane and so, with six miles farther of travel, to the market at Penzance. The sea route is shorter and easier, and they deliver their wares to the pierhead. Thus, though the sole industry of Polearn is seafishing, you will get no fish there unless you have bespoken your requirements to one of the fishermen. Back come the trawlers as empty as a haunted house, while their spoils are in the fishtrain that is speeding to London. Such isolation of a little community, continued, as it has been, for centuries, produces isolation in the individual as well, and nowhere will you find greater independence of character than among the people of Polearn. But they are linked together, so it has always seemed to me, by some mysterious comprehension it is as if they had all been initiated into some ancient rite, inspired and framed by forces visible and invisible. The winter storms that batter the coast, the vernal spell of the spring, the hot, still summers, the season of rains and autumnal decay, have made a spell which, line by line, has been communicated to them, concerning the powers, evil and good, that rule the world, and manifest themselves in ways benignant or terrible. I came to Polearn first at the age of ten, a small boy, weak and sickly, and threatened with pulmonary trouble. My fathers business kept him in London, while for me abundance of fresh air and a mild climate were considered essential conditions if I was to grow to manhood. His sister had married the vicar of Polearn, Richard Bolitho, himself native to the place, and so it came about that I spent three years, as a paying guest, with my relations. Richard Bolitho owned a fine house in the place, which he inhabited in preference to the vicarage, which he let to a young artist, John Evans, on whom the spell of Polearn had fallen, for from years beginning to years end he never left it. There was a solid roofed shelter, open on one side to the air, built for me in the garden, and here I lived and slept, passing scarcely one hour out of the twentyfour behind walls and windows. I was out on the bay with the fisherfolk, or wandering along the gorseclad cliffs that climbed steeply to right and left of the deep combe where the village lay, or pottering about on the pierhead, or birdsnesting in the bushes with the boys of the village. Except on Sunday and for the few daily hours of my lessons, I might do what I pleased so long as I remained in the open air. About the lessons there was nothing formidable; my uncle conducted me through flowering bypaths among the thickets of arithmetic, and made pleasant excursions into the elements of Latin grammar, and above all, he made me daily give him an account, in clear and grammatical sentences, of what had been occupying my mind or my movements. Should I select to tell him about a walk along the cliffs, my speech must be orderly, not vague, slipshod notes of what I had observed. In this way, too, he trained my observation, for he would bid me tell him what flowers were in bloom, and what birds hovered fishing over the sea or were building in the bushes. For that I owe him a perennial gratitude, for to observe and to express my thoughts in the clear spoken word became my lifes profession. But far more formidable than my weekday tasks was the prescribed routine for Sunday. Some dark embers compounded of Calvinism and mysticism smouldered in my uncles soul, and made it a day of terror. His sermon in the morning scorched us with a foretaste of the eternal fires reserved for unrepentant sinners, and he was hardly less terrifying at the childrens service in the afternoon. Well do I remember his exposition of the doctrine of guardian angels. A child, he said, might think himself secure in such angelic care, but let him beware of committing any of those numerous offences which would cause his guardian to turn his face from him, for as sure as there were angels to protect us, there were also evil and awful presences which were ready to pounce; and on them he dwelt with peculiar gusto. Well, too, do I remember in the morning sermon his commentary on the carved panels of the altarrails to which I have already alluded. There was the angel of the Annunciation there, and the angel of the Resurrection, but not less was there the witch of Endor, and, on the fourth panel, a scene that concerned me most of all. This fourth panel (he came down from his pulpit to trace its timeworn features) represented the lychgate of the churchyard at Polearn itself, and indeed the resemblance when thus pointed out was remarkable. In the entry stood the figure of a robed priest holding up a Cross, with which he faced a terrible creature like a gigantic slug, that reared itself up in front of him. That, so ran my uncles interpretation, was some evil agency, such as he had spoken about to us children, of almost infinite malignity and power, which could alone be combated by firm faith and a pure heart. Below ran the legend Negotium perambulans in tenebris from the ninetyfirst Psalm. We should find it translated there, the pestilence that walketh in darkness, which but feebly rendered the Latin. It was more deadly to the soul than any pestilence that can only kill the body it was the Thing, the Creature, the Business that trafficked in the outer Darkness, a minister of Gods wrath on the unrighteous. I could see, as he spoke, the looks which the congregation exchanged with each other, and knew that his words were evoking a surmise, a remembrance. Nods and whispers passed between them, they understood to what he alluded, and with the inquisitiveness of boyhood I could not rest till I had wormed the story out of my friends among the fisherboys, as, next morning, we sat basking and naked in the sun after our bathe. One knew one bit of it, one another, but it pieced together into a truly alarming legend. In bald outline it was as follows A church far more ancient than that in which my uncle terrified us every Sunday had once stood not three hundred yards away, on the shelf of level ground below the quarry from which its stones were hewn. The owner of the land had pulled this down, and erected for himself a house on the same site out of these materials, keeping, in a very ecstasy of wickedness, the altar, and on this he dined and played dice afterwards. But as he grew old some black melancholy seized him, and he would have lights burning there all night, for he had deadly fear of the darkness. On one winter evening there sprang up such a gale as was never before known, which broke in the windows of the room where he had supped, and extinguished the lamps. Yells of terror brought in his servants, who found him lying on the floor with the blood streaming from his throat. As they entered some huge black shadow seemed to move away from him, crawled across the floor and up the wall and out of the broken window. There he lay adying, said the last of my informants, and him that had been a great burly man was withered to a bag o skin, for the critter had drained all the blood from him. His last breath was a scream, and he hollered out the same words as parson read off the screen. Negotium perambulans in tenebris, I suggested eagerly. Thereabouts. Latin anyhow. And after that? I asked. Nobody would go near the place, and the old house rotted and fell in ruins till three years ago, when along comes Mr. Dooliss from Penzance, and built the half of it up again. But he dont care much about such critters, nor about Latin neither. He takes his bottle of whisky a day and gets drunks a lord in the evening. Eh, Im gwine home to my dinner. Whatever the authenticity of the legend, I had certainly heard the truth about Mr. Dooliss from Penzance, who from that day became an object of keen curiosity on my part, the more so because the quarryhouse adjoined my uncles garden. The Thing that walked in the dark failed to stir my imagination, and already I was so used to sleeping alone in my shelter that the night had no terrors for me. But it would be intensely exciting to wake at some timeless hour and hear Mr. Dooliss yelling, and conjecture that the Thing had got him. But by degrees the whole story faded from my mind, overscored by the more vivid interests of the day, and, for the last two years of my outdoor life in the vicarage garden, I seldom thought about Mr. Dooliss and the possible fate that might await him for his temerity in living in the place where that Thing of darkness had done business. Occasionally I saw him over the garden fence, a great yellow lump of a man, with slow and staggering gait, but never did I set eyes on him outside his gate, either in the village street or down on the beach. He interfered with none, and no one interfered with him. If he wanted to run the risk of being the prey of the legendary nocturnal monster, or quietly drink himself to death, it was his affair. My uncle, so I gathered, had made several attempts to see him when first he came to live at Polearn, but Mr. Dooliss appeared to have no use for parsons, but said he was not at home and never returned the call. After three years of sun, wind, and rain, I had completely outgrown my early symptoms and had become a tough, strapping youngster of thirteen. I was sent to Eton and Cambridge, and in due course ate my dinners and became a barrister. In twenty years from that time I was earning a yearly income of five figures, and had already laid by in sound securities a sum that brought me dividends which would, for one of my simple tastes and frugal habits, supply me with all the material comforts I needed on this side of the grave. The great prizes of my profession were already within my reach, but I had no ambition beckoning me on, nor did I want a wife and children, being, I must suppose, a natural celibate. In fact there was only one ambition which through these busy years had held the lure of blue and faroff hills to me, and that was to get back to Polearn, and live once more isolated from the world with the sea and the gorseclad hills for playfellows, and the secrets that lurked there for exploration. The spell of it had been woven about my heart, and I can truly say that there had hardly passed a day in all those years in which the thought of it and the desire for it had been wholly absent from my mind. Though I had been in frequent communication with my uncle there during his lifetime, and, after his death, with his widow who still lived there, I had never been back to it since I embarked on my profession, for I knew that if I went there, it would be a wrench beyond my power to tear myself away again. But I had made up my mind that when once I had provided for my own independence, I would go back there not to leave it again. And yet I did leave it again, and now nothing in the world would induce me to turn down the lane from the road that leads from Penzance to the Lands End, and see the sides of the combe rise steep above the roofs of the village and hear the gulls chiding as they fish in the bay. One of the things invisible, of the dark powers, leaped into light, and I saw it with my eyes. The house where I had spent those three years of boyhood had been left for life to my aunt, and when I made known to her my intention of coming back to Polearn, she suggested that, till I found a suitable house or found her proposal unsuitable, I should come to live with her. The house is too big for a lone old woman, she wrote, and I have often thought of quitting and taking a little cottage sufficient for me and my requirements. But come and share it, my dear, and if you find me troublesome, you or I can go. You may want solitudemost people in Polearn doand will leave me. Or else I will leave you one of the main reasons of my stopping here all these years was a feeling that I must not let the old house starve. Houses starve, you know, if they are not lived in. They die a lingering death; the spirit in them grows weaker and weaker, and at last fades out of them. Isnt this nonsense to your London notions? Naturally I accepted with warmth this tentative arrangement, and on an evening in June found myself at the head of the lane leading down to Polearn, and once more I descended into the steep valley between the hills. Time had stood still apparently for the combe, the dilapidated signpost (or its successor) pointed a rickety finger down the lane, and a few hundred yards farther on was the white box for the exchange of letters. Point after remembered point met my eye, and what I saw was not shrunk, as is often the case with the revisited scenes of childhood, into a smaller scale. There stood the postoffice, and there the church and close beside it the vicarage, and beyond, the tall shrubberies which separated the house for which I was bound from the road, and beyond that again the grey roofs of the quarryhouse damp and shining with the moist evening wind from the sea. All was exactly as I remembered it, and, above all, that sense of seclusion and isolation. Somewhere above the treetops climbed the lane which joined the main road to Penzance, but all that had become immeasurably distant. The years that had passed since last I turned in at the wellknown gate faded like a frosty breath, and vanished in this warm, soft air. There were lawcourts somewhere in memorys dull book which, if I cared to turn the pages, would tell me that I had made a name and a great income there. But the dull book was closed now, for I was back in Polearn, and the spell was woven around me again. And if Polearn was unchanged, so too was Aunt Hester, who met me at the door. Dainty and chinawhite she had always been, and the years had not aged but only refined her. As we sat and talked after dinner she spoke of all that had happened in Polearn in that score of years, and yet somehow the changes of which she spoke seemed but to confirm the immutability of it all. As the recollection of names came back to me, I asked her about the quarryhouse and Mr. Dooliss, and her face gloomed a little as with the shadow of a cloud on a spring day. Yes, Mr. Dooliss, she said, poor Mr. Dooliss, how well I remember him, though it must be ten years and more since he died. I never wrote to you about it, for it was all very dreadful, my dear, and I did not want to darken your memories of Polearn. Your uncle always thought that something of the sort might happen if he went on in his wicked, drunken ways, and worse than that, and though nobody knew exactly what took place, it was the sort of thing that might have been anticipated. But what more or less happened, Aunt Hester? I asked. Well, of course I cant tell you everything, for no one knew it. But he was a very sinful man, and the scandal about him at Newlyn was shocking. And then he lived, too, in the quarryhouse. I wonder if by any chance you remember a sermon of your uncles when he got out of the pulpit and explained that panel in the altarrails, the one, I mean, with the horrible creature rearing itself up outside the lychgate? Yes, I remember perfectly, said I. Ah. It made an impression on you, I suppose, and so it did on all who heard him, and that impression got stamped and branded on us all when the catastrophe occurred. Somehow Mr. Dooliss got to hear about your uncles sermon, and in some drunken fit he broke into the church and smashed the panel to atoms. He seems to have thought that there was some magic in it, and that if he destroyed that he would get rid of the terrible fate that was threatening him. For I must tell you that before he committed that dreadful sacrilege he had been a haunted man he hated and feared darkness, for he thought that the creature on the panel was on his track, but that as long as he kept lights burning it could not touch him. But the panel, to his disordered mind, was the root of his terror, and so, as I said, he broke into the church and attemptedyou will see why I said attemptedto destroy it. It certainly was found in splinters next morning, when your uncle went into church for matins, and knowing Mr. Doolisss fear of the panel, he went across to the quarryhouse afterwards and taxed him with its destruction. The man never denied it; he boasted of what he had done. There he sat, though it was early morning, drinking his whisky. Ive settled your Thing for you, he said, and your sermon too. A fig for such superstitions. Your uncle left him without answering his blasphemy, meaning to go straight into Penzance and give information to the police about this outrage to the church, but on his way back from the quarryhouse he went into the church again, in order to be able to give details about the damage, and there in the screen was the panel, untouched and uninjured. And yet he had himself seen it smashed, and Mr. Dooliss had confessed that the destruction of it was his work.

But there it was, and whether the power of God had mended it or some other power, who knows? This was Polearn indeed, and it was the spirit of Polearn that made me accept all Aunt Hester was telling me as attested fact. It had happened like that. She went on in her quiet voice. Your uncle recognised that some power beyond police was at work, and he did not go to Penzance or give information about the outrage, for the evidence of it had vanished. A sudden spate of scepticism swept over me. There must have been some mistake, I said. It hadnt been broken. She smiled. Yes, my dear, but you have been in London so long, she said. Let me, anyhow, tell you the rest of my story. That night, for some reason, I could not sleep. It was very hot and airless; I dare say you will think that the sultry conditions accounted for my wakefulness. Once and again, as I went to the window to see if I could not admit more air, I could see from it the quarryhouse, and I noticed the first time that I left my bed that it was blazing with lights. But the second time I saw that it was all in darkness, and as I wondered at that, I heard a terrible scream, and the moment afterwards the steps of someone coming at full speed down the road outside the gate. He yelled as he ran; Light, light! he called out. Give me light, or it will catch me! It was very terrible to hear that, and I went to rouse my husband, who was sleeping in the dressingroom across the passage. He wasted no time, but by now the whole village was aroused by the screams, and when he got down to the pier he found that all was over. The tide was low, and on the rocks at its foot was lying the body of Mr. Dooliss. He must have cut some artery when he fell on those sharp edges of stone, for he had bled to death, they thought, and though he was a big burly man, his corpse was but skin and bones. Yet there was no pool of blood round him, such as you would have expected. Just skin and bones as if every drop of blood in his body had been sucked out of him! She leaned forward. You and I, my dear, know what happened, she said, or at least can guess. God has His instruments of vengeance on those who bring wickedness into places that have been holy. Dark and mysterious are His ways. Now what I should have thought of such a story if it had been told me in London I can easily imagine. There was such an obvious explanation the man in question had been a drunkard, what wonder if the demons of delirium pursued him? But here in Polearn it was different. And who is in the quarryhouse now? I asked. Years ago the fisherboys told me the story of the man who first built it and of his horrible end. And now again it has happened. Surely no one has ventured to inhabit it once more? I saw in her face, even before I asked that question, that somebody had done so. Yes, it is lived in again, said she, for there is no end to the blindness. I dont know if you remember him. He was tenant of the vicarage many years ago. John Evans, said I. Yes. Such a nice fellow he was too. Your uncle was pleased to get so good a tenant. And now She rose. Aunt Hester, you shouldnt leave your sentences unfinished, I said. She shook her head. My dear, that sentence will finish itself, she said. But what a time of night! I must go to bed, and you too, or they will think we have to keep lights burning here through the dark hours. Before getting into bed I drew my curtains wide and opened all the windows to the warm tide of the sea air that flowed softly in. Looking out into the garden I could see in the moonlight the roof of the shelter, in which for three years I had lived, gleaming with dew. That, as much as anything, brought back the old days to which I had now returned, and they seemed of one piece with the present, as if no gap of more than twenty years sundered them. The two flowed into one like globules of mercury uniting into a softly shining globe, of mysterious lights and reflections. Then, raising my eyes a little, I saw against the black hillside the windows of the quarryhouse still alight. Morning, as is so often the case, brought no shattering of my illusion. As I began to regain consciousness, I fancied that I was a boy again waking up in the shelter in the garden, and though, as I grew more widely awake, I smiled at the impression, that on which it was based I found to be indeed true. It was sufficient now as then to be here, to wander again on the cliffs, and hear the popping of the ripened seedpods on the gorsebushes; to stray along the shore to the bathingcove, to float and drift and swim in the warm tide, and bask on the sand, and watch the gulls fishing, to lounge on the pierhead with the fisherfolk, to see in their eyes and hear in their quiet speech the evidence of secret things not so much known to them as part of their instincts and their very being. There were powers and presences about me; the white poplars that stood by the stream that babbled down the valley knew of them, and showed a glimpse of their knowledge sometimes, like the gleam of their white underleaves; the very cobbles that paved the street were soaked in it. All that I wanted was to lie there and grow soaked in it too; unconsciously, as a boy, I had done that, but now the process must be conscious. I must know what stir of forces, fruitful and mysterious, seethed along the hillside at noon, and sparkled at night on the sea. They could be known, they could even be controlled by those who were masters of the spell, but never could they be spoken of, for they were dwellers in the innermost, grafted into the eternal life of the world. There were dark secrets as well as these clear, kindly powers, and to these no doubt belonged the negotium perambulans in tenebris which, though of deadly malignity, might be regarded not only as evil, but as the avenger of sacrilegious and impious deeds. All this was part of the spell of Polearn, of which the seeds had long lain dormant in me. But now they were sprouting, and who knew what strange flower would unfold on their stems? It was not long before I came across John Evans. One morning, as I lay on the beach, there came shambling across the sand a man stout and middleaged with the face of Silenus. He paused as he drew near and regarded me from narrow eyes. Why, youre the little chap that used to live in the parsons garden, he said. Dont you recognise me? I saw who it was when he spoke his voice, I think, instructed me, and recognising it, I could see the features of the strong, alert young man in this gross caricature. Yes, youre John Evans, I said. You used to be very kind to me you used to draw pictures for me. So I did, and Ill draw you some more. Been bathing? Thats a risky performance. You never know what lives in the sea, nor what lives on the land for that matter. Not that I heed them. I stick to work and whisky. God! Ive learned to paint since I saw you, and drink too for that matter. I live in the quarryhouse, you know, and its a powerful thirsty place. Come and have a look at my things if youre passing. Staying with your aunt, are you? I could do a wonderful portrait of her. Interesting face; she knows a lot. People who live at Polearn get to know a lot, though I dont take much stock in that sort of knowledge myself. I do not know when I have been at once so repelled and interested. Behind the mere grossness of his face there lurked something which, while it appalled, yet fascinated me. His thick lisping speech had the same quality. And his paintings, what would they be like? I was just going home, I said. Ill gladly come in, if youll allow me. He took me through the untended and overgrown garden into the house which I had never yet entered. A great grey cat was sunning itself in the window, and an old woman was laying lunch in a corner of the cool hall into which the door opened. It was built of stone, and the carved mouldings let into the walls, the fragments of gargoyles and sculptured images, bore testimony to the truth of its having been built out of the demolished church. In one corner was an oblong and carved wooden table littered with a painters apparatus and stacks of canvases leaned against the walls. He jerked his thumb towards a head of an angel that was built into the mantelpiece and giggled. Quite a sanctified air, he said, so we tone it down for the purposes of ordinary life by a different sort of art. Have a drink? No? Well, turn over some of my pictures while I put myself to rights. He was justified in his own estimate of his skill he could paint (and apparently he could paint anything), but never have I seen pictures so inexplicably hellish. There were exquisite studies of trees, and you knew that something lurked in the flickering shadows. There was a drawing of his cat sunning itself in the window, even as I had just now seen it, and yet it was no cat but some beast of awful malignity. There was a boy stretched naked on the sands, not human, but some evil thing which had come out of the sea. Above all there were pictures of his garden overgrown and junglelike, and you knew that in the bushes were presences ready to spring out on you. Well, do you like my style? he said as he came up, glass in hand. (The tumbler of spirits that he held had not been diluted.) I try to paint the essence of what I see, not the mere husk and skin of it, but its nature, where it comes from and what gave it birth. Theres much in common between a cat and a fuchsiabush if you look at them closely enough. Everything came out of the slime of the pit, and its all going back there. I should like to do a picture of you some day. Id hold the mirror up to Nature, as that old lunatic said. After this first meeting I saw him occasionally throughout the months of that wonderful summer. Often he kept to his house and to his painting for days together, and then perhaps some evening I would find him lounging on the pier, always alone, and every time we met thus the repulsion and interest grew, for every time he seemed to have gone farther along a path of secret knowledge towards some evil shrine where complete initiation awaited him. And then suddenly the end came. I had met him thus one evening on the cliffs while the October sunset still burned in the sky, but over it with amazing rapidity there spread from the west a great blackness of cloud such as I have never seen for denseness. The light was sucked from the sky, the dusk fell in ever thicker layers. He suddenly became conscious of this. I must get back as quick as I can, he said. It will be dark in a few minutes, and my servant is out. The lamps will not be lit. He stepped out with extraordinary briskness for one who shambled and could scarcely lift his feet, and soon broke out into a stumbling run. In the gathering darkness I could see that his face was moist with the dew of some unspoken terror. You must come with me, he panted, for so we shall get the lights burning the sooner. I cannot do without light. I had to exert myself to the full to keep up with him, for terror winged him, and even so I fell behind, so that when I came to the garden gate, he was already halfway up the path to the house. I saw him enter, leaving the door wide, and found him fumbling with matches. But his hand so trembled that he could not transfer the light to the wick of the lamp. But whats the hurry about? I asked. Suddenly his eyes focused themselves on the open door behind me, and he jumped from his seat beside the table which had once been the altar of God, with a gasp and a scream. No, no! he cried. Keep it off! I turned and saw what he had seen. The Thing had entered and now was swiftly sliding across the floor towards him, like some gigantic caterpillar. A stale phosphorescent light came from it, for though the dusk had grown to blackness outside, I could see it quite distinctly in the awful light of its own presence. From it too there came an odour of corruption and decay, as from slime that has long lain below water. It seemed to have no head, but on the front of it was an orifice of puckered skin which opened and shut and slavered at the edges. It was hairless, and sluglike in shape and in texture. As it advanced its forepart reared itself from the ground, like a snake about to strike, and it fastened on him. At that sight, and with the yells of his agony in my ears, the panic which had struck me relaxed into a hopeless courage, and with palsied, impotent hands I tried to lay hold of the Thing. But I could not though something material was there, it was impossible to grasp it; my hands sunk in it as in thick mud. It was like wrestling with a nightmare. I think that but a few seconds elapsed before all was over. The screams of the wretched man sank to moans and mutterings as the Thing fell on him he panted once or twice and was still. For a moment longer there came gurglings and sucking noises, and then it slid out even as it had entered. I lit the lamp which he had fumbled with, and there on the floor he lay, no more than a rind of skin in loose folds over projecting bones. Outside the Door The rest of the small party staying with my friend Geoffrey Aldwych in the charming old house which he had lately bought at a little village north of Sheringham on the Norfolk coast had drifted away soon after dinner to bridge and billiards, and Mrs. Aldwych and myself had for the time been left alone in the drawingroom, seated one on each side of a small round table which we had very patiently and unsuccessfully been trying to turn. But such pressure, psychical or physical, as we had put upon it, though of the friendliest and most encouraging nature had not overcome in the smallest degree the very slight inertia which so small an object might have been supposed to possess, and it had remained as fixed as the most constant of the stars. No tremor even had passed through its slight and spindlelike legs. In consequence we had, after a really considerable period of patient endeavour, left it to its wooden repose, and proceeded to theorise about psychical matters instead, with no stupid table to contradict in practice all our ideas on the subject. This I had added with a certain bitterness born of failure, for if we could not move so insignificant an object, we might as well give up all idea of moving anything. But hardly were the words out of my mouth when there came from the abandoned table, a single peremptory rap, loud and rather startling. Whats that? I asked. Only a rap, said she. I thought something would happen before long. And do you really think that is a spirit rapping? I asked. Oh dear no. I dont think it has anything whatever to do with spirits. More perhaps with the very dry weather we have been having. Furniture often cracks like that in the summer. Now this, in point of fact, was not quite the case. Neither in summer nor in winter have I heard ever furniture crack as the table had cracked, for the sound, whatever it was, did not at all resemble the husky creak of contracting wood. It was a loud sharp crack like the smart concussion of one hard object with another. No, I dont think it had much to do with dry weather either, said she smiling. I think, if you wish to know, that it was the direct result of our attempt to turn the table. Does that sound nonsense? At present, yes, said I, though I have no doubt that if you tried you could make it sound sense. There is, I notice, a certain plausibility about you and your theories Now you are being merely personal, she observed. For the good motive, to goad you into explanations and enlargements. Please go on. Let us stroll outside, then, said she, and sit in the garden, if you are sure you prefer my plausibilities to bridge. It is deliciously warm, and And the darkness will be more suitable for the propagation of psychical phenomena. As at sances, said I. Oh, there is nothing psychical about my plausibilities, said she. The phenomena I mean are purely physical, according to my theory. So we wandered out into the transparent half light of multitudinous stars. The last crimson feather of sunset, which had hovered long in the west, had been blown away with the breath of the night wind, and the moon, which would presently rise, had not yet cut the dim horizon of the sea, which lay very quiet, breathing gently in its sleep with stir of whispering ripples. Across the dark velvet of the closecropped lawn, which stretched seawards from the house, blew a little breeze full of the savour of salt and the freshness of night, with, every now and then, a hint so subtly conveyed as to be scarcely perceptible of its travel across the sleeping fragrance of drowsy gardenbeds, over which the white moths hovered seeking their nighthoney. The house itself, with its two battlemented towers of Elizabethan times, gleamed with many windows, and we passed out of sight of it, and into the shadow of a boxhedge, clipped into shapes and monstrous fantasies, and found chairs by the striped tent at the top of the sheltered bowlingalley. And this is all very plausible, said I. Theories, if you please, at length, and, if possible, a full length illustration also. By which you mean a ghoststory, or something to that effect? Precisely and, without presuming to dictate, if possible, firsthand. Oddly enough, I can supply that also, said she. So first I will tell you my general theory, and follow it by a story that seems to bear it out. It happened to me, and it happened here. I am sure it will fill the bill, said I. She paused a moment while I lit a cigarette, and then began in her very clear, pleasant voice. She has the most lucid voice I know, and to me sitting there in the deepdyed dusk, the words seemed the very incarnation of clarity, for they dropped into the still quiet of the darkness, undisturbed by impressions conveyed to other senses. We are only just beginning to conjecture, she said, how inextricable is the interweaving between mind, soul, life, call it what you willand the purely material part of the created world. That such interweaving existed has, of course, been known for centuries; doctors, for instance, knew that a cheerful optimistic spirit on the part of their patients conduced towards recovery; that fear, the mere emotion, had a definite effect on the beat of the heart, that anger produced chemical changes in the blood, that anxiety led to indigestion, that under the influence of strong passion a man can do things which in his normal state he is physically incapable of performing. Here we have mind, in a simple and familiar manner, producing changes and effects in tissue, in that which is purely material. By an extension of thisthough, indeed, it is scarcely an extensionwe may expect to find that mind can have an effect, not only on what we call living tissue, but on dead things, on pieces of wood or stone. At least it is hard to see why that should not be so. Tableturning, for instance? I asked. That is one instance of how some force, out of that innumerable cohort of obscure mysterious forces with which we human beings are garrisoned, can pass, as it is constantly doing, into material things. The laws of its passing we do not know; sometimes we wish it to pass and it does not. Just now, for instance, when you and I tried to turn the table, there was some impediment in the path, though I put down that rap which followed as an effect of our efforts. But nothing seems more natural to my mind than that these forces should be transmissible to inanimate things. Of the manner of its passing we know next to nothing, any more than we know the manner of the actual process by which fear accelerates the beating of the heart, but as surely as a Marconi message leaps along the air by no visible or tangible bridge, so through some subtle gateway of the body these forces can march from the citadel of the spirit into material forms, whether that material is a living part of ourselves or that which we choose to call inanimate nature. She paused a moment. Under certain circumstances, she went on, it seems that the force which has passed from us into inanimate things can manifest its presence there. The force that passes into a table can show itself in movements or in noises coming from the table. The table has been charged with physical energy. Often and often I have seen a table or a chair move apparently of its own accord, but only when some outpouring of force, animal magnetismcall it what you willhas been received by it. A parallel phenomenon to my mind is exhibited in what we know as haunted houses, houses in which, as a rule, some crime or act of extreme emotion or passion has been committed, and in which some echo or reenactment of the deed is periodically made visible or audible. A murder has been committed, let us say, and the room where it took place is haunted. The figure of the murdered, or less commonly of the murderer, is seen there by sensitives, and cries are heard, or steps run to and fro. The atmosphere has somehow been charged with the scene, and the scene in whole or part repeats itself, though under what laws we do not know, just as a phonograph will repeat, when properly handled, what has been said into it. This is all theory, I remarked. But it appears to me to cover a curious set of facts, which is all we ask of a theory. Otherwise, we must frankly state our disbelief in haunted houses altogether, or suppose that the spirit of the murdered, poor wretch, is bound under certain circumstances to reenact the horror of its bodys tragedy. It was not enough that its body was killed there, its soul has to be dragged back and live through it all again with such vividness that its anguish becomes visible or audible to the eyes or ears of the sensitive. That to me is unthinkable, whereas my theory is not. Do I make it at all clear? It is clear enough, said I, but I want support for it, the fullsized illustration. I promised you that, a ghoststory of my own experience. Mrs. Aldwych paused again, and then began the story which was to illustrate her theory. It is just a year, she said, since Jack bought this house from old Mrs. Denison. We had both heard, both he and I, that it was supposed to be haunted, but neither of us knew any particulars of the haunt whatever. A month ago I heard what I believe to have been the ghost, and, when Mrs. Denison was staying with us last week, I asked her exactly what it was, and found it tallied completely with my experience. I will tell you my experience first, and give her account of the haunt afterwards. A month ago Jack was away for a few days and I remained here alone. One Sunday evening, I, in my usual health and spirits, as far as I am aware, both of which are serenely excellent, went up to bed about eleven. My room is on the first floor, just at the foot of the staircase that leads to the floor above. There are four more rooms on my passage, all of which that night were empty, and at the far end of it a door leads into the landing at the top of the front staircase. On the other side of that, as you know, are more bedrooms, all of which that night were also unoccupied; I, in fact, was the only sleeper on the first floor. The head of my bed is close behind my door, and there is an electric light over it. This is controlled by a switch at the bedhead, and another switch there turns on a light in the passage just outside my room. That was Jacks plan if by chance you want to leave your room when the house is dark, you can light up the passage before you go out, and not grope blindly for a switch outside. Usually I sleep solidly it is very rarely indeed that I wake, when once I have gone to sleep, before I am called. But that night I woke, which was rare; what was rarer was that I woke in a state of shuddering and unaccountable terror; I tried to localise my panic, to run it to earth and reason it away, but without any success. Terror of something I could not guess at stared me in the face, white, shaking terror. So, as there was no use in lying quaking in the dark, I lit my lamp, and, with the view of composing this strange disorder of my fear, began to read again in the book I had brought up with me. The volume happened to be The Green Carnation, a work one would have thought to be full of tonic to twittering nerves. But it failed of success, even as my reasoning had done, and after reading a few pages, and finding that the hearthammer in my throat grew no quieter, and that the grip of terror was in no way relaxed, I put out my light and lay down again. I looked at my watch, however, before doing this, and remember that the time was ten minutes to two. Still matters did not mend terror, that was slowly becoming a little more definite, terror of some dark and violent deed that was momently drawing nearer to me held me in its vice. Something was coming, the advent of which was perceived by the subconscious sense, and was already conveyed to my conscious mind. And then the clock struck two jingling chimes, and the stableclock outside clanged the hour more sonorously. I still lay there, abject and palpitating. Then I heard a sound just outside my room on the stairs that lead, as I have said, to the second story, a sound which was perfectly commonplace and unmistakable. Feet feeling their way in the dark were coming downstairs to my passage I could hear also the groping hand slip and slide along the bannisters. The footfalls came along the few yards of passage between the bottom of the stairs and my door, and then against my door itself came the brush of drapery, and on the panels the blind groping of fingers. The handle rattled as they passed over it, and my terror nearly rose to screaming point. Then a sensible hope struck me. The midnight wanderer might be one of the servants, ill or in want of something, and yetwhy the shuffling feet and the groping hand? But on the instant of the dawning of that hope (for I knew that it was of the step and that which was moving in the dark passage of which I was afraid) I turned on both the light at my bedhead, and the light of the passage outside, and, opening the door, looked out. The passage was quite bright from end to end, but it was perfectly empty. Yet as I looked, seeing nothing of the walker, I still heard. Down the bright boards I heard the shuffle growing fainter as it receded, until, judging by the ear, it turned into the gallery at the end and died away. And with it there died also all my sense of terror. It was It of which I had been afraid now It and my terror had passed. And I went back to bed and slept till morning. Again Mrs. Aldwych paused, and I was silent. Somehow it was in the extreme simplicity of her experience that the horror lay. She went on almost immediately. Now for the sequel, she said, or what I choose to call the explanation. Mrs. Denison, as I told you, came down to stay with us not long ago, and I mentioned that we had heard, though only vaguely, that the house was supposed to be haunted, and asked for an account of it. This is what she told me In the year 1610 the heiress to the property was a girl Helen Denison, who was engaged to be married to young Lord Southern. In case therefore of her having children, the property would pass away from Denisons. In case of her death, childless, it would pass to her first cousin. A week before the marriage took place, he and a brother of his entered the house, riding here from thirty miles away, after dark, and made their way to her room on the second storey. There they gagged her and attempted to kill her, but she escaped from them, groped her way along this passage, and into the room at the end of the gallery. They followed her there, and killed her. The facts were known by the younger brother turning kings evidence. Now Mrs. Denison told me that the ghost had never been seen, but that it was occasionally heard coming downstairs or going along the passage. She told me that it was never heard except between the hours of two and three in the morning, the hour during which the murder took place. And since then have you heard it again? I asked. Yes, more than once. But it has never frightened me again. I feared, as we all do, what was unknown. I feel that I should fear the known, if I knew it was that, said I. I dont think you would for long. Whatever theory you adopt about it, the sounds of the steps and the groping hand, I cannot see that there is anything to shock or frighten one. My own theory you know Please apply it to what you heard, I asked. Simply enough. The poor girl felt her way along this passage in the despair of her agonised terror, hearing no doubt the soft footsteps of her murderers gaining on her, as she groped along her lost way. The waves of that terrible brainstorm raging within her, impressed themselves in some subtle yet physical manner on the place. It would only be by those people whom we call sensitives that the wrinkles, so to speak, made by those breaking waves on the sands would be perceived, and by them not always. But they are there, even as when a Marconi apparatus is working the waves are there, though they can only be perceived by a receiver that is in tune. If you believe in brainwaves at all, the explanation is not so difficult. Then the brainwave is permanent? Every wave of whatever kind leaves its mark, does it not? If you disbelieve the whole thing, shall I give you a room on the route of that poor murdered harmless walker? I got up. I am very comfortable, thanks, where I am, I said. Rodericks Story My powers of persuasion at first seemed quite ineffectual; I could not induce my friend Roderick Cardew to strike his melancholy tent in Chelsea, and (leaving it struck) steal away like the Arabs and spend this month of spring with me at my newly acquired house at Tilling to observe the spell of Aprils wand making magic in the country. I seemed to have brought out all the arguments of which I was master; he had been very ill, and his doctor recommended a clearer air with as mild a climate as he could conveniently attain; he loved the great stretches of drained marshland which lay spread like a pool of verdure round the little town; he had not seen my new home which made a breach in the functions of hospitality, and he really could not be expected to object to his host, who, after all, was one of his oldest friends. Besides (to leave no stone unturned) as he regained his strength he could begin to play golf again, and it entailed, as he well remembered, a very mild exertion for him to keep me in my proper position in such a pursuit. At last there was some sign of yielding. Yes. I should like to see the marsh and the big sky once more, he said. A rather sinister interpretation of his words once more, made a sudden flashed signal of alarm in my mind. It was utterly fanciful, no doubt, but that had better be extinguished first. Once more? I asked. What does that mean? I always say once more, he said. Its greedy to ask for too much. The very fact that he fenced so ingeniously deepened my suspicion. That wont do, I said. Tell me, Roddie. He was silent a moment. I didnt intend to, he said, for there can be no use in it. But if you insist, as apparently you mean to do, I may as well give in. Its what you think; once more will very likely be the most. But you mustnt fuss about it; Im not going to. No proper person fusses about death; thats a train which we are all sure to catch. It always waits for you. I have noticed that when one learns tidings of that sort, one feels, almost immediately, that one has known them a long time. I felt so now. Go on, I said. Well, thats about all there is. Ive had sentence of death passed upon me, and it will probably be carried out, Im delighted to say, in the French fashion. In France, you know, they dont tell you when you are to be executed till a few minutes before. It is likely that I shall have even less than that, so my doctor informs me. A second or two will be all I shall get.

Congratulate me, please. I thought it over for a moment. Yes, heartily, I said. I want to know a little more though. Well, my hearts all wrong, quite unmendably so. Heart disease! Doesnt it sound romantic? In midVictorian romance, heroes and heroines alone die of heart disease. But thats by the way. The fact is that I may die at any time without a moments warning. I shall give a couple of gasps, so he told me when I insisted on knowing details, and thatll be all. Now, perhaps, you understand why I was unwilling to come and stay with you. I dont want to die in your house; I think its dreadfully bad manners to die in other peoples houses. I long to see Tilling again, but I think I shall go to an hotel. Hotels are fair game, for the management overcharges those who live there to compensate themselves for those who die there. But it would be rude of me to die in your house; it might entail a lot of bother for you, and I couldnt apologize But I dont mind your dying in my house, I said. At least you see what I mean He laughed. I do, indeed, he said. And you couldnt give a warmer assurance of friendship. But I couldnt come and stay with you in my present plight without telling you what it was, and yet I didnt mean to tell you. But there we are now. Think again; reconsider your decision. I dont, I said. Come and die in my house by all means, if youve got to. I would much sooner you lived there your dying will, in any case, annoy me immensely. But it would annoy me even more to know that you had done it in some beastly hotel among plush and lookingglasses. You shall have any bedroom you like. And I want you dreadfully to see my house, which is adorable. O Roddie, what a bore it all is! It was impossible to speak or to think differently. I knew well how trivial a matter death was to my friend, and I was not sure that at heart I did not agree with him. We were quite at one, too, in that we had so often gossiped about death with cheerful conjecture and interested surmise based on the steady assurance that something of new and delightful import was to follow, since neither of us happened to be of that melancholy cast of mind that can envisage annihilation. I had promised, in case I was the first to embark on the great adventure, to do my best to get through, and give him some irrefutable proof of the continuance of my existence, just by way of endorsement of our belief, and he had given a similar pledge, for it appeared to us both, that, whatever the conditions of the future might turn out to be, it would be impossible when lately translated there, not to be still greatly concerned with what the present world still held for us in ties of love and affection. I laughed now to remember how he had once imagined himself begging to be excused for a few minutes, directly after death, and saying to St. Peter May I keep your Holiness waiting for a minute before you finally lock me into Heaven or Hell with those beautiful keys? I wont be a minute, but I do want so much to be a ghost, and appear to a friend of mine who is on the lookout for such a visit. If I find I cant make myself visible I will come back at once. Oh, thank you, your Holiness. So we agreed that I should run the risk of his dying in my house, and promised not to make any reproaches posthumously (as far as he was concerned) in case he did so. He on his side promised not to die if he could possibly help it, and next week or so he would come down to me in the heart of the country that he loved, and see April at work. And I havent told you anything about my house yet, I said. Its right at the top of the hill, square and Georgian and redbricked. A panelled hall, diningroom and panelled sittingroom downstairs, and more panelled rooms upstairs. And theres a garden with a lawn, and a high brick wall round it, and there is a big garden room, full of books, with a bowwindow looking down the cobbled street. Which bedroom will you have? Do you like looking on to the garden or on to the street? You may even have my room if you like. He looked at me a moment with eager attention. Ill have the square panelled bedroom that looks out on to the garden, please, he said. Its the second door on the right when you stand at the top of the stairs. But how do you know? I asked. Because Ive been in the house before, once only, three years ago, he said. Margaret Alton took it furnished and lived there for a year or so. She died there, and I was with her. And if I had known that this was your house, I should never have dreamed of hesitating whether I should accept your invitation. I should have thrown my good manners about not dying in other peoples houses to the winds. But the moment you began to describe the garden and gardenroom I knew what house it was. I have always longed to go there again. When may I come, please? Next week is too far ahead. Youre off there this afternoon, arent you? I rose the clock warned me that it was time for me to go to the station. Yes. Come this afternoon, I suggested. Come with me. I wish I could, but I take that to mean that it will suit you if I come tomorrow. For I certainly will. Good Lord! To think of your having got just that house! It ought to be a wonderfully happy one, for I sawBut Ill tell you about that perhaps when Im there. But dont ask me to Ill tell you if and when I can, as the lawyers say. Are you really off? I was really off, for I had no time to spare, but before I got to the door he spoke again. Of course, the room I have chosen was the room, he said, and there was no need for me to ask what he meant by the room. I knew no more than the barest and most public outline of that affair, distant now by the space of many years, but, so I conceived, ever green in Rodericks heart, and, as my train threaded its way through the gleams of this translucent spring evening, I retraced this outline as far as I knew it. It was the one thing of which Roderick never spoke (even now he was not sure that he could manage to tell me the end of it), and I had to rummage in my memory for the reconstruction of the halfobliterated lines. Margarether maidenname would not be conjured back into memoryhad been an extremely beautiful girl when Roderick first met her, and, not without encouragement, he had fallen head over ears in love with her. All seemed to be going well with his wooing, he had the air of a happy lover, when there appeared on the scene that handsome and outrageous fellow, Richard Alton. He was the heir to his uncles barony and his really vast estates, and the girl, when he proceeded to lay siege, very soon capitulated. She may have fallen in love with him, for he was an attractive scamp, but the verdict at the time was that it was her ambition, not her heart, that she indulged. In any case, there was the end of Rodericks wooing, and before the year was out she had married the other. I remembered seeing her once or twice in London about this time, splendid and brilliant, of a beauty that dazzled, with the world very much at her feet. She bore him two sons; she succeeded to a great position; and then with the granting of her hearts desire, the leanness withal followed. Her husbands infidelities were numerous and notorious; he treated her with a subtle cruelty that just kept on the right side of the law, and, finally, seeking his freedom, he deserted her, and openly lived with another woman. Whether it was pride that kept her from divorcing him, or whether she still loved him (if she had ever done so) and was ready to take him back, or whether it was out of revenge that she refused to have done with him legally, was an affair of which I knew nothing. Calamity followed on calamity; first one and then the other of her sons was killed in the European War, and I remembered having heard that she was the victim of some malignant and disfiguring disease, which caused her to lead a hermit life, seeing nobody. It was now three years or so since she had died. Such, with the addition that she had died in my house, and that Roderick had been with her, was the sum of my meagre knowledge, which might or might not, so he had intimated, be supplemented by him. He arrived next day, having motored down from London for the avoidance of fatigue, and certainly as we sat after dinner that night in the gardenroom, he had avoided it very successfully, for never had I seen him more animated. Oh, I have been so right to come here, he said, for I feel steeped in tranquillity and content. Theres such a tremendous sense of Margarets presence here, and I never knew how much I wanted it. Perhaps that is purely subjective, but what does that matter so long as I feel it? How a scene soaks into the place where it has been enacted; my room, which you know was her room, is alive with her. I want nothing better than to be here, prowling and purring over the memory of the last time, which was the only one, that I was here. Yes, just that; and I know how odd you must think it. But its true, it was here that I saw her die, and instead of shunning the place, I bathe myself in it. For it was one of the happiest hours of my life. Because I began. No; not because it gave her release, if thats in your mind, he said. Its because I saw He broke off, and remembering his stipulation that I should ask him nothing, but that he would tell me if and when he could, I put no question to him. His eyes were dancing with the sparkle of fire that burned on the hearth, for though April was here, the evenings were still chilly, and it was not the fire that gave them their light, but a joyousness that was as bright as glee, and as deep as happiness. No, Im not going on with that now, he said, though I expect I shall before my days are out. At present I shall leave you wondering why a place that should hold such mournful memories for me, is such a wellspring. And as I am not for telling you about me, let me enquire about you. Bring yourself up to date; what have you been doing, and much more important, what have you been thinking about? My doings have chiefly been confined to settling into this house, I said. Ive been pulling and pushing furniture into places where it wouldnt go, and cursing it. He looked round the room. It doesnt seem to bear you any grudge, he said. It looks contented. And what else? In the intervals, when I couldnt push and curse any more, I said, Ive been writing a few spook stories. All about the borderland, which I love as much as you do. He laughed outright. Do you, indeed? he said. Then its no use my saying that it is quite impossible. But I should like to know your views on the borderland. I pointed to a sheaf of typewritten stuff that littered my table. Thems my sentiments, I said, and quite at your service. Good; then Ill take them to bed with me when I go, if youll allow me. Ive always thought that you had a pretty notion of the creepy, but the mistake that you make is to imagine that creepiness is characteristic of the borderland. No doubt there are creepy things there, but so there are everywhere, and a thunderstorm is far more terrifying than an apparition. And when you get really close to the borderland, you see how enchanting it is, and how vastly more enchanting the other side must be. I got right on to the borderland once, here in this house, as I shall probably tell you, and I never saw so happy and kindly a place. And without doubt I shall soon be careering across it in my own person. Thatll be, as weve often determined, wildly interesting, and it will have the solemnity of a first night at a new play about it. Therell be the curtain close in front of you, and presently it will be raised, and you will see something you never saw before. How well, on the whole, the secret has been kept, though from time to time little bits of information, little scraps of dialogue, little descriptions of scenery have leaked out. Enthrallingly interesting; one wonders how they will come into the great new drama. You dont mean the sort of thing that mediums tell us? I asked. Of course I dont. I hate the sloshyreally theres no other word for it, and why should there be, since that word fits so admirablythe sloshy utterances of the ordinary highclass, beyondsuspicion medium at half a guinea a sitting, who asks if theres anybody present who once knew a Charles, or if not Charles, Thomas or William. Naturally somebody has known a Charles, Thomas or William who has passed over, and is the son, brother, father or cousin of a lady in black. So when she claims Thomas, he tells her that he is very busy and happy, helping people. O Lord, what rot! I went to one such sance a month ago, just before I was taken ill, and the medium said that Margaret wanted to get into touch with somebody. Two of us claimed Margaret, but Margaret chose me and said she was the spirit of my wife. Wife, you know! You must allow that this was a very unfortunate shot. When I said that I was unmarried, Margaret said that she was my mother, whose name was Charlotte. Oh dear, oh dear! Well, I shall go to bed with joy, bringing your spooks with me. Sheaves, said I. Yes, but arent they the sheaves? Isnt ones gleaning of sheaves in this world what they call spooks? That is, the knowledge of what one takes across? I dont understand one word, said I. But you must understand. All the knowledgeworth anythingwhich you or I have collected here, is the beginning of the other life. We toil and moil, and make our gleanings and our harvestings, and all our decent efforts help us to realize what the real harvest is. Surely we shall take with us exactly that which we have reaped. After he had gone up to bed I sat trying to correct the errors of a typist, but still between me and the pages there dwelt that haunting sense of all that we did here being only the grist for what was to come. Our achievements were rewarded, so he seemed to say, by a glimpse. And those glimpsesso I tried to follow himwere the hints that had leaked out of the drama for which the curtain was twitching. Was that it? Roderick came down to breakfast next morning, superlatively frank and happy. I didnt read a single line of your stories, he said. When I got into my bedroom I was so immeasurably content that I couldnt risk getting interested in anything else. I lay awake a long time, pinching myself in order to prolong my sheer happiness, but the flesh was weak, and at last, from sheer happiness, I slept and probably snored. Did you hear me? I hope not. And then sheer happiness dictated my dreams, though I dont know what they were, and the moment I was called I got up, because because I didnt want to miss anything. Now, to be practical again, what are you doing this morning? I was intending to play golf, I said, unless There isnt an unless, if you mean me. My plan made itself for me, and I intendthis is my planto drive out with you, and sit in the hollow by the fourth tee, and read your stories there. Theres a great southwesterly wind, like a celestial housemaid, scouring the skies, and I shall be completely sheltered there, and in the intervals of my reading, I shall pleasantly observe the unsuccessful efforts of the golfers to carry the big bunker. I cant personally play golf any more, but I shall enjoy seeing other people attempting to do it. And no prowling or purring? I asked. Not this morning. Thats all right its there. Its so much all right that I want to be active in other directions. Sitting in a windless hollow is about the range of my activities. I say that for fear that you should. I found a match when we arrived at the clubhouse, and Roderick strolled away to the goal of his observations. Half an hour afterwards I found him watching with criminally ecstatic joy the soaring drives that, in the teeth of the great wind, were arrested and blown back into the unholiest bunker in all the world or the low clever balls that never rose to the height of the shoredup cliff of sand. The couple in front of my partner and me were sarcastic dogs, and bade us wait only till they had delved themselves over the ridge, and then we might follow as soon as we chose. After violent deeds in the bunker they climbed over the big dune, thirty yards beyond which lay the green on which they would now be putting. As soon as they had disappeared, Roderick snatched my driver from my hand. I cant bear it, he said. I must hit a ball again. Tee it low, caddie. No, no tee at all. He hit a superb shot, just high enough to carry the ridge, and not so high that it caught the opposing wind and was stopped towards the end of its flight. He gave a loud croak of laughter. Thatll teach them not to insult my friend, he said. It must have been pitched right among their careful puttings. And now I shall read his ghoststories. I have recorded this athletic incident because better than any analysis of his attitude towards life and death it conveys just what that attitude was. He knew perfectly well that any swift exertion might be fatal to him, but he wanted to hit a golf ball again as sweetly and as hard as it could be hit. He had done it he had scored off death. And as I went on my way I felt perfectly confident that if, with that brisk free effort, he had fallen dead on the tee, he would have thought it well worth while, provided only that he had made that irreproachable shot. While alive, he proposed to partake in the pleasures of life, amongst which he had always reckoned that of hitting golf balls, not caring, though he liked to be alive, whether the immediate consequence was death, just because he did not in the least object to being dead. The choice was of such little consequence. The history of that I was to know that evening. The stories which Roderick had taken to read were designed to be of an uncomfortable type one concerned a vampire, one an elemental, the third the reincarnation of a certain execrable personage, and as we sat in the gardenroom after tea, he with these pages on his knees, I had the pleasure of seeing him give hasty glances round, as he read, as if to assure himself that there was nothing unusual in the dimmer corners of the room. I liked that; he was doing as I intended that a reader should. Before long he came to the last page. And are you intending to make a book of them? he asked. What are the other stories like? Worse, said I, with the complacency of the horrormonger. Thendid you ask for criticism? I shall give it in any caseyou will make a book that not only is inartistic, all shadows and no light, but a false book. Fiction can be false, you know, inherently false. You play godfather to your stories, you see you tell them in the first person, those at least that I have read, and that, though it need not be supposed that those experiences were actually yours, yet gives a sort of guarantee that you believe the borderland of which you write to be entirely terrible. But it isnt there are probably terrors thereI think for instance that I believe in elemental spirits, of some ghastly kindbut I am sure that I believe that the borderland, for the most part, is almost inconceivably delightful. Ive got the best of reasons for believing that. Im willing to be convinced, said I. Again, as he looked at the fire, his eye sparkled, not with the reflected flame, but with the brightness of some interior vision. Well, theres an hour yet before dinner, he said, and my story wont take half of that. Its about my previous experience of this house; what I saw, in fact, in the room which I now occupy. It was because of that, naturally, that I wanted the same room again. Here goes, then. For the twenty years of Margarets married life, he said, I never saw her except quite accidentally and casually. Casually, like that, I had seen her at theatres and whatnot with her two boys whom thus I knew by sight. But I had never spoken to either of them, nor, after her marriage, to their mother. I knew, as all the world knew, that she had a terrible life, but circumstances being what they were, I could not bring myself to her notice, the more so because she made no sign or gesture of wanting me. But I am sure that no day passed on which I did not long to be able to show her that my love and sympathy were hers. Only, so I thought, I had to know that she wanted them. I heard, of course, of the death of her sons. They were both killed in France within a few days of each other; one was eighteen, the other nineteen. I wrote to her then formally, so long had we been strangers, and she answered formally. After that, she took this house, where she lived alone. A year later, I was told that she had now for some months been suffering from a malignant and disfiguring disease. I was in London, strolling down Piccadilly when my companion mentioned it, and I at once became aware that I must go to see her, not tomorrow or soon, but now. It is difficult to describe the quality of that conviction, or tell you how instinctive and overmastering it was. There are some things which you cant help doing, not exactly because you desire to do them, but because they must be done. If, for instance, you are in the middle of the road, and see a motor coming towards you at topspeed, you have to step to the side of the road, unless you deliberately choose to commit suicide. It was just like that; unless I intended to commit a sort of spiritual suicide there was no choice. A few hours later I was at your door here, asked to see her, and was told that she was desperately ill and could see nobody. But I got her maid to take the message that I was here, and presently her nurse came down to tell me that she would see me. I should find Margaret, she said, wearing a veil so as to conceal from me the dreadful ravages which the disease had inflicted on her face, and the scars of the two operations which she had undergone. Very likely she would not speak to me, for she had great difficulty in speaking at all, and in any case I was not to stay for more than a few minutes. Probably she could not live many hours I had only just come in time. And at that moment I wished I had done anything rather than come here, for though instinct had driven me here, yet instinct now recoiled with unspeakable horror. The flesh wars against the spirit, you know, and under its stress I now suggested that it was better perhaps that I should not see her. But the nurse merely said again that Margaret wished to see me, and guessing perhaps the cause of my unwillingness, Her face will be quite invisible, she added. There will be nothing to shock you. I went in alone Margaret was propped up in bed with pillows, so that she sat nearly upright, and over her head was a dark veil through which I could see nothing whatever. Her right hand lay on the coverlet, and as I seated myself by her bedside, where the nurse had put a chair for me, Margaret advanced her hand towards me, shyly, hesitatingly, as if not sure that I would take it. But it was a sign, a gesture. He paused, his face beaming and radiant with the light of that memory. I am speaking of things unspeakable, he said. I can no more convey to you all that meant than by a mere enumeration of colours can I steep your soul in the feeling of a sunset. So there I sat, with her hand covered and clasped in mine. I had been told that very likely she would not speak, and for myself there was no word in the world which would not be dross in the gold of that silence. And then from behind her veil there came a whisper. I couldnt die without seeing you, she said. I was sure you would come. Ive one thing to say to you. I loved you, and I tried to choke my love. And for years, my dear, I have been reaping the harvest of what I did. I tried to kill love, but it was so much stronger than I. And now the harvest is gathered. I have suffered cruelly, you know, but I bless every pang of it. I needed it all. Only a few minutes before, I had quaked at the thought of seeing her. But now I could not suffer that the veil should cover her face. Put up your veil, darling, I said. I must see you. No, no, she whispered. I should horrify you. I am terrible. You cant be terrible to me, I said. I am going to lift it. I raised her veil. And what did I see? I might have known, I think I might have guessed that at this moment, supreme and perfect, I should see with vision. There was no scar or ravage of disease or disfigurement there. She was far lovelier than she had ever been, and on her face there shone the dawn of the everlasting day. She had shed all that was perishable and subject to decay, and her immortal spirit was manifested to me, purged and punished if you will, but humble and holy. There was granted to my frail mortal sight the power of seeing truly; it was permitted to me to be with her beyond the bounds of mortality. And then, even as I was lost in an amazement of love and wonder, I saw we were not alone in the room. Two boys, whom I recognized, were standing at the other side of the bed, looking at her. It seemed utterly natural that they should be there. Weve been allowed to come for you, mother darling, said one. Get up. She turned her face to them. Ah, my dears, she said. How lovely of you. But just one moment. She bent over towards me and kissed me. Thank you for coming, Roderick, she said. Goodbye, just for a little while. At that my power of sightmy power of true sightfailed. Her head fell back on the pillows and turned over on one side. For one second, before I let the veil drop over it again, I had a glimpse of her face, marred and cruelly mutilated. I saw that, I say, but never then nor afterwards could I remember it. It was like a terrible dream, which utterly fades on the awaking. Then her hand, which had been clasping mine, in that moment of her farewell slackened its hold, and dropped on to the bed. She had just moved away, somewhere out of sight, with her two boys to look after her. He paused. Thats all, he said. And do you wonder that I chose that room? How I hope that she will come for me. My room was next to Rodericks, the head of his bed being just opposite the head of mine on the other side of the wall. That night I had undressed, lain down, and had just put out my light, when I heard a sharp tap just above me. I thought it was some fortuitous noise, as of a picture swinging in a draught, but the moment after it was repeated, and it struck me that it was perhaps a summons from Roderick who wanted something. Still quite unalarmed, I got out of bed, and, candle in hand, went to his door. I knocked, but receiving no answer, opened it an inch or two. Did you want anything? I asked, and, again receiving no answer, I went in. His lights were burning, and he was sitting up in bed. He did not appear to see me or be conscious of my presence, and his eyes were fixed on some point a few feet away in front of him. His mouth smiled, and in his eyes was just such a joy as I had seen there when he told me his story. Then, leaning on his arm, he moved as if to rise. Oh, Margaret, my dear. he cried. He drew a couple of short breaths, and fell back. The BusConductor My friend, Hugh Grainger, and I had just returned from a two days visit in the country, where we had been staying in a house of sinister repute which was supposed to be haunted by ghosts of a peculiarly fearsome and truculent sort. The house itself was all that such a house should be, Jacobean and oakpanelled, with long dark passages and high vaulted rooms. It stood, also, very remote, and was encompassed by a wood of sombre pines that muttered and whispered in the dark, and all the time that we were there a southwesterly gale with torrents of scolding rain had prevailed, so that by day and night weird voices moaned and fluted in the chimneys, a company of uneasy spirits held colloquy among the trees, and sudden tattoes and tappings beckoned from the windowpanes. But in spite of these surroundings, which were sufficient in themselves, one would almost say, to spontaneously generate occult phenomena, nothing of any description had occurred. I am bound to add, also, that my own state of mind was peculiarly well adapted to receive or even to invent the sights and sounds we had gone to seek, for I was, I confess, during the whole time that we were there, in a state of abject apprehension, and lay awake both nights through hours of terrified unrest, afraid of the dark, yet more afraid of what a lighted candle might show me. Hugh Grainger, on the evening after our return to town, had dined with me, and after dinner our conversation, as was natural, soon came back to these entrancing topics. But why you go ghostseeking I cannot imagine, he said, because your teeth were chattering and your eyes starting out of your head all the time you were there, from sheer fright. Or do you like being frightened? Hugh, though generally intelligent, is dense in certain ways; this is one of them. Why, of course, I like being frightened, I said. I want to be made to creep and creep and creep. Fear is the most absorbing and luxurious of emotions. One forgets all else if one is afraid. Well, the fact that neither of us saw anything, he said, confirms what I have always believed. And what have you always believed? That these phenomena are purely objective, not subjective, and that ones state of mind has nothing to do with the perception that perceives them, nor have circumstances or surroundings anything to do with them either. Look at Osburton. It has had the reputation of being a haunted house for years, and it certainly has all the accessories of one. Look at yourself, too, with all your nerves on edge, afraid to look round or light a candle for fear of seeing something! Surely there was the right man in the right place then, if ghosts are subjective. He got up and lit a cigarette, and looking at himHugh is about six feet high, and as broad as he is longI felt a retort on my lips, for I could not help my mind going back to a certain period in his life, when, from some cause which, as far as I knew, he had never told anybody, he had become a mere quivering mass of disordered nerves. Oddly enough, at the same moment and for the first time, he began, to speak of it himself. You may reply that it was not worth my while to go either, he said, because I was so clearly the wrong man in the wrong place. But I wasnt. You for all your apprehensions and expectancy have never seen a ghost. But I have, though I am the last person in the world you would have thought likely to do so, and, though my nerves are steady enough again now, it knocked me all to bits. He sat down again in his chair. No doubt you remember my going to bits, he said, and since I believe that I am sound again now, I should rather like to tell you about it. But before I couldnt; I couldnt speak of it at all to anybody. Yet there ought to have been nothing frightening about it; what I saw was certainly a most useful and friendly ghost. But it came from the shaded side of things; it looked suddenly out of the night and the mystery with which life is surrounded. I want first to tell you quite shortly my theory about ghostseeing, he continued, and I can explain it best by a simile, an image. Imagine then that you and I and everybody in the world are like people whose eye is directly opposite a little tiny hole in a sheet of cardboard which is continually shifting and revolving and moving about. Back to back with that sheet of cardboard is another, which also, by laws of its own, is in perpetual but independent motion. In it too there is another hole, and when, fortuitously it would seem, these two holes, the one through which we are always looking, and the other in the spiritual plane, come opposite one another, we see through, and then only do the sights and sounds of the spiritual world become visible or audible to us. With most people these holes never come opposite each other during their life. But at the hour of death they do, and then they remain stationary. That, I fancy, is how we pass over.

Now, in some natures, these holes are comparatively large, and are constantly coming into opposition. Clairvoyants, mediums are like that. But, as far as I knew, I had no clairvoyant or mediumistic powers at all. I therefore am the sort of person who long ago made up his mind that he never would see a ghost. It was, so to speak, an incalculable chance that my minute spyhole should come into opposition with the other. But it did and it knocked me out of time. I had heard some such theory before, and though Hugh put it rather picturesquely, there was nothing in the least convincing or practical about it. It might be so, or again it might not. I hope your ghost was more original than your theory, said I, in order to bring him to the point. Yes, I think it was. You shall judge. I put on more coal and poked up the fire. Hugh has got, so I have always considered, a great talent for telling stories, and that sense of drama which is so necessary for the narrator. Indeed before now, I have suggested to him that he should take this up as a profession, sit by the fountain in Piccadilly Circus, when times are, as usual, bad, and tell stories to the passersby in the street, Arabian fashion, for reward. The most part of mankind, I am aware, do not like long stories, but to the few, among whom I number myself, who really like to listen to lengthy accounts of experiences, Hugh is an ideal narrator. I do not care for his theories, or for his similes, but when it comes to facts, to things that happened, I like him to be lengthy. Go on, please, and slowly, I said. Brevity may be the soul of wit, but it is the ruin of storytelling. I want to hear when and where and how it all was, and what you had for lunch and where you had dined and what Hugh began It was the 24th of June, just eighteen months ago, he said. I had let my flat, you may remember, and came up from the country to stay with you for a week. We had dined alone here I could not help interrupting. Did you see the ghost here? I asked. In this square little box of a house in a modern street? I was in the house when I saw it. I hugged myself in silence. We had dined alone here in Graeme Street, he said, and after dinner I went out to some party, and you stopped at home. At dinner your man did not wait, and when I asked where he was, you told me he was ill, and, I thought, changed the subject rather abruptly. You gave me your latchkey when I went out, and on coming back, I found you had gone to bed. There were, however, several letters for me, which required answers. I wrote them there and then, and posted them at the pillarbox opposite. So I suppose it was rather late when I went upstairs. You had put me in the front room, on the third floor, overlooking the street, a room which I thought you generally occupied yourself. It was a very hot night, and though there had been a moon when I started to my party, on my return the whole sky was cloudcovered, and it both looked and felt as if we might have a thunderstorm before morning. I was feeling very sleepy and heavy, and it was not till after I had got into bed that I noticed by the shadows of the windowframes on the blind that only one of the windows was open. But it did not seem worth while to get out of bed in order to open it, though I felt rather airless and uncomfortable, and I went to sleep. What time it was when I awoke I do not know, but it was certainly not yet dawn, and I never remember being conscious of such an extraordinary stillness as prevailed. There was no sound either of footpassengers or wheeled traffic; the music of life appeared to be absolutely mute. But now instead of being sleepy and heavy, I felt, though I must have slept an hour or two at most, since it was not yet dawn, perfectly fresh and wideawake, and the effort which had seemed not worth making before, that of getting out of bed and opening the other window, was quite easy now, and I pulled up the blind, threw it wide open, and leaned out, for somehow I parched and pined for air. Even outside the oppression was very noticeable, and though, as you know, I am not easily given to feel the mental effects of climate, I was aware of an awful creepiness coming over me. I tried to analyse it away, but without success; the past day had been pleasant, I looked forward to another pleasant day tomorrow, and yet I was full of some nameless apprehension. I felt, too, dreadfully lonely in this stillness before the dawn. Then I heard suddenly and not very far away the sound of some approaching vehicle; I could distinguish the tread of two horses walking at a slow foots pace. They were, though yet invisible, coming up the street, and yet this indication of life did not abate that dreadful sense of loneliness which I have spoken of. Also in some dim unformulated way that which was coming seemed to me to have something to do with the cause of my oppression. Then the vehicle came into sight. At first I could not distinguish what it was. Then I saw that the horses were black and had long tails, and that what they dragged was made of glass, but had a black frame. It was a hearse. Empty. It was moving up this side of the street. It stopped at your door. Then the obvious solution struck me. You had said at dinner that your man was ill, and you were, I thought, unwilling to speak more about his illness. No doubt, so I imagined now, he was dead, and for some reason, perhaps because you did not want me to know anything about it, you were having the body removed at night. This, I must tell you, passed through my mind quite instantaneously, and it did not occur to me how unlikely it really was, before the next thing happened. I was still leaning out of the window, and I remember also wondering, yet only momentarily, how odd it was that I saw thingsor rather the one thing I was looking atso very distinctly. Of course, there was a moon behind the clouds, but it was curious how every detail of the hearse and the horses was visible. There was only one man, the driver, with it, and the street was otherwise absolutely empty. It was at him I was looking now. I could see every detail of his clothes, but from where I was, so high above him, I could not see his face. He had on grey trousers, brown boots, a black coat buttoned all the way up, and a straw hat. Over his shoulder there was a strap, which seemed to support some sort of little bag. He looked exactly likewell, from my description what did he look exactly like? Whya busconductor, I said instantly. So I thought, and even while I was thinking this, he looked up at me. He had a rather long thin face, and on his left cheek there was a mole with a growth of dark hair on it. All this was as distinct as if it had been noonday, and as if I was within a yard of him. Butso instantaneous was all that takes so long in the tellingI had not time to think it strange that the driver of a hearse should be so unfunereally dressed. Then he touched his hat to me, and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. Just room for one inside, sir, he said. There was something so odious, so coarse, so unfeeling about this that I instantly drew my head in, pulled the blind down again, and then, for what reason I do not know, turned on the electric light in order to see what time it was. The hands of my watch pointed to halfpast eleven. It was then for the first time, I think, that a doubt crossed my mind as to the nature of what I had just seen. But I put out the light again, got into bed, and began to think. We had dined; I had gone to a party, I had come back and written letters, had gone to bed and had slept. So how could it be halfpast eleven? Orwhat halfpast eleven was it? Then another easy solution struck me; my watch must have stopped. But it had not; I could hear it ticking. There was stillness and silence again. I expected every moment to hear muffled footsteps on the stairs, footsteps moving slowly and smally under the weight of a heavy burden, but from inside the house there was no sound whatever. Outside, too, there was the same dead silence, while the hearse waited at the door. And the minutes ticked on and ticked on, and at length I began to see a difference in the light in the room, and knew that the dawn was beginning to break outside. But how had it happened then that if the corpse was to be removed at night it had not gone, and that the hearse still waited, when morning was already coming? Presently I got out of bed again, and with the sense of strong physical shrinking I went to the window and pulled back the blind. The dawn was coming fast; the whole street was lit by that silver hueless light of morning. But there was no hearse there. Once again I looked at my watch. It was just a quarterpast four. But I would swear that not half an hour had passed since it had told me that it was halfpast eleven. Then a curious double sense, as if I was living in the present and at the same moment had been living in some other time, came over me. It was dawn on June 25th, and the street, as natural, was empty. But a little while ago the driver of a hearse had spoken to me, and it was halfpast eleven. What was that driver, to what plane did he belong? And again what halfpast eleven was it that I had seen recorded on the dial of my watch? And then I told myself that the whole thing had been a dream. But if you ask me whether I believed what I told myself, I must confess that I did not. Your man did not appear at breakfast next morning, nor did I see him again before I left that afternoon. I think if I had, I should have told you about all this, but it was still possible, you see, that what I had seen was a real hearse, driven by a real driver, for all the ghastly gaiety of the face that had looked up to mine, and the levity of his pointing hand. I might possibly have fallen asleep soon after seeing him, and slumbered through the removal of the body and the departure of the hearse. So I did not speak of it to you. There was something wonderfully straightforward and prosaic in all this; here were no Jacobean houses oakpanelled and surrounded by weeping pinetrees, and somehow the very absence of suitable surroundings made the story more impressive. But for a moment a doubt assailed me. Dont tell me it was all a dream, I said. I dont know whether it was or not. I can only say that I believe myself to have been wide awake. In any case the rest of the story isodd. I went out of town again that afternoon, he continued, and I may say that I dont think that even for a moment did I get the haunting sense of what I had seen or dreamed that night out of my mind. It was present to me always as some vision unfulfilled. It was as if some clock had struck the four quarters, and I was still waiting to hear what the hour would be. Exactly a month afterwards I was in London again, but only for the day. I arrived at Victoria about eleven, and took the underground to Sloane Square in order to see if you were in town and would give me lunch. It was a baking hot morning, and I intended to take a bus from the Kings Road as far as Graeme Street. There was one standing at the corner just as I came out of the station, but I saw that the top was full, and the inside appeared to be full also. Just as I came up to it the conductor who, I suppose, had been inside, collecting fares or whatnot, came out on to the step within a few feet of me. He wore grey trousers, brown boots, a black coat buttoned, a straw hat, and over his shoulder was a strap on which hung his little machine for punching tickets. I saw his face, too; it was the face of the driver of the hearse, with a mole on the left cheek. Then he spoke to me, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. Just room for one inside, sir, he said. At that a sort of panicterror took possession of me, and I knew I gesticulated wildly with my arms, and cried, No, no! But at that moment I was living not in the hour that was then passing, but in that hour which had passed a month ago, when I leaned from the window of your bedroom here just before the dawn broke. At this moment too I knew that my spyhole had been opposite the spyhole into the spiritual world. What I had seen there had some significance, now being fulfilled, beyond the significance of the trivial happenings of today and tomorrow. The Powers of which we know so little were visibly working before me. And I stood there on the pavement shaking and trembling. I was opposite the postoffice at the corner, and just as the bus started my eye fell on the clock in the window there. I need not tell you what the time was. Perhaps I need not tell you the rest, for you probably conjecture it, since you will not have forgotten what happened at the corner of Sloane Square at the end of July, the summer before last. The bus pulled out from the pavement into the street in order to get round a van that was standing in front of it. At the moment there came down the Kings Road a big motor going at a hideously dangerous pace. It crashed full into the bus, burrowing into it as a gimlet burrows into a board. He paused. And thats my story, he said. The Cat Many people will, doubtless, remember that exhibition at the Royal Academy, not so many seasons ago, which came to be known as Alinghams year, when Dick Alingham vaulted, with one bound, as it were, out of the crowd of strugglers and seated himself with admirably certain poise on the very topmost pinnacle of contemporary fame. He exhibited three portraits, each a masterpiece, which killed every picture within range. But since that year nobody cared anything for pictures whether in or out of range except those three, it did not signify so greatly. The phenomenon of his appearance was as sudden as that of the meteor, coming from nowhere and sliding large and luminous across the remote and starsown sky, as inexplicable as the bursting of a spring on some dustridden rocky hillside. Some fairy godmother, one might conjecture, had bethought herself of her forgotten godson, and with a wave of her wand bestowed on him this transcendant gift. But, as the Irish say, she held her wand in her left hand, for her gift had another side to it. Or perhaps, again, Jim Merwick is right, and the theory he propounds in his monograph, On certain obscure lesions of the nerve centres, says the final word on the subject. Dick Alingham himself, as was indeed natural, was delighted with his fairy godmother or his obscure lesion (whichever was responsible), and (the monograph spoken of above was written after Dicks death) confessed frankly to his friend Merwick, who was still struggling through the crowd of rising young medical practitioners, that it was all quite as inexplicable to himself as it was to anyone else. All I know about it, he said, is that last autumn I went through two months of mental depression so hideous that I thought again and again that I must go off my head. For hours daily, I sat here, waiting for something to crack, which as far as I am concerned would end everything. Yes, there was a cause; you know it. He paused a moment and poured into his glass a fairly liberal allowance of whisky, filled it half up from a syphon, and lit a cigarette. The cause, indeed, had no need to be enlarged on, for Merwick quite well remembered how the girl Dick had been engaged to, threw him over with an abruptness that was almost superb, when a more eligible suitor made his appearance. The latter was certainly very eligible indeed with his good looks, his title, and his million of money, and Lady Madingleyexfuture Mrs. Alinghamwas perfectly content with what she had done. She was one of those blonde, lithe, silken girls who, happily for the peace of mens minds, are rather rare, and who remind one of some humanised yet celestial and bestial cat. I neednt speak of the cause, Dick continued, but, as I say, for those two months I soberly thought that the only end to it would be madness. Then one evening when I was sitting here aloneI was always sitting alonesomething did snap in my head. I know I wondered, without caring at all, whether this was the madness which I had been expecting, or whether (which would be preferable) some more fatal breakage had happened. And even while I wondered, I was aware that I was not depressed or unhappy any longer. He paused for so long in a smiling retrospect that Merwick indicated to him that he had a listener. Well? he said. It was well indeed. I havent been unhappy since. I have been riotously happy instead. Some divine doctor, I suppose, just wiped off that stain on my brain that hurt so. Heavens, how it hurt! Have a drink, by the way? No, thanks, said Merwick. But what has all this got to do with your painting? Why, everything. For I had hardly realised the fact that I was happy again, when I was aware that everything looked different. The colours of all I saw were twice as vivid as they had been, shape and outline were intensified too. The whole visible world had been dusty and blurred before, and seen in a half light. But now the lights were turned up, and there was a new heaven and a new earth. And in the same flash, I knew that I could paint things as I saw them. Which, he concluded, I have done. There was something rather sublime about this, and Merwick laughed. I wish something would snap in my brain, if it kindles the perceptions in that way, said he, but it is just possible that the snapping of things in ones brain does not always produce just that effect. That is possible. Also, as I gather, things dont snap unless you have gone through some such hideous period as I have been through. And I tell you frankly that I wouldnt go through that again even to ensure a snap that would make me see things like Titian. What did the snapping feel like? asked Merwick. Dick considered a moment. Do you know when a parcel comes, tied up with string, and you cant find a knife, he said, and therefore you burn the string through, holding it taut? Well, it was like that quite painless, only something got weaker and weaker, and then parted, softly without effort. Not very lucid, Im afraid, but it was just like that. It had been burning a couple of months, you see. He turned away and hunted among the letters and papers which littered his writingtable till he found an envelope with a coronet on it. He chuckled to himself as he took it up. Commend me to Lady Madingley, he said, for a brazen impudence in comparison with which brass is softer than putty. She wrote to me yesterday, asking me if I would finish the portrait I had begun of her last year, and let her have it at my own price. Then I think you have had a lucky escape, remarked Merwick, I suppose you didnt even answer her. Oh, yes, I did why not? I said the price would be two thousand pounds, and I was ready to go on at once. She has agreed, and sent me a cheque for a thousand this evening. Merwick stared at him in blank astonishment. Are you mad? he asked. I hope not, though one can never be sure about little points like that. Even doctors like you dont know exactly what constitutes madness. Merwick got up. But is it possible that you dont see what a terrible risk you run? he asked. To see her again, to be with her like that, having to look at herI saw her this afternoon by the way, hardly humanmay not that so easily revive again all that you felt before? It is too dangerous much too dangerous. Dick shook his head. There is not the slightest risk, he said, everything within me is utterly and absolutely indifferent to her. I dont even hate her if I hated her there might be a possibility of my again loving her. As it is, the thought of her does not arouse in me any emotion of any kind. And really such stupendous calmness deserves to be rewarded. I respect colossal things like that. He finished his whisky as he spoke, and instantly poured himself out another glass. Thats the fourth, said his friend. Is it? I never count. It shows a sordid attention to uninteresting detail. Funnily enough too, alcohol does not have the smallest effect on me now. Why drink then? Because if I give it up this entrancing vividness of colour and clarity of outline is a little diminished. Cant be good for you, said the doctor. Dick laughed. My dear fellow, look at me carefully, he said, and then if you can conscientiously declare that I show any signs of indulging in stimulants, Ill give them up altogether. Certainly it would have been hard to find a point in which Dick did not present the appearance of perfect health. He had paused, and stood still a moment, his glass in one hand, the whiskybottle in the other, black against the front of his shirt, and not a tremor of unsteadiness was there. His face of wholesome sunburnt hue was neither puffy nor emaciated, but firm of flesh and of a wonderful clearness of skin. Clear too was his eye, with eyelids neither baggy nor puckered; he looked indeed a model of condition, hard and fit, as if he was in training for some athletic event. Lithe and active too was his figure, his movements were quick and precise, and even Merwick, with his doctors eye, trained to detect any symptom, however slight, in which the drinker must betray himself, was bound to confess that no such was here present. His appearance contradicted it authoritatively, so also did his manner; he met the eye of the man he was talking to without sideway glances; he showed no signs however small, of any disorder of the nerves. Yet Dick was altogether an abnormal fellow; the history he had just been recounting was abnormal, those weeks of depression, followed by the sudden snap in his brain which had apparently removed, as a wet cloth removes a stain, all the memory of his love, and of the cruel bitterness that resulted from it. Abnormal too was his sudden leap into high artistic achievement from a past of very mediocre performance. Why should there then not be a similar abnormality here? Yes, I confess you show no sign of taking excessive stimulant, said Merwick, but if I attended you professionallyah, Im not toutingI should make you give up all stimulant, and go to bed for a month. Why in the name of goodness? asked Dick. Because, theoretically, it must be the best thing you could do. You had a shock, how severe, the misery of those weeks of depression tells you. Well, common sense says, Go slow after a shock; recoup. Instead of which you go very fast indeed and produce. I grant it seems to suit you; you also became suddenly capable of feats whichoh, its sheer nonsense, man. Whats sheer nonsense? You are. Professionally, I detest you, because you appear to be an exception to a theory that I am sure must be right. Therefore I have got to explain you away, and at present I cant. Whats the theory? asked Dick. Well, the treatment of shock first of all. And secondly, that in order to do good work, one ought to eat and drink very little and sleep a lot. How long do you sleep by the way? Dick considered. Oh, I go to bed about three usually, he said; I suppose I sleep for about four hours. And live on whisky, and eat like a Strasburg goose, and are prepared to run a race tomorrow. Go away, or at least I will. Perhaps youll break down, though. That would satisfy me. But even if you dont, it still remains quite interesting. Merwick found it more than quite interesting in fact, and when he got home that night he searched in his shelves for a certain dusky volume in which he turned up a chapter called Shock. The book was a treatise on obscure diseases and abnormal conditions of the nervous system. He had often read it before, for in his profession he was a special student of the rare and curious. And the following paragraph which had interested him much before, interested him more than ever this evening. The nervous system also can act in a way that must always even to the most advanced student be totally unexpected. Cases are known, and wellauthenticated ones, when a paralytic person has jumped out of bed on the cry of Fire. Cases too are known when a great shock, which produces depression so profound as to amount to lethargy, is followed by abnormal activity, and the calling into use of powers which were previously unknown to exist, or at any rate existed in a quite ordinary degree. Such a hypersensitised state, especially since the desire for sleep or rest is very often much diminished, demands much stimulant in the way of food and alcohol. It would appear also that the patient suffering from this rare form of the afterconsequences of shock has sooner or later some sudden and complete breakdown. It is impossible, however, to conjecture what form this will take. The digestion, however, may become suddenly atrophied, delirium tremens may, without warning, supervene, or he may go completely off his head. But the weeks passed on, the July suns made London reel in a haze of heat, and yet Alingham remained busy, brilliant and altogether exceptional. Merwick, unknown to him, was watching him closely, and at present was completely puzzled. He held Dick to his word that if he could detect the slightest sign of overindulgence in stimulant, he would cut it off altogether, but he could see absolutely none. Lady Madingley meantime had given him several sittings, and in this connection again Merwick was utterly mistaken in the view he had expressed to Dick as to the risks he ran. For, strangely enough, the two had become great friends. Yet Dick was quite right, all emotion with regard to her on his part was dead, it might have been a piece of stilllife that he was painting, instead of a woman he had wildly worshipped. One morning in midJuly she had been sitting to him in his studio, and contrary to custom he had been rather silent, biting the ends of his brushes, frowning at his canvas, frowning too at her. Suddenly he gave a little impatient exclamation. Its so like you, he said, but it just isnt you. Theres a lot of difference! I cant help making you look as if you were listening to a hymn, one of those in four sharps, dont you know, written by an organist, probably after eating muffins. And thats not characteristic of you! She laughed. You must be rather ingenious to put all that in, she said. I am. Where do I show it all? Dick sighed. Oh, in your eyes of course, he said. You show everything by your eyes, you know. It is entirely characteristic of you. You are a throwback; dont you remember we settled that ever so long ago, to the brute creation, who likewise show everything by their eyes. Ohh. I should have thought that dogs growled at you, and cats scratched. Those are practical measures, but short of that you and animals use their eyes only, whereas people use their mouths and foreheads and other things. A pleased dog, an expectant dog, a hungry dog, a jealous dog, a disappointed dogone gathers all that from a dogs eyes. Their mouths are comparatively immobile, and a cats is even more so. You have often told me that I belong to the genus cat, said Lady Madingley, with complete composure. By Jove, yes, said he. Perhaps looking at the eyes of a cat would help me to see what I miss. Many thanks for the hint. He put down his palette and went to a side table on which stood bottles and ice and syphons. No drink of any kind on this Sahara of a morning? he asked. No, thanks. Now when will you give me the final sitting? You said you only wanted one more. Dick helped himself. Well, I go down to the country with this, he said, to put in the background I told you of. With luck it will take me three days hard painting, without luck a week or more. Oh, my mouth waters at the thought of the background. So shall we say tomorrow week? Lady Madingley made a note of this in a minute gold and jewelled memorandum book. And I am to be prepared to see cats eyes painted there instead of my own when I see it next? she asked, passing by the canvas. Dick laughed. Oh, you will hardly notice the difference, he said. How odd it is that I always have detested cats sothey make me feel actually faint, although you always reminded me of a cat. You must ask your friend Mr. Merwick about these metaphysical mysteries, said she. The background to the picture was at present only indicated by a few vague splashes close to the side of the head of brilliant purple and brilliant green, and the artists mouth might well water at the thought of the few days painting that lay before him. For behind the figure in the long panelshaped canvas was to be painted a green trellis, over which, almost hiding the woodwork, there was to sprawl a great purple clematis in full flaunting glory of varnished leaf and starry flower. At the top would be just a strip of pale summer sky, at her feet just a strip of greygreen grass, but all the rest of the background, greatly daring, would be this diaper of green and purple. For the purpose of putting this in, he was going down to a small cottage of his near Godalming, where he had built in the garden a sort of outdoor studio, an erection betwixt a room and a mere shelter, with the side to the north entirely open, and flanked by this green trellis which was now one immense constellation of purple stars. Framed in this, he well knew how the strange pale beauty of his sitter would glow on the canvas, how she would start out of the background, she and her huge grey hat, and shining grey dress, and yellow hair and ivory white skin and pale eyes, now blue, now grey, now green. This was indeed a thing to look forward to, for there is probably no such unadulterated rapture known to men as creation, and it was small wonder that Dicks mood, as he travelled down to Godalming, was buoyant and effervescent. For he was going, so to speak, to realise his creation every purple star of clematis, every green leaf and piece of trelliswork that he put in, would cause what he had painted to live and shine, just as it is the layers of dusk that fall over the sky at evening which make the stars to sparkle there, jewellike. His scheme was assured, he had hung his constellationthe figure of Lady Madingleyin the sky and now he had to surround it with the green and purple night, so that it might shine. His garden was but a circumscribed plot, but walls of old brick circumscribed it, and he had dealt with the space at his command with a certain originality. At no time had his grass plot (you could scarcely call it lawn) been spacious; now the outdoor studio, twentyfive feet by thirty, took up the greater part of it. He had a solid wooden wall on one side and two trellis walls to the south and east, which creepers were beginning to clothe and which were faced internally by hangings of Syrian and Oriental work. Here in the summer he passed the greater part of the day, painting or idling, and living an outdoor existence. The floor, which had once been grass, which had withered completely under the roof, was covered with Persian rugs; a writingtable, and a diningtable were there, a bookcase full of familiar friends and a halfdozen of basket chairs. One corner, too, was frankly given up to the affairs of the garden, and a mowing machine, a hose for watering, shears, and spade stood there. For like many excitable persons, Dick found that in gardening, that incessant process of plannings and designings to suit the likings of plants, and make them gorgeous in colour and high of growth, there was a wonderful calm haven of refuge for the brain that had been tossing on emotional seas. Plants, too, were receptive, so responsive to kindness; thought given to them was never thought wasted, and to come back now after a months absence in London was to be assured of fresh surprise and pleasure in each foot of gardenbed. And here, with how regal a generosity was the purple clematis to repay him for the care lavished on it. Every flower would show its practical gratitude by standing model for the background of his picture.

The evening was very warm, warm not with any sultry premonition of thunder, but with the clear, clean heat of summer, and he dined alone in his shelter, with the afterflames of the sunset for his lamp. These slowly faded into a sky of velvet blue, but he lingered long over his coffee looking northwards across the garden towards the row of trees that screened him from the house beyond. These were acacias, most graceful and feminine of all green things that grow, summerplumaged now, yet still fresh of leaf. Below them ran a little raised terrace of turf and nearer the beds of the beloved garden; clumps of sweet peas made an inimitable fragrance, and the rosebeds were pink with Baroness Rothschild and La France, and coppercoloured with Beaut Inconstante, and the Richardson rose. Then, nearer at hand, was the green trellis foaming with purple. He was sitting there, hardly looking, but unconsciously drinking in this great festival of colour, when his eye was arrested by a dark slinking form that appeared among the roses, and suddenly turned two shining luminous orbs on him. At this he started up, but his movement caused no perturbation in the animal, which continued with back arched for stroking, and pokerlike tail, to advance towards him, purring. As it came closer Dick felt that shuddering faintness, which often affected him in the presence of cats, come over him, and he stamped and clapped his hands. At this it turned tail quickly a sort of dark shadow streaked the gardenwall for a moment, and it vanished. But its appearance had spoiled for him the sweet spell of the evening, and he went indoors. The next morning was pellucid summer a faint north wind blew, and a sun worthy to illumine the isles of Greece flooded the sky. Dicks dreamless and (for him) long sleep had banished from his mind that rather disquieting incident of the cat, and he set up his canvas facing the trelliswork and purple clematis with a huge sense of imminent ecstasy. Also the garden, which at present he had only seen in the magic of sunset, was gloriously rewarding, and glowed with colour, and though lifethis was present to his mind for the first time for monthsin the shape of Lady Madingley had not been very propitious, yet a man, he argued to himself, must be a very poor hand at living if, with a passion for plants and a passion for art, he cannot fashion a life that shall be full of content. So breakfast being finished, and his model ready and glowing with beauty, he quickly sketched in the broad lines of flowers and foliage and began to paint. Purple and green, green and purple was there ever such a feast for the eye? Gourmet like and greedy as well, he was utterly absorbed in it. He was right too as soon as he put on the first brush of colour he knew he was right. It was just those divine and violent colours which would cause his figure to step out from the picture, it was just that pale strip of sky above which would focus her again, it was just that strip of greygreen grass below her feet that would prevent her, so it seemed, from actually leaving the canvas. And with swift eager sweeps of the brush which never paused and never hurried, he lost himself in his work. He stopped at length with a sense of breathlessness, feeling too as if he had been suddenly called back from some immense distance off. He must have been working some three hours, for his man was already laying the table for lunch, yet it seemed to him that the morning had gone by in one flash. The progress he had made was extraordinary, and he looked long at his picture. Then his eye wandered from the brightness of the canvas to the brightness of the gardenbeds. There, just in front of the bed of sweetpeas, not two yards from him, stood a very large grey cat, watching him. Now the presence of a cat was a thing that usually produced in Dick a feeling of deadly faintness, yet, at this moment, as he looked at the cat and the cat at him, he was conscious of no such feeling, and put down the absence of it, in so far as he consciously thought about it, to the fact that he was in the open air, not in the atmosphere of a closed room. Yet, last night out here, the cat had made him feel faint. But he hardly gave a thought to this, for what filled his mind was that he saw in the rather friendly interested look of the beast that expression in the eye which had so baffled him in his portrait of Lady Madingley. So, slowly, and without any sudden movement that might startle the cat, he reached out his hand for the palette he had just put down, and in a corner of the canvas not yet painted over, recorded in half a dozen swift intuitive touches, what he wanted. Even in the broad sunlight where the animal stood, its eyes looked as if they were internally smouldering as well as being lit from without it was just so that Lady Madingley looked. He would have to lay colour very thinly over white. For five minutes or so he painted them with quiet eager strokes, drawing the colour thinly over the background of white, and then looked long at that sketch of the eye to see if he had got what he wanted. Then he looked back at the cat which had stood so charmingly for him. But there was no cat there. That, however, since he detested them, and this one had served his purpose, was no matter for regret, and he merely wondered a little at the suddenness of its disappearance. But the legacy it had left on the canvas could not vanish thus, it was his own, a possession, an achievement. Truly this was to be a portrait which would altogether outdistance all he had ever done before. A woman, real, alive, wearing her soul in her eyes, should stand there, and summer riot round her. An extraordinary clearness of vision was his all day, and towards sunset an empty whiskybottle. But this evening he was conscious for the first time of two feelings, one physical, one mental, altogether strange to him the first an impression that he had drunk as much as was good for him, the second a sort of echo in his mind of those tortures he had undergone in the autumn, when he had been tossed aside by the girl, to whom he had given his soul, like a soiled glove. Neither were at all acutely felt, but both were present to him. The evening altogether belied the brilliance of the day, and about six oclock thick clouds had driven up over the sky, and the clear heat of summer had given place to a heat no less intense, but full of the menace of storm. A few big hot drops, too, of rain warned him further, and he pulled his easel into shelter, and gave orders that he would dine indoors. As was usual with him when he was at work, he shunned the distracting influence of any companionship, and he dined alone. Dinner finished, he went into his sittingroom prepared to enjoy his solitary evening. His servant had brought him in the tray, and till he went to bed he would be undisturbed. Outside the storm was moving nearer, the reverberation of the thunder, though not yet close, kept up a continual growl any moment it might move up and burst above in riot of fire and sound. Dick read a book for a while, but his thoughts wandered. The poignancy of his trouble last autumn, which he thought had passed away from him forever, grew suddenly and strangely more acute, also his head was heavy, perhaps with the storm, but possibly with what he had drunk. So, intending to go to bed and sleep off his disquietude, he closed his book, and went across to the window to close that also. But, halfway towards it, he stopped. There on the sofa below it sat a large grey cat with yellow gleaming eyes. In its mouth it held a young thrush, still alive. Then horror woke in him his feeling of sickfaintness was there, and he loathed and was terrified at this dreadful feline glee in the torture of its prey, a glee so great that it preferred the postponement of its meal to a shortening of the other. More than all, the resemblance of the eyes of this cat to those of his portrait suddenly struck him as something hellish. For one moment this all held him bound, as if with paralysis, the next his physical shuddering could be withstood no longer, and he threw the glass he carried at the cat, missing it. For one second the animal paused there glaring at him with an intense and dreadful hostility, then it made one spring of it out of the open window. Dick shut it with a bang that startled himself, and then searched on the sofa and the floor for the bird which he thought the cat had dropped. Once or twice he thought he heard it feebly fluttering, but this must have been an illusion, for he could not find it. All this was rather shaky business, so before going to bed he steadied himself, as his unspoken phrase ran, with a final drink. Outside the thunder had ceased, but the rain beat hissing on to the grass. Then another sound mingled with it, the mewing of a cat, not the long drawn screeches and cries that are usual, but the plaintive calls of the beast that wants to be admitted into its own home. The blind was down, but after a while he could not resist peeping out. There on the windowsill was seated the large grey cat. Though it was raining heavily its fur seemed dry, for it was standing stiffly away from its body. But when it saw him it spat at him, scratching angrily at the glass, and vanished. Lady Madingley heavens, how he had loved her! And, infernally as she had treated him, how passionately he wanted her now. Was all his trouble then to begin over again? Had that nightmare dawned anew on him? It was the cats fault the eyes of the cat had done it. Yet just now all his desire was blurred by this dullness of brain that was as unaccountable as the reawakening of his desire. For months now he had drunk far more than he had drunk today, yet evening had seen him clearheaded, acute, master of himself, and revelling in the liberty that had come to him, and in the cool joy of creative vision. But tonight he stumbled and groped across the room. The neutralcoloured light of dawn awoke him, and he got up at once, feeling still very drowsy, but in answer to some silent imperative call. The storm had altogether passed away, and a jewel of a morning star hung in a pale heaven. His room looked strangely unfamiliar to him, his own sensations were unfamiliar, there was a vagueness about things, a barrier between him and the world. One desire alone possessed him, to finish the portrait. All else, so he felt, he left to chance, or whatever laws regulate the world, those laws which choose that a certain thrush shall be caught by a certain cat, and choose one scapegoat out of a thousand, and let the rest go free. Two hours later his servant called him, and found him gone from his room. So as the morning was so fair, he went out to lay breakfast in the shelter. The portrait was there, it had been dragged back into position by the clematis, but it was covered with strange scratches, as if the claws of some enraged animal or the nails perhaps of a man had furiously attacked it. Dick Alingham was there, too, lying very still in front of the disfigured canvas. Claws, also, or nails had attacked him, his throat was horribly mangled by them. But his hands were covered with paint, the nails of his fingers too were choked with it. The Confession of Charles Linkworth Dr. Teesdale had occasion to attend the condemned man once or twice during the week before his execution, and found him, as is often the case, when his last hope of life has vanished, quiet and perfectly resigned to his fate, and not seeming to look forward with any dread to the morning that each hour that passed brought nearer and nearer. The bitterness of death appeared to be over for him it was done with when he was told that his appeal was refused. But for those days while hope was not yet quite abandoned, the wretched man had drank of death daily. In all his experience the doctor had never seen a man so wildly and passionately tenacious of life, nor one so strongly knit to this material world by the sheer animal lust of living. Then the news that hope could no longer be entertained was told him, and his spirit passed out of the grip of that agony of torture and suspense, and accepted the inevitable with indifference. Yet the change was so extraordinary that it seemed to the doctor rather that the news had completely stunned his powers of feeling, and he was below the numbed surface, still knit into material things as strongly as ever. He had fainted when the result was told him, and Dr. Teesdale had been called in to attend him. But the fit was but transient, and he came out of it into full consciousness of what had happened. The murder had been a deed of peculiar horror, and there was nothing of sympathy in the mind of the public towards the perpetrator. Charles Linkworth, who now lay under capital sentence, was the keeper of a small stationery store in Sheffield, and there lived with him his wife and mother. The latter was the victim of his atrocious crime; the motive of it being to get possession of the sum of five hundred pounds, which was this womans property. Linkworth, as came out at the trial, was in debt to the extent of a hundred pounds at the time, and during his wifes absence from home, on a visit to relations, he strangled his mother, and during the night buried the body in the small backgarden of his house. On his wifes return, he had a sufficiently plausible tale to account for the elder Mrs. Linkworths disappearance, for there had been constant jarrings and bickerings between him and his mother for the last year or two, and she had more than once threatened to withdraw herself and the eight shillings a week which she contributed to household expenses, and purchase an annuity with her money. It was true, also, that during the younger Mrs. Linkworths absence from home, mother and son had had a violent quarrel arising originally from some trivial point in household management, and that in consequence of this, she had actually drawn her money out of the bank, intending to leave Sheffield next day and settle in London where she had friends. That evening she told him this, and during the night he killed her. His next step, before his wifes return, was logical and sound. He packed up all his mothers possessions and took them to the station, from which he saw them despatched to town by passenger train, and in the evening he asked several friends in to supper, and told them of his mothers departure. He did not (logically also, and in accordance with what they probably already knew) feign regret, but said that he and she had never got on well together, and that the cause of peace and quietness was furthered by her going. He told the same story to his wife on her return, identical in every detail, adding, however, that the quarrel had been a violent one, and that his mother had not even left him her address. This again was wisely thought of it would prevent his wife from writing to her. She appeared to accept his story completely indeed there was nothing strange or suspicious about it. For a while he behaved with the composure and astuteness which most criminals possess up to a certain point, the lack of which, after that, is generally the cause of their detection. He did not, for instance, immediately pay off his debts, but took into his house a young man as lodger, who occupied his mothers room, and he dismissed the assistant in his shop, and did the entire serving himself. This gave the impression of economy, and at the same time he openly spoke of the great improvement in his trade, and not till a month had passed did he cash any of the banknotes which he had found in a locked drawer in his mothers room. Then he changed two notes of fifty pounds and paid off his creditors. At that point his astuteness and composure failed him. He opened a deposit account at a local bank with four more fiftypound notes, instead of being patient, and increasing his balance at the savings bank pound by pound, and he got uneasy about that which he had buried deep enough for security in the back garden. Thinking to render himself safer in this regard, he ordered a cartload of slag and stone fragments and with the help of his lodger employed the summer evenings when work was over, in building a sort of rockery over the spot. Then came the chance circumstance which really set match to this dangerous train. There was a fire in the lost luggage office at Kings Cross Station (from which he ought to have claimed his mothers property) and one of the two boxes was partially burned. The company was liable for compensation, and his mothers name on her linen, and a letter with the Sheffield address on it, led to the arrival of a purely official and formal notice, stating that the company were prepared to consider claims. It was directed to Mrs. Linkworth, and Charles Linkworths wife received and read it. It seemed a sufficiently harmless document, but it was endorsed with his deathwarrant. For he could give no explanation at all of the fact of the boxes still lying at Kings Cross Station, beyond suggesting that some accident had happened to his mother. Clearly he had to put the matter in the hands of the police, with a view to tracing her movements, and if it proved that she was dead, claiming her property, which she had already drawn out of the bank. Such at least was the course urged on him by his wife and lodger, in whose presence the communication from the railway officials was read out, and it was impossible to refuse to take it. Then the silent, uncreaking machinery of justice, characteristic of England, began to move forward. Quiet men lounged about Smith Street, visited banks, observed the supposed increase in trade, and from a house near by looked into the garden where ferns were already flourishing on the rockery. Then came the arrest and the trial, which did not last very long, and on a certain Saturday night the verdict. Smart women in large hats had made the court bright with colour, and in all the crowd there was not one who felt any sympathy with the young athleticlooking man who was condemned. Many of the audience were elderly and respectable mothers, and the crime had been an outrage on motherhood, and they listened to the unfolding of the flawless evidence with strong approval. They thrilled a little when the judge put on the awful and ludicrous little black cap, and spoke the sentence appointed by God. Linkworth went to pay the penalty for the atrocious deed, which no one who had heard the evidence could possibly doubt that he had done, with the same indifference as had marked his entire demeanour since he knew his appeal had failed. The prison chaplain who had attended him had done his utmost to get him to confess, but his efforts had been quite ineffectual, and to the last he asserted, though without protestation, his innocence. On a bright September morning, when the sun shone warm on the terrible little procession that crossed the prison yard to the shed where was erected the apparatus of death, justice was done, and Dr. Teesdale was satisfied that life was immediately extinct. He had been present on the scaffold, had watched the bolt drawn, and the hooded and pinioned figure drop into the pit. He had heard the chunk and creak of the rope as the sudden weight came on to it, and looking down he had seen the queer twitchings of the hanged body. They had lasted but a second or two; the execution had been perfectly satisfactory. An hour later he made the postmortem examination, and found that his view had been correct the vertebrae of the spine had been broken at the neck, and death must have been absolutely instantaneous. It was hardly necessary even to make that little piece of dissection that proved this, but for the sake of form he did so. And at that moment he had a very curious and vivid mental impression that the spirit of the dead man was close beside him, as if it still dwelt in the broken habitation of its body. But there was no question at all that the body was dead it had been dead an hour. Then followed another little circumstance that at the first seemed insignificant though curious also. One of the warders entered, and asked if the rope which had been used an hour ago, and was the hangmans perquisite, had by mistake been brought into the mortuary with the body. But there was no trace of it, and it seemed to have vanished altogether though it was a singular thing to be lost it was not here; it was not on the scaffold. And though the disappearance was of no particular moment, it was quite inexplicable. Dr. Teesdale was a bachelor and a man of independent means, and lived in a tallwindowed and commodious house in Bedford Square, where a plain cook of surpassing excellence looked after his food, and her husband his person. There was no need for him to practise a profession at all, and he performed his work at the prison for the sake of the study of the minds of criminals. Most crimethe transgression, that is, of the rule of conduct which the human race has framed for the sake of its own preservationhe held to be either the result of some abnormality of the brain, or of starvation. Crimes of theft, for instance, he would by no means refer to one head; often it is true they were the result of actual want, but more often dictated by some obscure disease of the brain. In marked cases it was labelled as kleptomania, but he was convinced there were many others which did not fall directly under the dictation of physical need. More especially was this the case where the crime in question involved also some deed of violence, and he mentally placed underneath this heading, as he went home that evening, the criminal at whose last moments he had been present that morning. The crime had been abominable, the need of money not so very pressing, and the very abomination and unnaturalness of the murder inclined him to consider the murderer as lunatic rather than criminal. He had been, as far as was known, a man of quiet and kindly disposition, a good husband, a sociable neighbour. And then he had committed a crime, just one, which put him outside all pales. So monstrous a deed, whether perpetrated by a sane man or a mad one, was intolerable; there was no use for the doer of it on this planet at all. But somehow the doctor felt that he would have been more at one with the execution of justice, if the dead man had confessed. It was morally certain that he was guilty, but he wished that when there was no longer any hope for him, he had endorsed the verdict himself. He dined alone that evening, and after dinner sat in his study which adjoined the diningroom, and feeling disinclined to read, sat in his great red chair opposite the fireplace, and let his mind graze where it would. At once almost, it went back to the curious sensation he had experienced that morning, of feeling that the spirit of Linkworth was present in the mortuary, though life had been extinct for an hour. It was not the first time, especially in cases of sudden death, that he had felt a similar conviction, though perhaps it had never been quite so unmistakable as it had been today. Yet the feeling, to his mind, was quite probably formed on a natural and psychical truth. The spiritit may be remarked that he was a believer in the doctrine of future life, and the nonextinction of the soul with the death of the bodywas very likely unable or unwilling to quit at once and altogether the earthly habitation, very likely it lingered there, earthbound, for a while. In his leisure hours Dr. Teesdale was a considerable student of the occult, for like most advanced and proficient physicians, he clearly recognised how narrow was the boundary of separation between soul and body, how tremendous the influence of the intangible was over material things, and it presented no difficulty to his mind that a disembodied spirit should be able to communicate directly with those who still were bounded by the finite and material. His meditations, which were beginning to group themselves into definite sequence, were interrupted at this moment. On his desk near at hand stood his telephone, and the bell rang, not with its usual metallic insistence, but very faintly, as if the current was weak, or the mechanism impaired. However, it certainly was ringing, and he got up and took the combined ear and mouthpiece off its hook. Yes, yes, he said, who is it? There was a whisper in reply almost inaudible, and quite unintelligible. I cant hear you, he said. Again the whisper sounded, but with no greater distinctness. Then it ceased altogether. He stood there, for some half minute or so, waiting for it to be renewed, but beyond the usual chuckling and croaking, which showed, however, that he was in communication with some other instrument, there was silence. Then he replaced the receiver, rang up the Exchange, and gave his number. Can you tell me what number rang me up just now? he asked. There was a short pause, then it was given him. It was the number of the prison, where he was doctor. Put me on to it, please, he said. This was done. You rang me up just now, he said down the tube. Yes; I am Doctor Teesdale. What is it? I could not hear what you said. The voice came back quite clear and intelligible. Some mistake, sir, it said, We havent rang you up. But the exchange tells me you did, three minutes ago. Mistake at the Exchange, sir, said the voice. Very odd. Well, good night. Warder Draycott, isnt it? Yes, sir; good night, sir. Dr. Teesdale went back to his big armchair, still less inclined to read. He let his thoughts wander on for a while, without giving them definite direction, but ever and again his mind kept coming back to that strange little incident of the telephone. Often and often he had been rung up by some mistake, often and often he had been put on to the wrong number by the exchange, but there was something in this very subdued ringing of the telephone bell, and the unintelligible whisperings at the other end that suggested a very curious train of reflection to his mind, and soon he found himself pacing up and down his room, with his thoughts eagerly feeding on a most unusual pasture. But its impossible, he said, aloud. He went down as usual to the prison next morning and once again he was strangely beset with the feeling that there was some unseen presence there. He had before now had some odd psychical experiences, and knew that he was a sensitiveone, that is, who is capable, under certain circumstances, of receiving supernormal impressions, and of having glimpses of the unseen world that lies about us. And this morning the presence of which he was conscious was that of the man who had been executed yesterday morning. It was local, and he felt it most strongly in the little prison yard, and as he passed the door of the condemned cell. So strong was it there that he would not have been surprised if the figure of the man had been visible to him, and as he passed through the door at the end of the passage, he turned round, actually expecting to see it. All the time, too, he was aware of a profound horror at his heart, this unseen presence strangely disturbed him. And the poor soul, he felt, wanted something done for it. Not for a moment did he doubt that this impression of his was objective, it was no imaginative phantom of his own invention that made itself so real. The spirit of Linkworth was there. He passed into the infirmary, and for a couple of hours busied himself with his work. But all the time he was aware that the same invisible presence was near him, though its force was manifestly less here than in those places which had been more intimately associated with the man. Finally, before he left, in order to test his theory he looked into the execution shed. But next moment with a face suddenly stricken pale, he came out again, closing the door hastily. At the top of the steps stood a figure hooded and pinioned, but hazy of outline and only faintly visible. But it was visible, there was no mistake about it. Dr. Teesdale was a man of good nerve, and he recovered himself almost immediately, ashamed of his temporary panic. The terror that had blanched his face was chiefly the effect of startled nerves, not of terrified heart, and yet deeply interested as he was in psychical phenomena, he could not command himself sufficiently to go back there. Or rather he commanded himself, but his muscles refused to act on the message. If this poor earthbound spirit had any communication to make to him, he certainly much preferred that it should be made at a distance. As far as he could understand, its range was circumscribed. It haunted the prison yard, the condemned cell, the execution shed, it was more faintly felt in the infirmary. Then a further point suggested itself to his mind, and he went back to his room and sent for Warder Draycott, who had answered him on the telephone last night. You are quite sure, he asked, that nobody rang me up last night, just before I rang you up? There was a certain hesitation in the mans manner which the doctor noticed. I dont see how it could be possible, sir, he said, I had been sitting close by the telephone for half an hour before, and again before that. I must have seen him, if anyone had been to the instrument. And you saw no one? said the doctor with a slight emphasis. The man became more markedly ill at ease. No, sir, I saw no one, he said, with the same emphasis. Dr. Teesdale looked away from him. But you had perhaps the impression that there was someone there? he asked, carelessly, as if it was a point of no interest. Clearly Warder Draycott had something on his mind, which he found it hard to speak of. Well, sir, if you put it like that, he began. But you would tell me I was half asleep, or had eaten something that disagreed with me at my supper. The doctor dropped his careless manner. I should do nothing of the kind, he said, any more than you would tell me that I had dropped asleep last night, when I heard my telephone bell ring. Mind you, Draycott, it did not ring as usual, I could only just hear it ringing, though it was close to me. And I could only hear a whisper when I put my ear to it. But when you spoke I heard you quite distinctly. Now I believe there was somethingsomebodyat this end of the telephone. You were here, and though you saw no one, you, too, felt there was someone there. The man nodded. Im not a nervous man, sir, he said, and I dont deal in fancies. But there was something there. It was hovering about the instrument, and it wasnt the wind, because there wasnt a breath of wind stirring, and the night was warm. And I shut the window to make certain. But it went about the room, sir, for an hour or more. It rustled the leaves of the telephone book, and it ruffled my hair when it came close to me. And it was bitter cold, sir. The doctor looked him straight in the face. Did it remind you of what had been done yesterday morning? he asked suddenly. Again the man hesitated. Yes, sir, he said at length. Convict Charles Linkworth. Dr. Teesdale nodded reassuringly. Thats it, he said. Now, are you on duty tonight? Yes, sir, I wish I wasnt. I know how you feel, I have felt exactly the same myself. Now whatever this is, it seems to want to communicate with me. By the way, did you have any disturbance in the prison last night? Yes, sir, there was half a dozen men who had the nightmare. Yelling and screaming they were, and quiet men too, usually. It happens sometimes the night after an execution. Ive known it before, though nothing like what it was last night. I see. Now, if thisthis thing you cant see wants to get at the telephone again tonight, give it every chance. It will probably come about the same time. I cant tell you why, but that usually happens. So unless you must, dont be in this room where the telephone is, just for an hour to give it plenty of time between half past nine and half past ten.

I will be ready for it at the other end. Supposing I am rung up, I will, when it has finished, ring you up to make sure that I was not being called inin the usual way. And there is nothing to be afraid of, sir? asked the man. Dr. Teesdale remembered his own moment of terror this morning, but he spoke quite sincerely. I am sure there is nothing to be afraid of, he said, reassuringly. Dr. Teesdale had a dinner engagement that night, which he broke, and was sitting alone in his study by half past nine. In the present state of human ignorance as to the law which governs the movements of spirits severed from the body, he could not tell the warder why it was that their visits are so often periodic, timed to punctuality according to our scheme of hours, but in scenes of tabulated instances of the appearance of revenants, especially if the soul was in sore need of help, as might be the case here, he found that they came at the same hour of day or night. As a rule, too, their power of making themselves seen or heard or felt, grew greater for some little while after death, subsequently growing weaker as they became less earthbound, or often after that ceasing altogether, and he was prepared tonight for a less indistinct impression. The spirit apparently for the early hours of its disembodiment is weak, like a moth newly broken out from its chrysalisand then suddenly the telephone bell rang, not so faintly as the night before, but still not with its ordinary imperative tone. Dr. Teesdale instantly got up, put the receiver to his ears. And what he heard was heartbroken sobbing, strong spasms that seemed to tear the weeper. He waited for a little before speaking, himself cold with some nameless fear, and yet profoundly moved to help, if he was able. Yes, yes, he said at length, hearing his own voice tremble. I am Dr. Teesdale. What can I do for you? And who are you? he added, though he felt that it was a needless question. Slowly the sobbing died down, the whispers took its place, still broken by crying. I want to tell, sirI want to tellI must tell. Yes, tell me, what is it? said the doctor. No, not youanother gentleman, who used to come to see me. Will you speak to him what I say to you?I cant make him hear me or see me. Who are you? asked Dr. Teesdale suddenly. Charles Linkworth. I thought you knew. I am very miserable. I cant leave the prisonand it is cold. Will you send for the other gentleman? Do you mean the chaplain? asked Dr. Teesdale. Yes, the chaplain. He read the service when I went across the yard yesterday. I shant be so miserable when I have told. The doctor hesitated a moment. This was a strange story that he would have to tell Mr. Dawkins, the prison chaplain, that at the other end of the telephone was the spirit of the man executed yesterday. And yet he soberly believed that it was so that this unhappy spirit was in misery, and wanted to tell. There was no need to ask what he wanted to tell. Yes, I will ask him to come here, he said at length. Thank you, sir, a thousand times. You will make him come, wont you? The voice was growing fainter. It must be tomorrow night, it said. I cant speak longer now. I have to go to seeoh, my God, my God. The sobs broke out afresh, sounding fainter and fainter. But it was in a frenzy of terrified interest that Dr. Teesdale spoke. To see what? he cried. Tell me what you are doing, what is happening to you? I cant tell you; I maynt tell you, said the voice very faint. That is part and it died away altogether. Dr. Teesdale waited a little, but there was no further sound of any kind, except the chuckling and croaking of the instrument. He put the receiver on to its hook again, and then became aware for the first time that his forehead was streaming with some cold dew of horror. His ears sang; his heart beat very quick and faint, and he sat down to recover himself. Once or twice he asked himself if it was possible that some terrible joke was being played on him, but he knew that could not be so; he felt perfectly sure that he had been speaking with a soul in torment of contrition for the terrible and irremediable act it had committed. It was no delusion of his senses, either; here in this comfortable room of his in Bedford Square, with London cheerfully roaring round him, he had spoken with the spirit of Charles Linkworth. But he had no time (nor indeed inclination, for somehow his soul sat shuddering within him) to indulge in meditation. First of all he rang up the prison. Warder Draycott? he asked. There was a perceptible tremor in the mans voice as he answered. Yes, sir. Is it Dr. Teesdale? Yes. Has anything happened here with you? Twice it seemed that the man tried to speak and could not. At the third attempt the words came. Yes, sir. He has been here. I saw him go into the room where the telephone is. Ah! Did you speak to him? No, sir I sweated and prayed. And theres half a dozen men as have been screaming in their sleep tonight. But its quiet again now. I think he has gone into the execution shed. Yes. Well, I think there will be no more disturbance now. By the way, please give me Mr. Dawkinss home address. This was given him, and Dr. Teesdale proceeded to write to the chaplain, asking him to dine with him on the following night. But suddenly he found that he could not write at his accustomed desk, with the telephone standing close to him, and he went upstairs to the drawingroom which he seldom used, except when he entertained his friends. There he recaptured the serenity of his nerves, and could control his hand. The note simply asked Mr. Dawkins to dine with him next night, when he wished to tell him a very strange history and ask his help. Even if you have any other engagement, he concluded, I seriously request you to give it up. Tonight, I did the same. I should bitterly have regretted it if I had not. Next night accordingly, the two sat at their dinner in the doctors diningroom, and when they were left to their cigarettes and coffee the doctor spoke. You must not think me mad, my dear Dawkins, he said, when you hear what I have got to tell you. Mr. Dawkins laughed. I will certainly promise not to do that, he said. Good. Last night and the night before, a little later in the evening than this, I spoke through the telephone with the spirit of the man we saw executed two days ago. Charles Linkworth. The chaplain did not laugh. He pushed back his chair, looking annoyed. Teesdale, he said, is it to tell me thisI dont want to be rudebut this bogeytale that you have brought me here his evening? Yes. You have not heard half of it. He asked me last night to get hold of you. He wants to tell you something. We can guess, I think, what it is. Dawkins got up. Please let me hear no more of it, he said. The dead do not return. In what state or under what condition they exist has not been revealed to us. But they have done with all material things. But I must tell you more, said the doctor. Two nights ago I was rung up, but very faintly, and could hear only whispers. I instantly inquired where the call came from and was told it came from the prison. I rang up the prison, and Warder Draycott told me that nobody had rung me up. He, too, was conscious of a presence. I think that man drinks, said Dawkins, sharply. The doctor paused a moment. My dear fellow, you should not say that sort of thing, he said. He is one of the steadiest men we have got. And if he drinks, why not I also? The chaplain sat down again. You must forgive me, he said, but I cant go into this. These are dangerous matters to meddle with. Besides, how do you know it is not a hoax? Played by whom? asked the doctor. Hark! The telephone bell suddenly rang. It was clearly audible to the doctor. Dont you hear it? he said. Hear what? The telephone bell ringing. I hear no bell, said the chaplain, rather angrily. There is no bell ringing. The doctor did not answer, but went through into his study, and turned on the lights. Then he took the receiver and mouthpiece off its hook. Yes? he said, in a voice that trembled. Who is it? Yes Mr. Dawkins is here. I will try and get him to speak to you. He went back into the other room. Dawkins, he said, there is a soul in agony. I pray you to listen. For Gods sake come and listen. The chaplain hesitated a moment. As you will, he said. He took up the receiver and put it to his ear. I am Mr. Dawkins, he said. He waited. I can hear nothing whatever, he said at length. Ah, there was something there. The faintest whisper. Ah, try to hear, try to hear! said the doctor. Again the chaplain listened. Suddenly he laid the instrument down, frowning. Somethingsomebody said, I killed her, I confess it. I want to be forgiven. Its a hoax, my dear Teesdale. Somebody knowing your spiritualistic leanings is playing a very grim joke on you. I cant believe it. Dr. Teesdale took up the receiver. I am Dr. Teesdale, he said. Can you give Mr. Dawkins some sign that it is you? Then he laid it down again. He says he thinks he can, he said. We must wait. The evening was again very warm, and the window into the paved yard at the back of the house was open. For five minutes or so the two men stood in silence, waiting, and nothing happened. Then the chaplain spoke. I think that is sufficiently conclusive, he said. Even as he spoke a very cold draught of air suddenly blew into the room, making the papers on the desk rustle. Dr. Teesdale went to the window and closed it. Did you feel that? he asked. Yes, a breath of air. Chilly. Once again in the closed room it stirred again. And did you feel that? asked the doctor. The chaplain nodded. He felt his heart hammering in his throat suddenly. Defend us from all peril and danger of this coming night, he exclaimed. Something is coming! said the doctor. As he spoke it came. In the centre of the room not three yards away from them stood the figure of a man with his head bent over on to his shoulder, so that the face was not visible. Then he took his head in both his hands and raised it like a weight, and looked them in the face. The eyes and tongue protruded, a livid mark was round the neck. Then there came a sharp rattle on the boards of the floor, and the figure was no longer there. But on the floor there lay a new rope. For a long while neither spoke. The sweat poured off the doctors face, and the chaplains white lips whispered prayers. Then by a huge effort the doctor pulled himself together. He pointed at the rope. It has been missing since the execution, he said. Then again the telephone bell rang. This time the chaplain needed no prompting. He went to it at once and the ringing ceased. For a while he listened in silence. Charles Linkworth, he said at length, in the sight of God, in whose presence you stand, are you truly sorry for your sin? Some answer inaudible to the doctor came, and the chaplain closed his eyes. And Dr. Teesdale knelt as he heard the words of the Absolution. At the close there was silence again. I can hear nothing more, said the chaplain, replacing the receiver. Presently the doctors manservant came in with the tray of spirits and syphon. Dr. Teesdale pointed without looking to where the apparition had been. Take the rope that is there and burn it, Parker, he said. There was a moments silence. There is no rope, sir, said Parker. The DustCloud The big French windows were open on to the lawn, and, dinner being over, two or three of the party who were staying for the week at the end of August with the CombeMartins had strolled out on to the terrace to look at the sea, over which the moon, large and low, was just rising and tracing a path of pale gold from horizon to shore, while others, less lunar of inclination, had gone in search of bridge or billiards. Coffee had come round immediately after dessert, and the end of dinner, according to the delectable custom of the house, was as informal as the end of breakfast. Everyone, that is to say, remained or went away, smoked, drank port or abstained, according to his personal tastes. Thus, on this particular evening it so happened that Harry CombeMartin and I were very soon left alone in the diningroom, because we were talking unmitigated motor shop, and the rest of the party (small wonder) were bored with it, and had left us. The shop was homeshop, so to speak, for it was almost entirely concerned with the manifold perfections of the new sixcylinder Napier which my host in a moment of extravagance, which he did not in the least regret, had just purchased; in which, too, he proposed to take me over to lunch at a friends house near Hunstanton on the following day. He observed with legitimate pride that an early start would not be necessary as the distance was only eighty miles and there were no police traps. Queer things these big motors are, he said, relapsing into generalities as we rose to go. Often I can scarcely believe that my new car is merely a machine. It seems to me to possess an independent life of its own. It is really much more like a thoroughbred with a wonderfully fine mouth. And the moods of a thoroughbred? I asked. No; its got an excellent temper, Im glad to say. It doesnt mind being checked, or even stopped, when its going its best. Some of these big cars cant stand that. They get sulkyI assure you it is literally trueif they are checked too often. He paused on his way to ring the bell. Guy Elphinstones car, for instance, he said it was a badtempered brute, a violent, vicious beast of a car. What make? I asked. Twentyfive horsepower Amde. They are a fretful strain of car; too thin, pot enough boneand bone is very good for the nerves. The brute liked running over a chicken or a rabbit, though perhaps it was less the cars illtemper than Guys, poor chap. Well, he paid for ithe paid to the uttermost farthing. Did you know him? No; but surely I have heard the name. Ah, yes, he ran over a child, did he not? Yes, said Harry, and then smashed up against his own park gates. Killed, wasnt he? Oh yes, killed instantly, and the car just a heap of splinters. Theres an odd story about it, Im told, in the village rather in your line. Ghosts? I asked. Yes, the ghost of his motorcar. Seems almost too uptodate, doesnt it? And whats the story? I demanded. Why, just this. His place was outside the village of Bircham, ten miles out from Norwich; and theres a long straight bit of road therethats where he ran over the childand a couple of hundred yards farther on, a rather awkward turn into the park gates. Well, a month or two ago, soon after the accident, one old gaffer in the village swore he had seen a motor there coming full tilt along the road, but without a sound, and it disappeared at the lodge gates of the park, which were shut. Soon after another said he had heard a motor whirl by him at the same place, followed by a hideous scream, but he saw nothing. The scream is rather horrible, said I. Ah, I see what you mean! I only thought of his siren. Guy had a siren on his exhaust, same as I have. His had a dreadful frightened sort of wail, and always made me feel creepy. And is that all the story? I asked that one old man thought he saw a noiseless motor, and another thought he heard an invisible one? Harry flicked the ash off his cigarette into the grate. Oh dear no! he said. Half a dozen of them have seen something or heard something. It is quite a heavily authenticated yarn. Yes, and talked over and edited in the publichouse, I said. Well, not a man of them will go there after dark. Also the lodgekeeper gave notice a week or two after the accident. He said he was always hearing a motor stop and hoot outside the lodge, and he was kept running out at all hours of the night to see what it was. And what was it? It wasnt anything. Simply nothing there. He thought it rather uncanny, anyhow, and threw up a good post. Besides, his wife was always hearing a child scream, and while her man toddled out to the gate she would go and see whether the kids were all right. And the kids themselves Ah, what of them? I asked. They kept coming to their mother, asking who the little girl was who walked up and down the road and would not speak to them or play with them. Its a manysided story, I said. All the witnesses seem to have heard and seen different things. Yes, that is just what to my mind makes the yarn so good, he said. Personally I dont take much stock in spooks at all. But given that there are such things as spooks, and given that the death of the child and the death of Guy have caused spooks to play about there, it seems to me a very good point that different people should be aware of different phenomena. One hears the car, another sees it, one hears the child scream, another sees the child. How does that strike you? This, I am bound to say, was a new view to me, and the more I thought of it the more reasonable it appeared. For the vast majority of mankind have all those occult senses by which is perceived the spiritual world (which, I hold, is thick and populous around us), sealed up, as it were; in other words, the majority of mankind never hear or see a ghost at all. Is it not, then, very probable that of the remainderthose, in fact, to whom occult experiences have happened or can happenfew should have every sense unsealed, but that some should have the unsealed ear, others the unsealed eyethat some should be clairaudient, others clairvoyant? Yes, it strikes me as reasonable, I said. Cant you take me over there? Certainly! If you will stop till Friday Ill take you over on Thursday. The others all go that day, so that we can get there after dark. I shook my head. I cant stop till Friday, Im afraid, I said. I must leave on Thursday. But how about tomorrow? Cant we take it on the way to or from Hunstanton? No; its thirty miles out of our way. Besides, to be at Bircham after dark means that we shouldnt get back here till midnight. And as host to my guests Ah! things are only heard and seen after dark, are they? I asked. That makes it so much less interesting. It is like a sance where all lights are put out. Well, the accident happened at night, he said. I dont know the rules, but that may have some bearing on it, I should think. I had one question more in the back of my mind, but I did not like to ask it. At least, I wanted information on this subject without appearing to ask for it. Neither do I know the rules of motors, I said; and I dont understand you when you say that Guy Elphinstones machine was an irritable, crossgrained brute, that liked running over chickens and rabbits. But I think you subsequently said that the irritability may have been the irritability of its owner. Did he mind being checked? It made him blindmad if it happened often, said Harry. I shall never forget a drive I had with him once there were haycarts and perambulators every hundred yards. It was perfectly ghastly; it was like being with a madman. And when we got inside his gate, his dog came running out to meet him. He did not go an inch out of his course it was worse than thathe went for it, just grinding his teeth with rage. I never drove with him again. He stopped a moment, guessing what might be in my mind. I say, you mustnt thinkyou mustnt think he began. No, of course not, said I. Harry CombeMartins house stood close to the weathereaten, sandy cliffs of the Suffolk shore, which are being incessantly gnawed away by the hunger of the insatiable sea. Fathoms deep below it, and now many hundred yards out, lies what was once the second port in England; but now of the ancient town of Dunwich, and of its seven great churches, nothing remains but one, and that ruinous and already half destroyed by the falling cliff and the encroachments of the sea. Foot by foot, it too is disappearing, and of the graveyard which surrounded it more than half is gone, so that from the face of the sandy cliff on which it stands there stick out like straws in glass, as Dante says, the bones of those who were once committed there to the kindly and stable earth. Whether it was the remembrance of this rather grim spectacle as I had seen it that afternoon, or whether Harrys story had caused some trouble in my brain, or whether it was merely that the keen bracing air of this place, to one who had just come from the sleepy languor of the Norfolk Broads, kept me sleepless, I do not know; but, anyhow, the moment I put out my light that night and got into bed, I felt that all the footlights and gasjets in the internal theatre of my mind sprang into flame, and that I was very vividly and alertly awake. It was in vain that I counted a hundred forwards and a hundred backwards, that I pictured to myself a flock of visionary sheep coming singly through a gap in an imaginary hedge, and tried to number their monotonous and uniform countenances, that I played noughts and crosses with myself, that I marked out scores of double lawntennis courtsfor with each repetition of these supposedly soporific exercises I only became more intensely wakeful. It was not in remote hope of sleep that I continued to repeat these weary performances long after their inefficacy was proved to the hilt, but because I was strangely unwilling in this timeless hour of the night to think about those protruding relics of humanity; also I quite distinctly did not desire to think about that subject with regard to which I had, a few hours ago, promised Harry that I would not make it the subject of reflection. For these reasons I continued during the black hours to practise these narcotic exercises of the mind, knowing well that if I paused on the tedious treadmill my thoughts, like some released spring, would fly back to rather gruesome subjects. I kept my mind, in fact, talking loud to itself, so that it should not hear what other voices were saying. Then by degrees these absurd mental occupations became impossible; my mind simply refused to occupy itself with them any longer; and next moment I was thinking intently and eagerly, not about the bones protruding from the gnawed section of sandcliff, but about the subject I had said I would not dwell upon. And like a flash it came upon me why Harry had bidden me not think about it. Surely in order that I should not come to the same conclusion as he had come to. Now the whole question of haunthaunted spots, haunted houses, and so forthhas always seemed to me to be utterly unsolved, and to be neither proved nor disproved to a satisfactory degree. From the earliest times, certainly from the earliest known Egyptian records, there has been a belief that the scene of a crime is often revisited, sometimes by the spirit of him who has committed itseeking rest, we must suppose, and finding none; sometimes, and more inexplicably, by the spirit of his victim, crying perhaps, like the blood of Abel, for vengeance. And though the stories of these village gossips in the alehouse about noiseless visions and invisible noises were all as yet unsifted and unreliable, yet I could not help wondering if they (such as they were) pointed to something authentic and to be classed under this head of appearances. But more striking than the yarns of the gaffers seemed to me the questions of the lodgekeepers children. How should children have imagined the figure of a child that would not speak to them or play with them? Perhaps it was a real child, a sulky child. Yesperhaps. But perhaps not. Then after this preliminary skirmish I found myself settling down to the question that I had said I would not think about; in other words, the possible origin of these phenomena interested me more than the phenomena themselves. For what exactly had Guy Elphinstone, that savage driver, done? Had or had not the death of the child been entirely an accident, a thing (given he drove a motor at all) outside his own control? Or had he, irritated beyond endurance at the checks and delays of the day, not pulled up when it was just possible he might have, but had run over the child as he would have run over a rabbit or a hen, or even his own dog? And what, in any case, poor wretched brute, must have been his thoughts in that terrible instant that intervened between the childs death and his own, when a moment later he smashed into the closed gates of his own lodge? Was remorse hisbitter, despairing contrition? That could hardly have been so; or else surely, knowing only for certain that he had knocked a child down, he would have stopped; he would have done his best, whatever that might be, to repair the irreparable harm. But he had not stopped he had gone on, it seemed, at full speed, for on the collision the car had been smashed into matchwood and steel shavings. Again, with double force, had this dreadful thing been a complete accident, he would have stopped. So thenmost terrible question of allhad he, after making murder, rushed on to what proved to be his own death, filled with some hellish glee at what he had done? Indeed, as in the churchyard on the cliff, bones of the buried stuck starkly out into the night. The pale tired light of earliest morning had turned the windowblinds into glimmering squares before I slept; and when I woke, the servant who called me was already rattling them briskly up on their rollers, and letting the calm serenity of the August day stream into the room. Through the open windows poured in sunlight and seawind, the scent of flowers and the song of birds; and each and all were wonderfully reassuring, banishing the hooded forms that had haunted the night, and I thought of the disquietude of the dark hours as a traveller may think of the billows and tempests of the ocean over which he has safely journeyed, unable, now that they belong to the limbo of the past, to recall his qualms and tossings with any vivid uneasiness. Not without a feeling of relief, too, did I dwell on the knowledge that I was definitely not going to visit this equivocal spot. Our drive today, as Harry had said, would not take us within thirty miles of it, and tomorrow I but went to the station and away. Though a thoroughpaced seeker after truth might, no doubt, have regretted that the laws of time and space did not permit him to visit Bircham after the sinister dark had fallen, and test whether for him there was visible or audible truth in the tales of the village gossips, I was conscious of no such regret. Bircham and its fables had given me a very bad night, and I was perfectly aware that I did not in the least want to go near it, though yesterday I had quite truthfully said I should like to do so. In this brightness, too, of sun and seawind I felt none of the malaise at my waking moments which a sleepless night usually gives me; I felt particularly well, particularly pleased to be alive, and also, as I have said, particularly content not to be going to Bircham. I was quite satisfied to leave my curiosity unsatisfied. The motor came round about eleven, and we started at once, Harry and Mrs. Morrison, a cousin of his, sitting behind in the big back seat, large enough to hold a comfortable three, and I on the left of the driver, in a sort of tranceI am not ashamed to confess itof expectancy and delight. For this was in the early days of motors, when there was still the sense of romance and adventure round them. I did not want to drive, any more than Harry wanted to; for driving, so I hold, is too absorbing; it takes the attention in too firm a grip the mania of the true motorist is not consciously enjoyed. For the passion for motors is a tasteI had almost said a giftas distinct and as keenly individual as the passion for music or mathematics. Those who use motors most (merely as a means of getting rapidly from one place to another) are often entirely without it, while those whom adverse circumstances (over which they have no control) compel to use them least may have it to a supreme degree. To those who have it, analysis of their passion is perhaps superfluous; to those who have it not, explanation is almost unintelligible. Pace, however, and the control of pace, and above all the sensuous consciousness of pace, is at the root of it; and pleasure in pace is common to most people, whether it be in the form of a galloping horse, or the pace of the skate hissing over smooth ice, or the pace of a freewheel bicycle humming downhill, or, more impersonally, the pace of the smashed ball at lawntennis, the driven ball at golf, or the low boundary hit at cricket. But the sensuous consciousness of pace, as I have said, is needful one might experience it seated in front of the engine of an express train, though not in a wadded, shutwindowed carriage, where the wind of movement is not felt. Then add to this rapture of the rush through riven air the knowledge that huge relentless force is controlled by a little lever, and directed by a little wheel on which the hands of the driver seem to lie so negligently. A great untamed devil has there his bridle, and he answers to it, as Harry had said, like a horse with a fine mouth. He has hunger and thirst, too, unslakeable, and greedily he laps of his soup of petrol which turns to fire in his mouth electricity, the force that rends clouds asunder, and causes towers to totter, is the spoon with which he feeds himself; and as he eats he races onward, and the road opens like torn linen in front of him. Yet how obedient, how amenable is he!for with a touch on his snaffle his speed is redoubled, or melts into thin air, so that before you know you have touched the rein he has exchanged his swallowflight for a mere saunter through the lanes. But he ever loves to run; and knowing this, you will bid him lift up his voice and tell those who are in his path that he is coming, so that he will not need the touch that checks. Hoarse and jovial is his voice, hooting to the wayfarer; and if his hooting be not heard he has a great guttural falsetto scream that leaps from octave to octave, and echoes from the hedges that are passing in blurred lines of hanging green. And, as you go, the romantic isolation of divers in deep seas is yours; masked and hooded companions may be near you also, in their drivingdress for this plunge through the swift tides of air; but you, like them, are alone and isolated, conscious only of the ripped ribbon of road, the two great lanterneyes of the wonderful monster that look through drooped eyelids by day, but gleam with fire by night, the two earlaps of splashboards, and the long lean bonnet in front which is the skull and braincase of that swift, untiring energy that feeds on fire, and whirls its two tons of weight up hill and down dale, as if some new law as everlasting as gravity, and like gravity making it go ever swifter, was its sole control. For the first hour the essence of these joys, any description of which compared to the real thing is but as a stagnant pond compared to the bright rushing of a mountain stream, was mine. A straight switchback road lay in front of us, and the monster plunged silently down hill, and said below his breath, Hahahahahaha, as, without diminution of speed, he breasted the opposing slope. In my control were his great vocal chords (for in those days hooter and siren were on the drivers left, and lay convenient to the hand of him who occupied the boxseat), and it rejoiced me to let him hoot to a ponycart, three hundred yards ahead, with a hand on his falsetto scream if his ordinary tones of conversation were unheard or disregarded. Then came a road crossing ours at right angles, and the dear monster seemed to say, Yes, yessee how obedient and careful I am. I stroll with my hands in my pockets. Then again a puppy from a farmhouse staggered warlike into the road, and the monster said, Poor little chap! get home to your mother, or Ill talk to you in earnest. The poor little chap did not take the hint, so the monster slackened speed and just said, Whoof! Then it chuckled to itself as the puppy scuttled into the hedge, seriously alarmed; and next moment our selfmade wind screeched and whistled round us again.

Napoleon, I believe, said that the power of an army lay in its feet that is true also of the monster. There was a loud bang, and in thirty seconds we were at a standstill. The monsters off forefoot troubled it, and the chauffeur said, Yes, sirburst. So the burst boot was taken off and a new one put on, a boot that had never been on foot before. The foot in question was held up on a jack during this operation, and the new boot laced up with a pump. This took exactly twentyfive minutes. Then the monster got his spoon going again, and said, Let me run oh, let me run! And for fifteen miles on a straight and empty road it ran. I timed the miles, but shall not produce their chronology for the benefit of a forsworn constabulary. But there were no more dithyrambics that morning. We should have reached Hunstanton in time for lunch. Instead, we waited to repair our fourth puncture at 145 p.m., twentyfive miles short of our destination. This fourth puncture was caused by a spicule of flint threequarters of an inch longsharp, it is true, but weighing perhaps two pennyweights, while we weighed two tons. It seemed an impertinence. So we lunched at a wayside inn, and during lunch the pundits held a consultation, of which the upshot was this We had no more boots for our monster, for his off forefoot had burst once, and punctured once (thus necessitating two socks and one boot). Similarly, but more so, his off hindfoot had burst twice (thus necessitating two boots and two socks). Now, there was no certain shoemakers shop at Hunstanton, as far as we knew, but there was a regular universal store at Kings Lynn, which was about equidistant. And, so said the chauffeur, there was something wrong with the monsters spoon (ignition), and he didnt rightly know what, and therefore it seemed the prudent part not to go to Hunstanton (lunch, a thing of the preterite, having been the object), but to the wellsupplied Kings Lynn. And we all breathed a pious hope that we might get there. Whizz hoot purr! The last boot held, the spoon went busily to the monsters mouth, and we just flowed into Kings Lynn. The return journey, so I vaguely gathered, would be made by other roads; but personally, intoxicated with air and movement, I neither asked nor desired to know what those roads would be. This one small but rather salient fact is necessary to record here, that as we waited at Kings Lynn, and as we buzzed homewards afterwards, no thought of Bircham entered my head at all. The subsequent hallucination, if hallucination it was, was not, as far as I know, selfsuggested. That we had gone out of our way for the sake of the garage, I knew, and that was all. Harry also told me that he did not know where our road would take us. The rest that follows is the baldest possible narrative of what actually occurred. But it seems to me, a humble student of the occult, to be curious. While we waited we had tea in a hotel looking on to a big empty square of houses, and after tea we waited a very long time for our monster to pick us up. Then the telephone from the garage inquired for the gentleman on the motor, and since Harry had strolled out to get a local evening paper with news of the last Test Match, I applied ear and mouth to that elusive instrument. What I heard was not encouraging the ignition had gone very wrong indeed, and perhaps in an hour we should be able to start. It was then about halfpast six, and we were just seventyeight miles from Dunwich. Harry came back soon after this, and I told him what the message from the garage had been. What he said was this Then we shant get back till long after dinner. We might just as well have camped out to see your ghost. As I have already said, no notion of Bircham was in my mind, and I mention this as evidence that, even if it had been, Harrys remark would have implied that we were not going through Bircham. The hour lengthened itself into an hour and a half. Then the monster, quite well again, came hooting round the corner, and we got in. Whack her up, Jack, said Harry to the chauffeur. The roads will be empty. You had better light up at once. The monster, with its eyes agleam, was whacked up, and never in my life have I been carried so cautiously and yet so swiftly. Jack never took a risk or the possibility of a risk, but when the road was clear and open he let the monster run just as fast as it was able. Its eyes made day of the road fifty yards ahead, and the romance of night was fairyland round us. Hares started from the roadside, and raced in front of us for a hundred yards, then just wheeled in time to avoid the earflaps of the great triumphant brute that carried us. Moths flitted across, struck sometimes by the lenses of its eyes, and the miles peeled over our shoulders. When It occurred we were going topspeed. And this was Itquite unsensational, but to us quite inexplicable unless my midnight imaginings happened to be true. As I have said, I was in command of the hooter and of the siren. We were flying along on a straight downgrade, as fast as ever we could go, for the engines were working, though the decline was considerable. Then quite suddenly I saw in front of us a thick cloud of dust, and knew instinctively and on the instant, without thought or reasoning, what that must mean. Evidently something going very fast (or else so large a cloud could not have been raised) was in front of us, and going in the same direction as ourselves. Had it been something on the road coming to meet us, we should of course have seen the vehicle first and run into the dustcloud afterwards. Had it, again, been something of low speeda horse and dogcart, for instanceno such dust could have been raised. But, as it was, I knew at once that there was a motor travelling swiftly just ahead of us, also that it was not going as fast as we were, or we should have run into its dust much more gradually. But we went into it as into a suddenly lowered curtain. Then I shouted to Jack. Slow down, and put on the brake, I shrieked. Theres something just ahead of us. As I spoke I wrought a wild concerto on the hooter, and with my right hand groped for the siren, but did not find it. Simultaneously I heard a wild, frightened shriek, just as if I had sounded the siren myself. Jack had felt for it too, and our hands fingered each other. Then we entered the dustcloud. We slowed down with extraordinary rapidity, and still peering ahead we went deadslow through it. I had not put on my goggles after leaving Kings Lynn, and the dust stung and smarted in my eyes. It was not, therefore, a belt of fog, but real roaddust. And at the moment we crept through it I felt Harrys hands on my shoulder. Theres something just ahead, he said. Look! dont you see the tail light? As a matter of fact, I did not; and, still going very slow, we came out of that dustcloud. The broad empty road stretched in front of us; a hedge was on each side, and there was no turning either to right or left. Only, on the right, was a lodge, and gates which were closed. The lodge had no lights in any window. Then we came to a standstill; the air was deadcalm, not a leaf in the hedgerow trees was moving, not a grain of dust was lifted from the road. But, behind, the dustcloud still hung in the air, and stopped deadshort at the closed lodgegates. We had moved very slowly for the last hundred yards it was difficult to suppose that it was of our making. Then Jack spoke, with a curious crack in his voice. It must have been a motor, sir, he said. But where is it? I had no reply to this, and from behind another voice, Harrys voice, spoke. For the moment I did not recognise it, for it was strained and faltering. Did you open the siren? he asked. It didnt sound like our siren. It sounded like, like I didnt open the siren, said I. Then we went on again. Soon we came to scattered lights in houses by the wayside. Whats this place? I asked Jack. Bircham, sir, said he. The Gardener Two friends of mine, Hugh Grainger and his wife, had taken for a month of Christmas holiday the house in which we were to witness such strange manifestations, and when I received an invitation from them to spend a fortnight there I returned them an enthusiastic affirmative. Well already did I know that pleasant heathery countryside, and most intimate was my acquaintance with the subtle hazards of its most charming golflinks. Golf, I was given to understand, was to occupy the solid day for Hugh and me, so that Margaret should never be obliged to set her hand to the implements with which the game, so detestable to her, was conducted. I arrived there while yet the daylight lingered, and as my hosts were out, I took a ramble round the place. The house and garden stood on a plateau facing south; below it were a couple of acres of pasture that sloped down to a vagrant stream crossed by a footbridge, by the side of which stood a thatched cottage with a vegetable patch surrounding it. A path ran close past this across the pasture from a wicketgate in the garden, conducted you over the footbridge, and, so my remembered sense of geography told me, must constitute a shortcut to the links that lay not half a mile beyond. The cottage itself was clearly on the land of the little estate, and I at once supposed it to be the gardeners house. What went against so obvious and simple a theory was that it appeared to be untenanted. No wreath of smoke, though the evening was chilly, curled from its chimneys, and, coming closer, I fancied it had that air of waiting about it which we so often conjure into unused habitations. There it stood, with no sign of life whatever about it, though ready, as its apparently perfect state of repair seemed to warrant, for fresh tenants to put the breath of life into it again. Its little garden, too, though the palings were neat and newly painted, told the same tale; the beds were untended and unweeded, and in the flowerborder by the front door was a row of chrysanthemums, which had withered on their stems. But all this was but the impression of a moment, and I did not pause as I passed it, but crossed the footbridge and went on up the heathery slope that lay beyond. My geography was not at fault, for presently I saw the clubhouse just in front of me. Hugh no doubt would be just about coming in from his afternoon round, and so we would walk back together. On reaching the clubhouse, however, the steward told me that not five minutes before Mrs. Grainger had called in her car for her husband, and I therefore retraced my steps by the path along which I had already come. But I made a detour, as a golfer will, to walk up the fairway of the seventeenth and eighteenth holes just for the pleasure of recognition, and looked respectfully at the yawning sandpit which so inexorably guards the eighteenth green, wondering in what circumstances I should visit it next, whether with a step complacent and superior, knowing that my ball reposed safely on the green beyond, or with the heavy footfall of one who knows that laborious delving lies before him. The light of the winter evening had faded fast, and when I crossed the footbridge on my return the dusk had gathered. To my right, just beside the path, lay the cottage, the whitewashed walls of which gleamed whitely in the gloaming; and as I turned my glance back from it to the rather narrow plank which bridged the stream I thought I caught out of the tail of my eye some light from one of its windows, which thus disproved my theory that it was untenanted. But when I looked directly at it again I saw that I was mistaken some reflection in the glass of the red lines of sunset in the west must have deceived me, for in the inclement twilight it looked more desolate than ever. Yet I lingered by the wicket gate in its low palings, for though all exterior evidence bore witness to its emptiness, some inexplicable feeling assured me, quite irrationally, that this was not so, and that there was somebody there. Certainly there was nobody visible, but, so this absurd idea informed me, he might be at the back of the cottage concealed from me by the intervening structure, and, still oddly, still unreasonably, it became a matter of importance to my mind to ascertain whether this was so or not, so clearly had my perceptions told me that the place was empty, and so firmly had some conviction assured me that it was tenanted. To cover my inquisitiveness, in case there was someone there, I could inquire whether this path was a shortcut to the house at which I was staying, and, rather rebelling at what I was doing, I went through the small garden, and rapped at the door. There was no answer, and, after waiting for a response to a second summons, and having tried the door and found it locked, I made the circuit of the house. Of course there was no one there, and I told myself that I was just like a man who looks under his bed for a burglar and would be beyond measure astonished if he found one. My hosts were at the house when I arrived, and we spent a cheerful two hours before dinner in such desultory and eager conversation as is proper between friends who have not met for some time. Between Hugh Grainger and his wife it is always impossible to light on a subject which does not vividly interest one or other of them, and golf, politics, the needs of Russia, cooking, ghosts, the possible victory over Mount Everest, and the income tax were among the topics which we passionately discussed. With all these plates spinning, it was easy to whip up any one of them, and the subject of spooks generally was lighted upon again and again. Margaret is on the high road to madness, remarked Hugh on one of these occasions, for she has begun using planchette. If you use planchette for six months, I am told, most careful doctors will conscientiously certify you as insane. Shes got five months more before she goes to Bedlam. Does it work? I asked. Yes, it says most interesting things, said Margaret. It says things that never entered my head. Well try it tonight. Oh, not tonight, said Hugh. Lets have an evening off. Margaret disregarded this. Its no use asking planchette questions, she went on, because there is in your mind some sort of answer to them. If I ask whether it will be fine tomorrow, for instance, it is probably Ithough indeed I dont mean to pushwho makes the pencil say yes. And then it usually rains, remarked Hugh. Not always dont interrupt. The interesting thing is to let the pencil write what it chooses. Very often it only makes loops and curvesthough they may mean somethingand every now and then a word comes, of the significance of which I have no idea whatever, so I clearly couldnt have suggested it. Yesterday evening, for instance, it wrote gardener over and over again. Now what did that mean? The gardener here is a Methodist with a chinbeard. Could it have meant him? Oh, its time to dress. Please dont be late, my cook is so sensitive about soup. We rose, and some connection of ideas about gardener linked itself up in my mind. By the way, whats that cottage in the field by the footbridge? I asked. Is that the gardeners cottage? It used to be, said Hugh. But the chinbeard doesnt live there in fact nobody lives there. Its empty. If I was owner here, I should put the chinbeard into it, and take the rent off his wages. Some people have no idea of economy. Why did you ask? I saw Margaret was looking at me rather attentively. Curiosity, I said. Idle curiosity. I dont believe it was, said she. But it was, I said. It was idle curiosity to know whether the house was inhabited. As I passed it, going down to the clubhouse, I felt sure it was empty, but coming back I felt so sure that there was someone there that I rapped at the door, and indeed walked round it. Hugh had preceded us upstairs, as she lingered a little. And there was no one there? she asked. Its odd I had just the same feeling as you about it. That explains planchette writing gardener over and over again, said I. You had the gardeners cottage on your mind. How ingenious! said Margaret. Hurry up and dress. A gleam of strong moonlight between my drawn curtains when I went up to bed that night led me to look out. My room faced the garden and the fields which I had traversed that afternoon, and all was vividly illuminated by the full moon. The thatched cottage with its white walls close by the stream was very distinct, and once more, I suppose, the reflection of the light on the glass of one of its windows made it appear that the room was lit within. It struck me as odd that twice that day this illusion should have been presented to me, but now a yet odder thing happened. Even as I looked the light was extinguished. The morning did not at all bear out the fine promise of the clear night, for when I woke the wind was squealing, and sheets of rain from the southwest were dashed against my panes. Golf was wholly out of the question, and, though the violence of the storm abated a little in the afternoon, the rain dripped with a steady sullenness. But I wearied of indoors, and, since the two others entirely refused to set foot outside, I went forth mackintoshed to get a breath of air. By way of an object in my tramp, I took the road to the links in preference to the muddy shortcut through the fields, with the intention of engaging a couple of caddies for Hugh and myself next morning, and lingered awhile over illustrated papers in the smokingroom. I must have read for longer than I knew, for a sudden beam of sunset light suddenly illuminated my page, and looking up, I saw that the rain had ceased, and that evening was fast coming on. So instead of taking the long detour by the road again, I set forth homewards by the path across the fields. That gleam of sunset was the last of the day, and once again, just as twentyfour hours ago, I crossed the footbridge in the gloaming. Till that moment, as far as I was aware, I had not thought at all about the cottage there, but now in a flash the light I had seen there last night, suddenly extinguished, recalled itself to my mind, and at the same moment I felt that invincible conviction that the cottage was tenanted. Simultaneously in these swift processes of thought I looked towards it, and saw standing by the door the figure of a man. In the dusk I could distinguish nothing of his face, if indeed it was turned to me, and only got the impression of a tallish fellow, thickly built. He opened the door, from which there came a dim light as of a lamp, entered, and shut it after him. So then my conviction was right. Yet I had been distinctly told that the cottage was empty who, then, was he that entered as if returning home? Once more, this time with a certain qualm of fear, I rapped on the door, intending to put some trivial question; and rapped again, this time more drastically, so that there could be no question that my summons was unheard. But still I got no reply, and finally I tried the handle of the door. It was locked. Then, with difficulty mastering an increasing terror, I made the circuit of the cottage, peering into each unshuttered window. All was dark within, though but two minutes ago I had seen the gleam of light escape from the opened door. Just because some chain of conjecture was beginning to form itself in my mind, I made no allusion to this odd adventure, and after dinner Margaret, amid protests from Hugh, got out the planchette which had persisted in writing gardener. My surmise was, of course, utterly fantastic, but I wanted to convey no suggestion of any sort to Margaret. For a long time the pencil skated over her paper making loops and curves and peaks like a temperature chart, and she had begun to yawn and weary over her experiment before any coherent word emerged. And then, in the oddest way, her head nodded forward and she seemed to have fallen asleep. Hugh looked up from his book and spoke in a whisper to me. She fell asleep the other night over it, he said. Margarets eyes were closed, and she breathed the long, quiet breaths of slumber, and then her hand began to move with a curious firmness. Right across the big sheet of paper went a level line of writing, and at the end her hand stopped with a jerk, and she woke. She looked at the paper. Hullo, she said. Ah, one of you has been playing a trick on me! We assured her that this was not so, and she read what she had written. Gardener, gardener, it ran. I am the gardener. I want to come in. I cant find her here. O Lord, that gardener again! said Hugh. Looking up from the paper, I saw Margarets eyes fixed on mine, and even before she spoke I knew what her thought was. Did you come home by the empty cottage? she asked. Yes why? Still empty? she said in a low voice. Oror anything else? I did not want to tell her just what I had seenor what, at any rate, I thought I had seen. If there was going to be anything odd, anything worth observation, it was far better that our respective impressions should not fortify each other. I tapped again, and there was no answer, I said. Presently there was a move to bed Margaret initiated it, and after she had gone upstairs Hugh and I went to the front door to interrogate the weather. Once more the moon shone in a clear sky, and we strolled out along the flagged path that fronted the house. Suddenly Hugh turned quickly and pointed to the angle of the house. Who on earth is that? he said. Look! There! He has gone round the corner. I had but the glimpse of a tallish man of heavy build. Didnt you see him? asked Hugh. Ill just go round the house, and find him; I dont want anyone prowling round us at night. Wait here, will you, and if he comes round the other corner ask him what his business is. Hugh had left me, in our stroll, close by the front door which was open, and there I waited until he should have made his circuit. He had hardly disappeared when I heard, quite distinctly, a rather quick but heavy footfall coming along the paved walk towards me from the opposite direction. But there was absolutely no one to be seen who made this sound of rapid walking. Closer and closer to me came the steps of the invisible one, and then with a shudder of horror I felt somebody unseen push by me as I stood on the threshold. That shudder was not merely of the spirit, for the touch of him was that of ice on my hand. I tried to seize this impalpable intruder, but he slipped from me, and next moment I heard his steps on the parquet of the floor inside. Some door within opened and shut, and I heard no more of him. Next moment Hugh came running round the corner of the house from which the sound of steps had approached. But where is he? he asked. He was not twenty yards in front of mea big, tall fellow. I saw nobody, I said. I heard his step along the walk, but there was nothing to be seen. And then? asked Hugh. Whatever it was seemed to brush by me, and go into the house, said I. There had certainly been no sound of steps on the bare oak stairs, and we searched room after room through the ground floor of the house. The diningroom door and that of the smokingroom were locked, that into the drawingroom was open, and the only other door which could have furnished the impression of an opening and a shutting was that into the kitchen and servants quarters. Here again our quest was fruitless; through pantry and scullery and bootroom and servants hall we searched, but all was empty and quiet. Finally we came to the kitchen, which too was empty. But by the fire there was set a rockingchair, and this was oscillating to and fro as if someone, lately sitting there, had just quitted it. There it stood gently rocking, and this seemed to convey the sense of a presence, invisible now, more than even the sight of him who surely had been sitting there could have done. I remember wanting to steady it and stop it, and yet my hand refused to go forth to it. What we had seen, and in especial what we had not seen, would have been sufficient to furnish most people with a broken night, and assuredly I was not among the strongminded exceptions. Long I lay wideeyed and openeared, and when at last I dozed I was plucked from the borderland of sleep by the sound, muffled but unmistakable, of someone moving about the house. It occurred to me that the steps might be those of Hugh conducting a lonely exploration, but even while I wondered a tap came at the door of communication between our rooms, and, in answer to my response, it appeared that he had come to see whether it was I thus uneasily wandering. Even as we spoke the step passed my door, and the stairs leading to the floor above creaked to its ascent. Next moment it sounded directly above our heads in some attics in the roof. Those are not the servants bedrooms, said Hugh. No one sleeps there. Let us look once more it must be somebody. With lit candles we made our stealthy way upstairs, and just when we were at the top of the flight, Hugh, a step ahead of me, uttered a sharp exclamation. But something is passing by me! he said, and he clutched at the empty air. Even as he spoke, I experienced the same sensation, and the moment afterwards the stairs below us creaked again, as the unseen passed down. All night long that sound of steps moved about the passages, as if someone was searching the house, and as I lay and listened that message which had come through the pencil of the planchette to Margarets fingers occurred to me. I want to come in. I cannot find her here. Indeed someone had come in, and was sedulous in his search. He was the gardener, it would seem. But what gardener was this invisible seeker, and for whom did he seek? Even as when some bodily pain ceases it is difficult to recall with any vividness what the pain was like, so next morning, as I dressed, I found myself vainly trying to recapture the horror of the spirit which had accompanied these nocturnal adventures. I remembered that something within me had sickened as I watched the movements of the rockingchair the night before and as I heard the steps along the paved way outside, and by that invisible pressure against me knew that someone had entered the house. But now in the sane and tranquil morning, and all day under the serene winter sun, I could not realise what it had been. The presence, like the bodily pain, had to be there for the realisation of it, and all day it was absent. Hugh felt the same; he was even disposed to be humorous on the subject. Well, hes had a good look, he said, whoever he is, and whomever he was looking for. By the way, not a word to Margaret, please. She heard nothing of these perambulations, nor of the entry ofof whatever it was. Not gardener, anyhow who ever heard of a gardener spending his time walking about the house? If there were steps all over the potatopatch, I might have been with you. Margaret had arranged to drive over to have tea with some friends of hers that afternoon, and in consequence Hugh and I refreshed ourselves at the clubhouse after our game, and it was already dusk when for the third day in succession I passed homewards by the whitewashed cottage. But tonight I had no sense of it being subtly occupied; it stood mournfully desolate, as is the way of untenanted houses, and no light nor semblance of such gleamed from its windows. Hugh, to whom I had told the odd impressions I had received there, gave them a reception as flippant as that which he had accorded to the memories of the night, and he was still being humorous about them when we came to the door of the house. A psychic disturbance, old boy, he said. Like a cold in the head. Hullo, the doors locked. He rang and rapped, and from inside came the noise of a turned key and withdrawn bolts. Whats the door locked for? he asked his servant who opened it. The man shifted from one foot to the other. The bell rang half an hour ago, sir, he said, and when I came to answer it there was a man standing outside, and Well? asked Hugh. I didnt like the looks of him, sir, he said, and I asked him his business. He didnt say anything, and then he must have gone pretty smartly away, for I never saw him go. Where did he seem to go? asked Hugh, glancing at me. I cant rightly say, sir. He didnt seem to go at all. Something seemed to brush by me. Thatll do, said Hugh rather sharply. Margaret had not come in from her visit, but when soon after the crunch of the motor wheels was heard Hugh reiterated his wish that nothing should be said to her about the impression which now, apparently, a third person shared with us. She came in with a flush of excitement on her face. Never laugh at my planchette again, she said. Ive heard the most extraordinary story from Maud Ashfieldhorrible, but so frightfully interesting. Out with it, said Hugh. Well, there was a gardener here, she said. He used to live at that little cottage by the footbridge, and when the family were up in London he and his wife used to be caretakers and live here. Hughs glance and mine met then he turned away. I knew, as certainly as if I was in his mind, that his thoughts were identical with my own. He married a wife much younger than himself, continued Margaret, and gradually he became frightfully jealous of her. And one day in a fit of passion he strangled her with his own hands. A little while after someone came to the cottage, and found him sobbing over her, trying to restore her. They went for the police, but before they came he had cut his own throat. Isnt it all horrible? But surely its rather curious that the planchette said Gardener. I am the gardener. I want to come in. I cant find her here. You see I knew nothing about it. I shall do planchette again tonight. Oh dear me, the post goes in half an hour, and I have a whole budget to send. But respect my planchette for the future, Hughie. We talked the situation out when she had gone, but Hugh, unwillingly convinced and yet unwilling to admit that something more than coincidence lay behind that planchette nonsense, still insisted that Margaret should be told nothing of what we had heard and seen in the house last night, and of the strange visitor who again this evening, so we must conclude, had made his entry. Shell be frightened, he said, and shell begin imagining things. As for the planchette, as likely as not it will do nothing but scribble and make loops. Whats that? Yes come in! There had come from somewhere in the room one sharp, peremptory rap. I did not think it came from the door, but Hugh, when no response replied to his words of admittance, jumped up and opened it. He took a few steps into the hall outside, and returned. Didnt you hear it? he asked. Certainly. No one there? Not a soul. Hugh came back to the fireplace and rather irritably threw a cigarette which he had just lit into the fender. That was rather a nasty jar, he observed; and if you ask me whether I feel comfortable, I can tell you I never felt less comfortable in my life. Im frightened, if you want to know, and I believe you are too. I hadnt the smallest intention of denying this, and he went on. Weve got to keep a hand on ourselves, he said. Theres nothing so infectious as fear, and Margaret mustnt catch it from us. But theres something more than our fear, you know. Something has got into the house and were up against it. I never believed in such things before. Lets face it for a minute. What is it anyhow? If you want to know what I think it is, said I, I believe it to be the spirit of the man who strangled his wife and then cut his throat. But I dont see how it can hurt us. Were afraid of our own fear really. But were up against it, said Hugh. And what will it do? Good Lord, if I only knew what it would do I shouldnt mind. Its the not knowing. Well, its time to dress. Margaret was in her highest spirits at dinner.

Knowing nothing of the manifestations of that presence which had taken place in the last twentyfour hours, she thought it absorbingly interesting that her planchette should have guessed (so ran her phrase) about the gardener, and from that topic she flitted to an equally interesting form of patience for three which her friend had showed her, promising to initiate us into it after dinner. This she did, and, not knowing that we both above all things wanted to keep planchette at a distance, she was delighted with the success of her game. But suddenly she observed that the evening was burning rapidly away, and swept the cards together at the conclusion of a hand. Now just half an hour of planchette, she said. Oh, maynt we play one more hand? asked Hugh. Its the best game Ive seen for years. Planchette will be dismally slow after this. Darling, if the gardener will only communicate again, it wont be slow, said she. But it is such drivel, said Hugh. How rude you are! Read your book, then. Margaret had already got out her machine and a sheet of paper, when Hugh rose. Please dont do it tonight, Margaret, he said. But why? You neednt attend. Well, I ask you not to, anyhow, said he. Margaret looked at him closely. Hughie, youve got something on your mind, she said. Out with it. I believe youre nervous. You think there is something queer about. What is it? I could see Hugh hesitating as to whether to tell her or not, and I gathered that he chose the chance of her planchette inanely scribbling. Go on, then, he said. Margaret hesitated she clearly did not want to vex Hugh, but his insistence must have seemed to her most unreasonable. Well, just ten minutes, she said, and I promise not to think of gardeners. She had hardly laid her hand on the board when her head fell forward, and the machine began moving. I was sitting close to her, and as it rolled steadily along the paper the writing became visible. I have come in, it ran, but still I cant find her. Are you hiding her? I will search the room where you are. What else was written but still concealed underneath the planchette I did not know, for at that moment a current of icy air swept round the room, and at the door, this time unmistakably, came a loud, peremptory knock. Hugh sprang to his feet. Margaret, wake up, he said, something is coming! The door opened, and there moved in the figure of a man. He stood just within the door, his head bent forward, and he turned it from side to side, peering, it would seem, with eyes staring and infinitely sad, into every corner of the room. Margaret, Margaret, cried Hugh again. But Margarets eyes were open too; they were fixed on this dreadful visitor. Be quiet, Hughie, she said below her breath, rising as she spoke. The ghost was now looking directly at her. Once the lips above the thick, rustcoloured beard moved, but no sound came forth, the mouth only moved and slavered. He raised his head, and, horror upon horror, I saw that one side of his neck was laid open in a red, glistening gash. For how long that pause continued, when we all three stood stiff and frozen in some deadly inhibition to move or speak, I have no idea I suppose that at the utmost it was a dozen seconds. Then the spectre turned, and went out as it had come. We heard his steps pass along the parqueted floor; there was the sound of bolts withdrawn from the front door, and with a crash that shook the house it slammed to. Its all over, said Margaret. God have mercy on him! Now the reader may put precisely what construction he pleases on this visitation from the dead. He need not, indeed, consider it to have been a visitation from the dead at all, but say that there had been impressed on the scene, where this murder and suicide happened, some sort of emotional record, which in certain circumstances could translate itself into images visible and invisible. Waves of ether, or whatnot, may conceivably retain the impress of such scenes; they may be held, so to speak, in solution, ready to be precipitated. Or he may hold that the spirit of the dead man indeed made itself manifest, revisiting in some sort of spiritual penance and remorse the place where his crime was committed. Naturally, no materialist will entertain such an explanation for an instant, but then there is no one so obstinately unreasonable as the materialist. Beyond doubt a dreadful deed was done there, and Margarets last utterance is not inapplicable. The HorrorHorn For the past ten days Alhubel had basked in the radiant midwinter weather proper to its eminence of over 6,000 feet. From rising to setting the sun (so surprising to those who have hitherto associated it with a pale, tepid plate indistinctly shining through the murky air of England) had blazed its way across the sparkling blue, and every night the serene and windless frost had made the stars sparkle like illuminated diamond dust. Sufficient snow had fallen before Christmas to content the skiers, and the big rink, sprinkled every evening, had given the skaters each morning a fresh surface on which to perform their slippery antics. Bridge and dancing served to while away the greater part of the night, and to me, now for the first time tasting the joys of a winter in the Engadine, it seemed that a new heaven and a new earth had been lighted, warmed, and refrigerated for the special benefit of those who like myself had been wise enough to save up their days of holiday for the winter. But a break came in these ideal conditions one afternoon the sun grew vapourveiled and up the valley from the northwest a wind frozen with miles of travel over icebound hillsides began scouting through the calm halls of the heavens. Soon it grew dusted with snow, first in small flakes driven almost horizontally before its congealing breath and then in larger tufts as of swansdown. And though all day for a fortnight before the fate of nations and life and death had seemed to me of far less importance than to get certain tracings of the skateblades on the ice of proper shape and size, it now seemed that the one paramount consideration was to hurry back to the hotel for shelter it was wiser to leave rockingturns alone than to be frozen in their quest. I had come out here with my cousin, Professor Ingram, the celebrated physiologist and Alpine climber. During the serenity of the last fortnight he had made a couple of notable winter ascents, but this morning his weatherwisdom had mistrusted the signs of the heavens, and instead of attempting the ascent of the Piz Passug he had waited to see whether his misgivings justified themselves. So there he sat now in the hall of the admirable hotel with his feet on the hotwater pipes and the latest delivery of the English post in his hands. This contained a pamphlet concerning the result of the Mount Everest expedition, of which he had just finished the perusal when I entered. A very interesting report, he said, passing it to me, and they certainly deserve to succeed next year. But who can tell, what that final six thousand feet may entail? Six thousand feet more when you have already accomplished twentythree thousand does not seem much, but at present no one knows whether the human frame can stand exertion at such a height. It may affect not the lungs and heart only, but possibly the brain. Delirious hallucinations may occur. In fact, if I did not know better, I should have said that one such hallucination had occurred to the climbers already. And what was that? I asked. You will find that they thought they came across the tracks of some naked human foot at a great altitude. That looks at first sight like an hallucination. What more natural than that a brain excited and exhilarated by the extreme height should have interpreted certain marks in the snow as the footprints of a human being? Every bodily organ at these altitudes is exerting itself to the utmost to do its work, and the brain seizes on those marks in the snow and says Yes, Im all right, Im doing my job, and I perceive marks in the snow which I affirm are human footprints. You know, even at this altitude, how restless and eager the brain is, how vividly, as you told me, you dream at night. Multiply that stimulus and that consequent eagerness and restlessness by three, and how natural that the brain should harbour illusions! What after all is the delirium which often accompanies high fever but the effort of the brain to do its work under the pressure of feverish conditions? It is so eager to continue perceiving that it perceives things which have no existence! And yet you dont think that these naked human footprints were illusions, said I. You told me you would have thought so, if you had not known better. He shifted in his chair and looked out of the window a moment. The air was thick now with the density of the big snowflakes that were driven along by the squealing northwest gale. Quite so, he said. In all probability the human footprints were real human footprints. I expect that they were the footprints, anyhow, of a being more nearly a man than anything else. My reason for saying so is that I know such beings exist. I have even seen quite near at handand I assure you I did not wish to be nearer in spite of my intense curiositythe creature, shall we say, which would make such footprints. And if the snow was not so dense, I could show you the place where I saw him. He pointed straight out of the window, where across the valley lies the huge tower of the Ungeheuerhorn with the carved pinnacle of rock at the top like some gigantic rhinoceroshorn. On one side only, as I knew, was the mountain practicable, and that for none but the finest climbers; on the other three a succession of ledges and precipices rendered it unscalable. Two thousand feet of sheer rock form the tower; below are five hundred feet of fallen boulders, up to the edge of which grow dense woods of larch and pine. Upon the Ungeheuerhorn? I asked. Yes. Up till twenty years ago it had never been ascended, and I, like several others, spent a lot of time in trying to find a route up it. My guide and I sometimes spent three nights together at the hut beside the Blumen glacier, prowling round it, and it was by luck really that we found the route, for the mountain looks even more impracticable from the far side than it does from this. But one day we found a long, transverse fissure in the side which led to a negotiable ledge; then there came a slanting ice couloir which you could not see till you got to the foot of it. However, I need not go into that. The big room where we sat was filling up with cheerful groups driven indoors by this sudden gale and snowfall, and the cackle of merry tongues grew loud. The band, too, that invariable appanage of teatime at Swiss resorts, had begun to tune up for the usual potpourri from the works of Puccini. Next moment the sugary, sentimental melodies began. Strange contrast! said Ingram. Here are we sitting warm and cosy, our ears pleasantly tickled with these little baby tunes and outside is the great storm growing more violent every moment, and swirling round the austere cliffs of the Ungeheuerhorn the HorrorHorn, as indeed it was to me. I want to hear all about it, I said. Every detail make a short story long, if its short. I want to know why its your HorrorHorn? Well, Chanton and I (he was my guide) used to spend days prowling about the cliffs, making a little progress on one side and then being stopped, and gaining perhaps five hundred feet on another side and then being confronted by some insuperable obstacle, till the day when by luck we found the route. Chanton never liked the job, for some reason that I could not fathom. It was not because of the difficulty or danger of the climbing, for he was the most fearless man I have ever met when dealing with rocks and ice, but he was always insistent that we should get off the mountain and back to the Blumen hut before sunset. He was scarcely easy even when we had got back to shelter and locked and barred the door, and I well remember one night when, as we ate our supper, we heard some animal, a wolf probably, howling somewhere out in the night. A positive panic seized him, and I dont think he closed his eyes till morning. It struck me then that there might be some grisly legend about the mountain, connected possibly with its name, and next day I asked him why the peak was called the HorrorHorn. He put the question off at first, and said that, like the Schreckhorn, its name was due to its precipices and falling stones; but when I pressed him further he acknowledged that there was a legend about it, which his father had told him. There were creatures, so it was supposed, that lived in its caves, things human in shape, and covered, except for the face and hands, with long black hair. They were dwarfs in size, four feet high or thereabouts, but of prodigious strength and agility, remnants of some wild primeval race. It seemed that they were still in an upward stage of evolution, or so I guessed, for the story ran that sometimes girls had been carried off by them, not as prey, and not for any such fate as for those captured by cannibals, but to be bred from. Young men also had been raped by them, to be mated with the females of their tribe. All this looked as if the creatures, as I said, were tending towards humanity. But naturally I did not believe a word of it, as applied to the conditions of the present day. Centuries ago, conceivably, there may have been such beings, and, with the extraordinary tenacity of tradition, the news of this had been handed down and was still current round the hearths of the peasants. As for their numbers, Chanton told me that three had been once seen together by a man who owing to his swiftness on skis had escaped to tell the tale. This man, he averred, was no other than his grandfather, who had been benighted one winter evening as he passed through the dense woods below the Ungeheuerhorn, and Chanton supposed that they had been driven down to these lower altitudes in search of food during severe winter weather, for otherwise the recorded sights of them had always taken place among the rocks of the peak itself. They had pursued his grandfather, then a young man, at an extraordinarily swift canter, running sometimes upright as men run, sometimes on allfours in the manner of beasts, and their howls were just such as that we had heard that night in the Blumen hut. Such at any rate was the story Chanton told me, and, like you, I regarded it as the very moonshine of superstition. But the very next day I had reason to reconsider my judgment about it. It was on that day that after a week of exploration we hit on the only route at present known to the top of our peak. We started as soon as there was light enough to climb by, for, as you may guess, on very difficult rocks it is impossible to climb by lantern or moonlight. We hit on the long fissure I have spoken of, we explored the ledge which from below seemed to end in nothingness, and with an hours stepcutting ascended the couloir which led upwards from it. From there onwards it was a rockclimb, certainly of considerable difficulty, but with no heartbreaking discoveries ahead, and it was about nine in the morning that we stood on the top. We did not wait there long, for that side of the mountain is raked by falling stones loosened, when the sun grows hot, from the ice that holds them, and we made haste to pass the ledge where the falls are most frequent. After that there was the long fissure to descend, a matter of no great difficulty, and we were at the end of our work by midday, both of us, as you may imagine, in the state of the highest elation. A long and tiresome scramble among the huge boulders at the foot of the cliff then lay before us. Here the hillside is very porous and great caves extend far into the mountain. We had unroped at the base of the fissure, and were picking our way as seemed good to either of us among these fallen rocks, many of them bigger than an ordinary house, when, on coming round the corner of one of these, I saw that which made it clear that the stories Chanton had told me were no figment of traditional superstition. Not twenty yards in front of me lay one of the beings of which he had spoken. There it sprawled naked and basking on its back with face turned up to the sun, which its narrow eyes regarded unwinking. In form it was completely human, but the growth of hair that covered limbs and trunk alike almost completely hid the suntanned skin beneath. But its face, save for the down on its cheeks and chin, was hairless, and I looked on a countenance the sensual and malevolent bestiality of which froze me with horror. Had the creature been an animal, one would have felt scarcely a shudder at the gross animalism of it; the horror lay in the fact that it was a man. There lay by it a couple of gnawed bones, and, its meal finished, it was lazily licking its protuberant lips, from which came a purring murmur of content. With one hand it scratched the thick hair on its belly, in the other it held one of these bones, which presently split in half beneath the pressure of its finger and thumb. But my horror was not based on the information of what happened to those men whom these creatures caught, it was due only to my proximity to a thing so human and so infernal. The peak, of which the ascent had a moment ago filled us with such elated satisfaction, became to me an Ungeheuerhorn indeed, for it was the home of beings more awful than the delirium of nightmare could ever have conceived. Chanton was a dozen paces behind me, and with a backward wave of my hand I caused him to halt. Then withdrawing myself with infinite precaution, so as not to attract the gaze of that basking creature, I slipped back round the rock, whispered to him what I had seen, and with blanched faces we made a long detour, peering round every corner, and crouching low, not knowing that at any step we might not come upon another of these beings, or that from the mouth of one of these caves in the mountainside there might not appear another of those hairless and dreadful faces, with perhaps this time the breasts and insignia of womanhood. That would have been the worst of all. Luck favoured us, for we made our way among the boulders and shifting stones, the rattle of which might at any moment have betrayed us, without a repetition of my experience, and once among the trees we ran as if the Furies themselves were in pursuit. Well now did I understand, though I dare say I cannot convey, the qualms of Chantons mind when he spoke to me of these creatures. Their very humanity was what made them so terrible, the fact that they were of the same race as ourselves, but of a type so abysmally degraded that the most brutal and inhuman of men would have seemed angelic in comparison. The music of the small band was over before he had finished the narrative, and the chattering groups round the teatable had dispersed. He paused a moment. There was a horror of the spirit, he said, which I experienced then, from which, I verily believe, I have never entirely recovered. I saw then how terrible a living thing could be, and how terrible, in consequence, was life itself. In us all I suppose lurks some inherited germ of that ineffable bestiality, and who knows whether, sterile as it has apparently become in the course of centuries, it might not fructify again. When I saw that creature sun itself, I looked into the abyss out of which we have crawled. And these creatures are trying to crawl out of it now, if they exist any longer. Certainly for the last twenty years there has been no record of their being seen, until we come to this story of the footprint seen by the climbers on Everest. If that is authentic, if the party did not mistake the footprint of some bear, or whatnot, for a human tread, it seems as if still this bestranded remnant of mankind is in existence. Now, Ingram, had told his story well; but sitting in this warm and civilised room, the horror which he had clearly felt had not communicated itself to me in any very vivid manner. Intellectually, I agreed, I could appreciate his horror, but certainly my spirit felt no shudder of interior comprehension. But it is odd, I said, that your keen interest in physiology did not disperse your qualms. You were looking, so I take it, at some form of man more remote probably than the earliest human remains. Did not something inside you say This is of absorbing significance? He shook his head. No I only wanted to get away, said he. It was not, as I have told you, the terror of what according to Chantons story, might await us if we were captured; it was sheer horror at the creature itself. I quaked at it. The snowstorm and the gale increased in violence that night, and I slept uneasily, plucked again and again from slumber by the fierce battling of the wind that shook my windows as if with an imperious demand for admittance. It came in billowy gusts, with strange noises intermingled with it as for a moment it abated, with flutings and moanings that rose to shrieks as the fury of it returned. These noises, no doubt, mingled themselves with my drowsed and sleepy consciousness, and once I tore myself out of nightmare, imagining that the creatures of the HorrorHorn had gained footing on my balcony and were rattling at the windowbolts. But before morning the gale had died away, and I awoke to see the snow falling dense and fast in a windless air. For three days it continued, without intermission, and with its cessation there came a frost such as I have never felt before. Fifty degrees were registered one night, and more the next, and what the cold must have been on the cliffs of the Ungeheuerhorn I cannot imagine. Sufficient, so I thought, to have made an end altogether of its secret inhabitants my cousin, on that day twenty years ago, had missed an opportunity for study which would probably never fall again either to him or another. I received one morning a letter from a friend saying that he had arrived at the neighbouring winter resort of St. Luigi, and proposing that I should come over for a mornings skating and lunch afterwards. The place was not more than a couple of miles off, if one took the path over the low, pineclad foothills above which lay the steep woods below the first rocky slopes of the Ungeheuerhorn; and accordingly, with a knapsack containing skates on my back, I went on skis over the wooded slopes and down by an easy descent again on to St. Luigi. The day was overcast, clouds entirely obscured the higher peaks though the sun was visible, pale and unluminous, through the mists. But as the morning went on, it gained the upper hand, and I slid down into St. Luigi beneath a sparkling firmament. We skated and lunched, and then, since it looked as if thick weather was coming up again, I set out early about three oclock for my return journey. Hardly had I got into the woods when the clouds gathered thick above, and streamers and skeins of them began to descend among the pines through which my path threaded its way. In ten minutes more their opacity had so increased that I could hardly see a couple of yards in front of me. Very soon I became aware that I must have got off the path, for snowcowled shrubs lay directly in my way, and, casting back to find it again, I got altogether confused as to direction. But, though progress was difficult, I knew I had only to keep on the ascent, and presently I should come to the brow of these low foothills, and descend into the open valley where Alhubel stood. So on I went, stumbling and sliding over obstacles, and unable, owing to the thickness of the snow, to take off my skis, for I should have sunk over the knees at each step. Still the ascent continued, and looking at my watch I saw that I had already been near an hour on my way from St. Luigi, a period more than sufficient to complete my whole journey. But still I stuck to my idea that though I had certainly strayed far from my proper route a few minutes more must surely see me over the top of the upward way, and I should find the ground declining into the next valley. About now, too, I noticed that the mists were growing suffused with rosecolour, and, though the inference was that it must be close on sunset, there was consolation in the fact that they were there and might lift at any moment and disclose to me my whereabouts. But the fact that night would soon be on me made it needful to bar my mind against that despair of loneliness which so eats out the heart of a man who is lost in woods or on mountainside, that, though still there is plenty of vigour in his limbs, his nervous force is sapped, and he can do no more than lie down and abandon himself to whatever fate may await him. And then I heard that which made the thought of loneliness seem bliss indeed, for there was a worse fate than loneliness. What I heard resembled the howl of a wolf, and it came from not far in front of me where the ridgewas it a ridge?still rose higher in vestment of pines. From behind me came a sudden puff of wind, which shook the frozen snow from the drooping pinebranches, and swept away the mists as a broom sweeps the dust from the floor. Radiant above me were the unclouded skies, already charged with the red of the sunset, and in front I saw that I had come to the very edge of the wood through which I had wandered so long. But it was no valley into which I had penetrated, for there right ahead of me rose the steep slope of boulders and rocks soaring upwards to the foot of the Ungeheuerhorn. What, then, was that cry of a wolf which had made my heart stand still? I saw. Not twenty yards from me was a fallen tree, and leaning against the trunk of it was one of the denizens of the HorrorHorn, and it was a woman. She was enveloped in a thick growth of hair grey and tufted, and from her head it streamed down over her shoulders and her bosom, from which hung withered and pendulous breasts. And looking on her face I comprehended not with my mind alone, but with a shudder of my spirit, what Ingram had felt. Never had nightmare fashioned so terrible a countenance; the beauty of sun and stars and of the beasts of the field and the kindly race of men could not atone for so hellish an incarnation of the spirit of life. A fathomless bestiality modelled the slavering mouth and the narrow eyes; I looked into the abyss itself and knew that out of that abyss on the edge of which I leaned the generations of men had climbed. What if that ledge crumbled in front of me and pitched me headlong into its nethermost depths? In one hand she held by the horns a chamois that kicked and struggled. A blow from its hindleg caught her withered thigh, and with a grunt of anger she seized the leg in her other hand, and, as a man may pull from its sheath a stem of meadowgrass, she plucked it off the body, leaving the torn skin hanging round the gaping wound. Then putting the red, bleeding member to her mouth she sucked at it as a child sucks a stick of sweetmeat. Through flesh and gristle her short, brown teeth penetrated, and she licked her lips with a sound of purring. Then dropping the leg by her side, she looked again at the body of the prey now quivering in its deathconvulsion, and with finger and thumb gouged out one of its eyes. She snapped her teeth on it, and it cracked like a softshelled nut. It must have been but a few seconds that I stood watching her, in some indescribable catalepsy of terror, while through my brain there pealed the paniccommand of my mind to my stricken limbs, Begone, begone, while there is time. Then, recovering the power of my joints and muscles, I tried to slip behind a tree and hide myself from this apparition. But the womanshall I say?must have caught my stir of movement, for she raised her eyes from her living feast and saw me. She craned forward her neck, she dropped her prey, and half rising began to move towards me. As she did this, she opened her mouth, and gave forth a howl such as I had heard a moment before. It was answered by another, but faintly and distantly. Sliding and slipping, with the toes of my skis tripping in the obstacles below the snow, I plunged forward down the hill between the pinetrunks. The low sun already sinking behind some rampart of mountain in the west reddened the snow and the pines with its ultimate rays. My knapsack with the skates in it swung to and fro on my back, one skistick had already been twitched out of my hand by a fallen branch of pine, but not a seconds pause could I allow myself to recover it. I gave no glance behind, and I knew not at what pace my pursuer was on my track, or indeed whether any pursued at all, for my whole mind and energy, now working at full power again under the stress of my panic, was devoted to getting away down the hill and out of the wood as swiftly as my limbs could bear me. For a little while I heard nothing but the hissing snow of my headlong passage, and the rustle of the covered undergrowth beneath my feet, and then, from close at hand behind me, once more the wolfhowl sounded and I heard the plunging of footsteps other than my own. The strap of my knapsack had shifted, and as my skates swung to and fro on my back it chafed and pressed on my throat, hindering free passage of air, of which, God knew, my labouring lungs were in dire need, and without pausing I slipped it free from my neck, and held it in the hand from which my skistick had been jerked. I seemed to go a little more easily for this adjustment, and now, not so far distant, I could see below me the path from which I had strayed. If only I could reach that, the smoother going would surely enable me to outdistance my pursuer, who even on the rougher ground was but slowly overhauling me, and at the sight of that ribbon stretching unimpeded downhill, a ray of hope pierced the black panic of my soul. With that came the desire, keen and insistent, to see who or what it was that was on my tracks, and I spared a backward glance. It was she, the hag whom I had seen at her gruesome meal; her long grey hair flew out behind her, her mouth chattered and gibbered, her fingers made grabbing movements, as if already they closed on me. But the path was now at hand, and the nearness of it I suppose made me incautious. A hump of snowcovered bush lay in my path, and, thinking I could jump over it, I tripped and fell, smothering myself in snow. I heard a maniac noise, half scream, half laugh, from close behind, and before I could recover myself the grabbing fingers were at my neck, as if a steel vice had closed there. But my right hand in which I held my knapsack of skates was free, and with a blind backhanded movement I whirled it behind me at the full length of its strap, and knew that my desperate blow had found its billet somewhere. Even before I could look round I felt the grip on my neck relax, and something subsided into the very bush which had entangled me. I recovered my feet and turned. There she lay, twitching and quivering. The heel of one of my skates piercing the thin alpaca of the knapsack had hit her full on the temple, from which the blood was pouring, but a hundred yards away I could see another such figure coming downwards on my tracks, leaping and bounding. At that panic rose again within me, and I sped off down the white smooth path that led to the lights of the village already beckoning. Never once did I pause in my headlong going there was no safety until I was back among the haunts of men. I flung myself against the door of the hotel, and screamed for admittance, though I had but to turn the handle and enter; and once more as when Ingram had told his tale, there was the sound of the band, and the chatter of voices, and there, too, was he himself, who looked up and then rose swiftly to his feet as I made my clattering entrance. I have seen them too, I cried. Look at my knapsack.

Is there not blood on it? It is the blood of one of them, a woman, a hag, who tore off the leg of a chamois as I looked, and pursued me through the accursed wood. I Whether it was I who spun round, or the room which seemed to spin round me, I knew not, but I heard myself falling, collapsed on the floor, and the next time that I was conscious at all I was in bed. There was Ingram there, who told me that I was quite safe, and another man, a stranger, who pricked my arm with the nozzle of a syringe, and reassured me. A day or two later I gave a coherent account of my adventure, and three or four men, armed with guns, went over my traces. They found the bush in which I had stumbled, with a pool of blood which had soaked into the snow, and, still following my skitracks, they came on the body of a chamois, from which had been torn one of its hindlegs and one eyesocket was empty. That is all the corroboration of my story that I can give the reader, and for myself I imagine that the creature which pursued me was either not killed by my blow or that her fellows removed her body. Anyhow, it is open to the incredulous to prowl about the caves of the Ungeheuerhorn, and see if anything occurs that may convince them. The House with the Brickkiln The hamlet of Trevor Major lies very lonely and sequestered in a hollow below the north side of the south downs that stretch westward from Lewes, and run parallel with the coast. It is a hamlet of some three or four dozen inconsiderable houses and cottages much girt about with trees, but the big Norman church and the manor house which stands a little outside the village are evidence of a more conspicuous past. This latter, except for a tenancy of rather less than three weeks, now four years ago, has stood unoccupied since the summer of 1896, and though it could be taken at a rent almost comically small, it is highly improbable that either of its last tenants, even if times were very bad, would think of passing a night in it again. For myselfI was one of the tenantsI would far prefer living in a workhouse to inhabiting those lowpitched oakpanelled rooms, and I would sooner look from my garret windows on to the squalor and grime of Whitechapel than from the diamondshaped and leaded panes of the Manor of Trevor Major on to the boskage of its cool thickets, and the glimmering of its clear chalkstreams where the quick trout glance among the waving waterweeds and over the chalk and gravel of its sliding rapids. It was the news of these trout that led Jack Singleton and myself to take the house for the month between midMay and midJune, but as I have already mentioned a short three weeks was all the time we passed there, and we had more than a week of our tenancy yet unexpired when we left the place, though on the very last afternoon we enjoyed the finest dryfly fishing that has ever fallen to my lot. Singleton had originally seen the advertisement of the house in a Sussex paper, with the statement that there was good dryfly fishing belonging to it, but it was with but faint hopes of the reality of the dryfly fishing that we went down to look at the place, since we had before this so often inspected depopulated ditches which were offered to the unwary under highsounding titles. Yet after a halfhours stroll by the stream, we went straight back to the agent, and before nightfall had taken it for a month with option of renewal. We arrived accordingly from town at about five oclock on a cloudless afternoon in May, and through the mists of horror that now stand between me and the remembrance of what occurred later, I cannot forget the exquisite loveliness of the impression then conveyed. The garden, it is true, appeared to have been for years untended; weeds halfchoked the gravel paths, and the flowerbeds were a congestion of mingled wild and cultivated vegetations. It was set in a wall of mellowed brick, in which snapdragon and stonecrop had found an anchorage to their liking, and beyond that there stood sentinel a ring of ancient pines in which the breeze made music as of a distant sea. Outside that the ground sloped slightly downwards in a bank covered with a jungle of wildrose to the stream that ran round three sides of the garden, and then followed a meandering course through the two big fields which lay towards the village. Over all this we had fishingrights; above, the same rights extended for another quarter of a mile to the arched bridge, over which there crossed the road which led to the house. In this field above the house on the fourth side, where the ground had been embanked to carry the road, stood a brickkiln in a ruinous state. A shallow pit, long overgrown with tall grasses and wild fieldflowers, showed where the clay had been digged. The house itself was long and narrow; entering, you passed direct into a square panelled hall, on the left of which was the diningroom which communicated with the passage leading to the kitchen and offices. On the right of the hall were two excellent sittingrooms looking out, the one on to the gravel in front of the house, the other on to the garden. From the first of these you could see, through the gap in the pines by which the road approached the house, the brickkiln of which I have already spoken. An oak staircase went up from the hall, and round it ran a gallery on to which the three principal bedrooms opened. These were commensurate with the diningroom and the two sittingrooms below. From this gallery there led a long narrow passage shut off from the rest of the house by a redbaize door, which led to a couple more guestrooms and the servants quarters. Jack Singleton and I share the same flat in town, and we had sent down in the morning Franklyn and his wife, two old and valued servants, to get things ready at Trevor Major, and procure help from the village to look after the house, and Mrs. Franklyn with her stout comfortable face all wreathed in smiles opened the door to us. She had had some previous experience of the comfortable quarters which go with fishing, and had come down prepared for the worst, but found it all of the best. The kitchenboiler was not furred; hot and cold water were laid on in the most convenient fashion, and could be obtained from taps that neither stuck nor leaked. Her husband, it appeared, had gone into the village to buy a few necessaries, and she brought up tea for us, and then went upstairs to the two rooms over the diningroom and bigger sittingroom, which we had chosen for our bedrooms, to unpack. The doors of these were exactly opposite one another to right and left of the gallery, and Jack who chose the bedroom above the sittingroom had thus a smaller room, above the second sittingroom, unoccupied, next his and opening out from it. We had a couple of hours fishing before dinner, each of us catching three or four brace of trout, and came back in the dusk to the house. Franklyn had returned from the village from his errand, reported that he had got a woman to come in to do housework in the mornings, and mentioned that our arrival had seemed to arouse a good deal of interest. The reason for this was obscure; he could only tell us that he was questioned a dozen times as to whether we really intended to live in the house, and his assurance that we did produced silence and a shaking of heads. But the countryfolk of Sussex are notable for their silence and chronic attitude of disapproval, and we put this down to local idiosyncrasy. The evening was exquisitely warm, and after dinner we pulled out a couple of basketchairs on to the gravel by the front door, and sat for an hour or so, while the night deepened in throbs of gathering darkness. The moon was not risen and the ring of pines cut off much of the pale starlight, so that when we went in, allured by the shining of the lamp in the sittingroom, it was curiously dark for a clear night in May. And at that moment of stepping from the darkness into the cheerfulness of the lighted house, I had a sudden sensation, to which, during the next fortnight, I became almost accustomed, of there being something unseen and unheard and dreadful near me. In spite of the warmth, I felt myself shiver, and concluded instantly that I had sat outofdoors long enough, and without mentioning it to Jack, followed him into the smaller sittingroom in which we had scarcely yet set foot. It like the hall was oakpanelled, and in the panels hung some halfdozen of watercolour sketches, which we examined, idly at first, and then with growing interest, for they were executed with extraordinary finish and delicacy, and each represented some aspect of the house or garden. Here you looked up the gap in the firtrees into a crimson sunset; here the garden, trim and carefully tended, dozed beneath some languid summer noon; here an angry wreath of stormcloud brooded over the meadow where the troutstream ran grey and leaden below a threatening sky, while another, the most careful and arresting of all, was a study of the brickkiln. In this, alone of them all, was there a human figure; a man, dressed in grey, peered into the open door from which issued a fierce red glow. The figure was painted with miniaturelike elaboration; the face was in profile, and represented a youngish man, cleanshaven with a long aquiline nose and singularly square chin. The sketch was long and narrow in shape, and the chimney of the kiln appeared against a dark sky. From it there issued a thin streamer of grey smoke. Jack looked at this with attention. What a horrible picture, he said, and how beautifully painted. I feel as if it meant something, as if it was a representation of something that happened, not a mere sketch. By Jove! He broke off suddenly, and went in turn to each of the other pictures. Thats a queer thing, he said. See if you notice what I mean. With the brickkiln rather vividly impressed on my mind, it was not difficult to see what he had noticed. In each of the pictures appeared the brickkiln, chimney and all, now seen faintly between trees, now in full view, and in each the chimney was smoking. And the odd part is that from the garden side, you cant really see the kiln at all, observed Jack, its hidden by the house, and yet the artist F. A., as I see by his signature, puts it in just the same. What do you make of that? I asked. Nothing. I suppose he had a fancy for brickkilns. Lets have a game of picquet. A fortnight of our three weeks passed without incident, except that again and again the curious feeling of something dreadful being close at hand was present in my mind. In a way, as I said, I got used to it, but on the other hand the feeling itself seemed to gain in poignancy. Once just at the end of the fortnight I mentioned it to Jack. Odd you should speak of it, he said, because Ive felt the same. When do you feel it? Do you feel it now for instance? We were again sitting out after dinner, and as he spoke I felt it with far greater intensity than ever before. And at the same moment the housedoor which had been closed, though probably not latched, swung gently open, letting out a shaft of light from the hall, and as gently swung to again, as if something had stealthily entered. Yes, I said. I felt it then. I only feel it in the evening. It was rather bad that time. Jack was silent a moment. Funny thing the door opening and shutting like that, he said. Lets go indoors. We got up and I remember seeing at that moment that the windows of my bedroom were lit; Mrs. Franklyn probably was making things ready for the night. Simultaneously, as we crossed the gravel, there came from just inside the house the sound of a hurried footstep on the stairs, and entering we found Mrs. Franklyn in the hall, looking rather white and startled. Anything wrong? I asked. She took two or three quick breaths before she answered No, sir, she said, at least nothing that I can give an account of. I was tidying up in your room, and I thought you came in. But there was nobody, and it gave me a turn. I left my candle there; I must go up for it. I waited in the hall a moment, while she again ascended the stairs, and passed along the gallery to my room. At the door, which I could see was open, she paused, not entering. What is the matter? I asked from below. I left the candle alight, she said, and its gone out. Jack laughed. And you left the door and window open, said he. Yes, sir, but not a breath of wind is stirring, said Mrs. Franklyn, rather faintly. This was true, and yet a few moments ago the heavy halldoor had swung open and back again. Jack ran upstairs. Well brave the dark together, Mrs. Franklyn, he said. He went into my room, and I heard the sound of a match struck. Then through the open door came the light of the rekindled candle and simultaneously I heard a bell ring in the servants quarters. In a moment came steps, and Franklyn appeared. What bell was that? I asked. Mr. Jacks bedroom, sir, he said. I felt there was a marked atmosphere of nerves about for which there was really no adequate cause. All that had happened of a disturbing nature was that Mrs. Franklyn had thought I had come into my bedroom, and had been startled by finding I had not. She had then left the candle in a draught, and it had been blown out. As for a bell ringing, that, even if it had happened, was a very innocuous proceeding. Mouse on a wire, I said. Mr. Jack is in my room this moment lighting Mrs. Franklyns candle for her. Jack came down at this juncture, and we went into the sittingroom. But Franklyn apparently was not satisfied, for we heard him in the room above us, which was Jacks bedroom, moving about with his slow and rather ponderous tread. Then his steps seemed to pass into the bedroom adjoining, and we heard no more. I remember feeling hugely sleepy that night, and went to bed earlier than usual, to pass rather a broken night with stretches of dreamless sleep interspersed with startled awakenings, in which I passed very suddenly into complete consciousness. Sometimes the house was absolutely still, and the only sound to be heard was the sighing of the night breeze outside in the pines, but sometimes the place seemed full of muffled movements, and once I could have sworn that the handle of my door turned. That required verification, and I lit my candle, but found that my ears must have played me false. Yet even as I stood there, I thought I heard steps just outside, and with a considerable qualm, I must confess, I opened the door and looked out. But the gallery was quite empty, and the house quite still. Then from Jacks room opposite I heard a sound that was somehow comforting, the snorts of the snorer, and I went back to bed and slept again, and when next I woke, morning was already breaking in red lines on the horizon, and the sense of trouble that had been with me ever since last evening had gone. Heavy rain set in after lunch next day, and as I had arrears of letterwriting to do, and the water was soon both muddy and rising, I came home alone about five, leaving Jack still sanguine by the stream, and worked for a couple of hours sitting at a writingtable in the room overlooking the gravel at the front of the house, where hung the watercolours. By seven I had finished, and just as I got up to light candles, since it was already dusk, I saw, as I thought, Jacks figure emerge from the bushes that bordered the path to the stream, on to the space in front of the house. Then instantaneously and with a sudden queer sinking of the heart, quite unaccountable, I saw that it was not Jack at all, but a stranger. He was only some six yards from the window, and after pausing there a moment he came close up to the window, so that his face nearly touched the glass, looking intently at me. In the light from the freshlykindled candles I could distinguish his features with great clearness, but though, as far as I knew, I had never seen him before, there was something familiar about both his face and figure. He appeared to smile at me, but the smile was one of inscrutable evil and malevolence, and immediately he walked on, straight towards the housedoor opposite him, and out of sight of the sittingroom window. Now, little though I liked the look of the man, he was, as I have said, familiar to my eye, and I went out into the hall, since he was clearly coming to the frontdoor, to open it to him and learn his business. So without waiting for him to ring, I opened it, feeling sure I should find him on the step. Instead, I looked out into the empty gravelsweep, the heavyfalling rain, the thick dusk. And even as I looked, I felt something that I could not see push by me through the halfopened door and pass into the house. Then the stairs creaked, and a moment after a bell rang. Franklyn is the quickest man to answer a bell I have ever seen, and next instant he passed me going upstairs. He tapped at Jacks door, entered, and then came down again. Mr. Jack still out, sir? he asked. Yes. His bell ringing again? Yes, sir, said Franklyn, quite imperturbably. I went back into the sittingroom, and soon Franklyn brought a lamp. He put it on the table above which hung the careful and curious picture of the brickkiln, and then with a sudden horror I saw why the stranger on the gravel outside had been so familiar to me. In all respects he resembled the figure that peered into the kiln; it was more than a resemblance, it was an identity. And what had happened to this man who had inscrutably and evilly smiled at me? And what had pushed in through the halfclosed door? At that moment I saw the face of Fear; my mouth went dry, and I heard my heart leaping and cracking in my throat. That face was only turned on me for a moment, and then away again, but I knew it to be the genuine thing; not apprehension, not foreboding, not a feeling of being startled, but Fear, cold Fear. And then though nothing had occurred to assuage the Fear, it passed, and a certain sort of reason usurpedfor so I must sayits place. I had certainly seen somebody on the gravel outside the house; I had supposed he was going to the frontdoor. I had opened it, and found he had not come to the frontdoor. Orand once again the terror resurgedhad the invisible pushing thing been that which I had seen outside? And if so, what was it? And how came it that the face and figure of the man I had seen was the same as that which was so scrupulously painted in the picture of the brickkiln? I set myself to argue down the Fear for which there was no more foundation than this, this and the repetition of the ringing bell, and my belief is that I did so. I told myself, till I believed it, that a mana human manhad been walking across the gravel outside, and that he had not come to the frontdoor but had gone, as he might easily have done, up the drive into the highroad. I told myself that it was mere fancy that was the cause of the belief that Something had pushed in by me, and as for the ringing of the bell, I said to myself, as was true, that this had happened before. And I must ask the reader to believe also that I argued these things away, and looked no longer on the face of Fear itself. I was not comfortable, but I fell short of being terrified. I sat down again by the window looking on to the gravel in front of the house, and finding another letter that asked, though it did not demand an answer, proceeded to occupy myself with it. Straight in front led the drive through the gap in the pines, and passed through the field where lay the brickkiln. In a pause of pageturning I looked up and saw something unusual about it; at the same moment an unusual smell came to my nostril. What I saw was smoke coming out of the chimney of the kiln, what I smelt was the odour of roasting meat. The windsuch as there wasset from the kiln to the house. But as far as I knew the smell of roast meat probably came from the kitchen where dinner, so I supposed, was cooking. I had to tell myself this I wanted reassurance, lest the face of Fear should look whitely on me again. Then there came a crisp step on the gravel, a rattle at the frontdoor, and Jack came in. Good sport, he said, you gave up too soon. And he went straight to the table above which hung the picture of the man at the brickkiln, and looked at it. Then there was silence; and eventually I spoke, for I wanted to know one thing. Seen anybody? I asked. Yes. Why do you ask? Because I have also; the man in that picture. Jack came and sat down near me. Its a ghost, you know, he said. He came down to the river about dusk and stood near me for an hour. At first I thought he waswas real, and I warned him that he had better stand further off if he didnt want to be hooked. And then it struck me he wasnt real, and I cast, well, right through him, and about seven he walked up towards the house. Were you frightened? No. It was so tremendously interesting. So you saw him here too. Whereabouts? Just outside. I think he is in the house now. Jack looked round. Did you see him come in? he asked. No, but I felt him. Theres another queer thing too; the chimney of the brickkiln is smoking. Jack looked out of the window. It was nearly dark but the wreathing smoke could just be seen. So it is, he said, fat, greasy smoke. I think Ill go up and see whats on. Come too? I think not, I said. Are you frightened? It isnt worth while. Besides, it is so tremendously interesting. Jack came back from his little expedition still interested. He had found nothing stirring at the kiln, but though it was then nearly dark the interior was faintly luminous, and against the black of the sky he could see a wisp of thick white smoke floating northwards. But for the rest of the evening we neither heard nor saw anything of abnormal import, and the next day ran a course of undisturbed hours. Then suddenly a hellish activity was manifested. That night, while I was undressing for bed, I heard a bell ring furiously, and I thought I heard a shout also. I guessed where the ring came from, since Franklyn and his wife had long ago gone to bed, and went straight to Jacks room. But as I tapped at the door I heard his voice from inside calling loud to me. Take care, it said, hes close to the door. A sudden qualm of blank fear took hold of me, but mastering it as best I could, I opened the door to enter, and once again something pushed softly by me, though I saw nothing. Jack was standing by his bed, halfundressed. I saw him wipe his forehead with the back of his hand. Hes been here again, he said. I was standing just here, a minute ago, when I found him close by me. He came out of the inner room, I think. Did you see what he had in his hand? I saw nothing. It was a knife; a great long carving knife. Do you mind my sleeping on the sofa in your room tonight? I got an awful turn then. There was another thing too. All round the edge of his clothes, at his collar and at his wrists, there were little flames playing, little white licking flames. But next day, again, we neither heard nor saw anything, nor that night did the sense of that dreadful presence in the house come to us. And then came the last day. We had been out till it was dark, and as I said, had a wonderful day among the fish. On reaching home we sat together in the sittingroom, when suddenly from overhead came a tread of feet, a violent pealing of the bell, and the moment after yell after yell as of someone in mortal agony. The thought occurred to both of us that this might be Mrs. Franklyn in terror of some fearful sight, and together we rushed up and sprang into Jacks bedroom. The doorway into the room beyond was open, and just inside it we saw the man bending over some dark huddled object. Though the room was dark we could see him perfectly, for a light stale and impure seemed to come from him. He had again a long knife in his hand, and as we entered he was wiping it on the mass that lay at his feet. Then he took it up, and we saw what it was, a woman with head nearly severed. But it was not Mrs. Franklyn. And then the whole thing vanished, and we were standing looking into a dark and empty room. We went downstairs without a word, and it was not till we were both in the sittingroom below that Jack spoke. And he takes her to the brickkiln, he said rather unsteadily. I say, have you had enough of this house? I have. There is hell in it. About a week later Jack put into my hand a guidebook to Sussex open at the description of Trevor Major, and I read Just outside the village stands the picturesque manor house, once the home of the artist and notorious murderer, Francis Adam. It was here he killed his wife, in a fit, it is believed, of groundless jealousy, cutting her throat and disposing of her remains by burning them in a brickkiln. Certain charred fragments found six months afterwards led to his arrest and execution. So I prefer to leave the house with the brickkiln and the pictures signed F. A. to others. The Man Who Went Too Far The little village of St. Faiths nestles in a hollow of wooded hill up on the north bank of the river Fawn in the county of Hampshire, huddling close round its grey Norman church as if for spiritual protection against the fays and fairies, the trolls and little people, who might be supposed still to linger in the vast empty spaces of the New Forest, and to come after dusk and do their doubtful businesses. Once outside the hamlet you may walk in any direction (so long as you avoid the high road which leads to Brockenhurst) for the length of a summer afternoon without seeing sign of human habitation, or possibly even catching sight of another human being. Shaggy wild ponies may stop their feeding for a moment as you pass, the white scuts of rabbits will vanish into their burrows, a brown viper perhaps will glide from your path into a clump of heather, and unseen birds will chuckle in the bushes, but it may easily happen that for a long day you will see nothing human. But you will not feel in the least lonely; in summer, at any rate, the sunlight will be gay with butterflies, and the air thick with all those woodland sounds which like instruments in an orchestra combine to play the great symphony of the yearly festival of June. Winds whisper in the birches, and sigh among the firs; bees are busy with their redolent labour among the heather, a myriad birds chirp in the green temples of the forest trees, and the voice of the river prattling over stony places, bubbling into pools, chuckling and gulping round corners, gives you the sense that many presences and companions are near at hand. Yet, oddly enough, though one would have thought that these benign and cheerful influences of wholesome air and spaciousness of forest were very healthful comrades for a man, in so far as nature can really influence this wonderful human genus which has in these centuries learned to defy her most violent storms in its wellestablished houses, to bridle her torrents and make them light its streets, to tunnel her mountains and plough her seas, the inhabitants of St. Faiths will not willingly venture into the forest after dark. For in spite of the silence and loneliness of the hooded night it seems that a man is not sure in what company he may suddenly find himself, and though it is difficult to get from these villagers any very clear story of occult appearances, the feeling is widespread. One story indeed I have heard with some definiteness, the tale of a monstrous goat that has been seen to skip with hellish glee about the woods and shady places, and this perhaps is connected with the story which I have here attempted to piece together. It too is wellknown to them; for all remember the young artist who died here not long ago, a young man, or so he struck the beholder, of great personal beauty, with something about him that made mens faces to smile and brighten when they looked on him. His ghost they will tell you walks constantly by the stream and through the woods which he loved so, and in especial it haunts a certain house, the last of the village, where he lived, and its garden in which he was done to death. For my part I am inclined to think that the terror of the Forest dates chiefly from that day. So, such as the story is, I have set it forth in connected form. It is based partly on the accounts of the villagers, but mainly on that of Darcy, a friend of mine and a friend of the man with whom these events were chiefly concerned. The day had been one of untarnished midsummer splendour, and as the sun drew near to its setting, the glory of the evening grew every moment more crystalline, more miraculous. Westward from St. Faiths the beechwood which stretched for some miles toward the heathery upland beyond already cast its veil of clear shadow over the red roofs of the village, but the spire of the grey church, overtopping all, still pointed a flaming orange finger into the sky. The river Fawn, which runs below, lay in sheets of skyreflected blue, and wound its dreamy devious course round the edge of this wood, where a rough twoplanked bridge crossed from the bottom of the garden of the last house in the village, and communicated by means of a little wicker gate with the wood itself. Then once out of the shadow of the wood the stream lay in flaming pools of the molten crimson of the sunset, and lost itself in the haze of woodland distances. This house at the end of the village stood outside the shadow, and the lawn which sloped down to the river was still flecked with sunlight. Gardenbeds of dazzling colour lined its gravel walks, and down the middle of it ran a brick pergola, halfhidden in clusters of ramblerrose and purple with starry clematis. At the bottom end of it, between two of its pillars, was slung a hammock containing a shirtsleeved figure. The house itself lay somewhat remote from the rest of the village, and a footpath leading across two fields, now tall and fragrant with hay, was its only communication with the high road. It was lowbuilt, only two stories in height, and like the garden, its walls were a mass of flowering roses. A narrow stone terrace ran along the garden front, over which was stretched an awning, and on the terrace a young silentfooted manservant was busied with the laying of the table for dinner. He was neathanded and quick with his job, and having finished it he went back into the house, and reappeared again with a large rough bathtowel on his arm. With this he went to the hammock in the pergola. Nearly eight, sir, he said. Has Mr. Darcy come yet? asked a voice from the hammock. No, sir. If Im not back when he comes, tell him that Im just having a bathe before dinner. The servant went back to the house, and after a moment or two Frank Halton struggled to a sitting posture, and slipped out on to the grass. He was of medium height and rather slender in build, but the supple ease and grace of his movements gave the impression of great physical strength even his descent from the hammock was not an awkward performance. His face and hands were of very dark complexion, either from constant exposure to wind and sun, or, as his black hair and dark eyes tended to show, from some strain of southern blood. His head was small, his face of an exquisite beauty of modelling, while the smoothness of its contour would have led you to believe that he was a beardless lad still in his teens. But something, some look which living and experience alone can give, seemed to contradict that, and finding yourself completely puzzled as to his age, you would next moment probably cease to think about that, and only look at this glorious specimen of young manhood with wondering satisfaction. He was dressed as became the season and the heat, and wore only a shirt open at the neck, and a pair of flannel trousers. His head, covered very thickly with a somewhat rebellious crop of short curly hair, was bare as he strolled across the lawn to the bathingplace that lay below.

Then for a moment there was silence, then the sound of splashed and divided waters, and presently after, a great shout of ecstatic joy, as he swam upstream with the foamed water standing in a frill round his neck. Then after some five minutes of limbstretching struggle with the flood, he turned over on his back, and with arms thrown wide, floated downstream, ripplecradled and inert. His eyes were shut, and between halfparted lips he talked gently to himself. I am one with it, he said to himself, the river and I, I and the river. The coolness and splash of it is I, and the waterherbs that wave in it are I also. And my strength and my limbs are not mine but the rivers. It is all one, all one, dear Fawn. A quarter of an hour later he appeared again at the bottom of the lawn, dressed as before, his wet hair already drying into its crisp short curls again. There he paused a moment, looking back at the stream with the smile with which men look on the face of a friend, then turned towards the house. Simultaneously his servant came to the door leading on to the terrace, followed by a man who appeared to be some halfway through the fourth decade of his years. Frank and he saw each other across the bushes and gardenbeds, and each quickening his step, they met suddenly face to face round an angle of the garden walk, in the fragrance of syringa. My dear Darcy, cried Frank, I am charmed to see you. But the other stared at him in amazement. Frank! he exclaimed. Yes, that is my name, he said laughing, what is the matter? Darcy took his hand. What have you done to yourself? he asked. You are a boy again. Ah, I have a lot to tell you, said Frank. Lots that you will hardly believe, but I shall convince you He broke off suddenly, and held up his hand. Hush, there is my nightingale, he said. The smile of recognition and welcome with which he had greeted his friend faded from his face, and a look of rapt wonder took its place, as of a lover listening to the voice of his beloved. His mouth parted slightly, showing the white line of teeth, and his eyes looked out and out till they seemed to Darcy to be focused on things beyond the vision of man. Then something perhaps startled the bird, for the song ceased. Yes, lots to tell you, he said. Really I am delighted to see you. But you look rather white and pulled down; no wonder after that fever. And there is to be no nonsense about this visit. It is June now, you stop here till you are fit to begin work again. Two months at least. Ah, I cant trespass quite to that extent. Frank took his arm and walked him down the grass. Trespass? Who talks of trespass? I shall tell you quite openly when I am tired of you, but you know when we had the studio together, we used not to bore each other. However, it is ill talking of going away on the moment of your arrival. Just a stroll to the river, and then it will be dinnertime. Darcy took out his cigarette case, and offered it to the other. Frank laughed. No, not for me. Dear me, I suppose I used to smoke once. How very odd! Given it up? I dont know. I suppose I must have. Anyhow I dont do it now. I would as soon think of eating meat. Another victim on the smoking altar of vegetarianism? Victim? asked Frank. Do I strike you as such? He paused on the margin of the stream and whistled softly. Next moment a moorhen made its splashing flight across the river, and ran up the bank. Frank took it very gently in his hands and stroked its head, as the creature lay against his shirt. And is the house among the reeds still secure? he halfcrooned to it. And is the missus quite well, and are the neighbours flourishing? There, dear, home with you, and he flung it into the air. That birds very tame, said Darcy, slightly bewildered. It is rather, said Frank, following its flight. During dinner Frank chiefly occupied himself in bringing himself uptodate in the movements and achievements of this old friend whom he had not seen for six years. Those six years, it now appeared, had been full of incident and success for Darcy; he had made a name for himself as a portrait painter which bade fair to outlast the vogue of a couple of seasons, and his leisure time had been brief. Then some four months previously he had been through a severe attack of typhoid, the result of which as concerns this story was that he had come down to this sequestered place to recruit. Yes, youve got on, said Frank at the end. I always knew you would. A.R.A. with more in prospect. Money? You roll in it, I suppose, and, O Darcy, how much happiness have you had all these years? That is the only imperishable possession. And how much have you learned? Oh, I dont mean in Art. Even I could have done well in that. Darcy laughed. Done well? My dear fellow, all I have learned in these six years you knew, so to speak, in your cradle. Your old pictures fetch huge prices. Do you never paint now? Frank shook his head. No, Im too busy, he said. Doing what? Please tell me. That is what everyone is forever asking me. Doing? I suppose you would say I do nothing. Darcy glanced up at the brilliant young face opposite him. It seems to suit you, that way of being busy, he said. Now, its your turn. Do you read? Do you study? I remember you saying that it would do us allall us artists, I meana great deal of good if we would study any one human face carefully for a year, without recording a line. Have you been doing that? Frank shook his head again. I mean exactly what I say, he said, I have been doing nothing. And I have never been so occupied. Look at me; have I not done something to myself to begin with? You are two years younger than I, said Darcy, at least you used to be. You therefore are thirtyfive. But had I never seen you before I should say you were just twenty. But was it worth while to spend six years of greatlyoccupied life in order to look twenty? Seems rather like a woman of fashion. Frank laughed boisterously. First time Ive ever been compared to that particular bird of prey, he said. No, that has not been my occupationin fact I am only very rarely conscious that one effect of my occupation has been that. Of course, it must have been if one comes to think of it. It is not very important. Quite true my body has become young. But that is very little; I have become young. Darcy pushed back his chair and sat sideways to the table looking at the other. Has that been your occupation then? he asked. Yes, that anyhow is one aspect of it. Think what youth means! It is the capacity for growth, mind, body, spirit, all grow, all get stronger, all have a fuller, firmer life every day. That is something, considering that every day that passes after the ordinary man reaches the fullblown flower of his strength, weakens his hold on life. A man reaches his prime, and remains, we say, in his prime, for ten years, or perhaps twenty. But after his primest prime is reached, he slowly, insensibly weakens. These are the signs of age in you, in your body, in your art probably, in your mind. You are less electric than you were. But I, when I reach my primeI am nearing itah, you shall see. The stars had begun to appear in the blue velvet of the sky, and to the east the horizon seen above the black silhouette of the village was growing dovecoloured with the approach of moonrise. White moths hovered dimly over the gardenbeds, and the footsteps of night tiptoed through the bushes. Suddenly Frank rose. Ah, it is the supreme moment, he said softly. Now more than at any other time the current of life, the eternal imperishable current runs so close to me that I am almost enveloped in it. Be silent a minute. He advanced to the edge of the terrace and looked out standing stretched with arms outspread. Darcy heard him draw a long breath into his lungs, and after many seconds expel it again. Six or eight times he did this, then turned back into the lamplight. It will sound to you quite mad, I expect, he said, but if you want to hear the soberest truth I have ever spoken and shall ever speak, I will tell you about myself. But come into the garden if it is not too damp for you. I have never told anyone yet, but I shall like to tell you. It is long, in fact, since I have even tried to classify what I have learned. They wandered into the fragrant dimness of the pergola, and sat down. Then Frank began Years ago, do you remember, he said, we used often to talk about the decay of joy in the world. Many impulses, we settled, had contributed to this decay, some of which were good in themselves, others that were quite completely bad. Among the good things, I put what we may call certain Christian virtues, renunciation, resignation, sympathy with suffering, and the desire to relieve sufferers. But out of those things spring very bad ones, useless renunciations, asceticism for its own sake, mortification of the flesh with nothing to follow, no corresponding gain that is, and that awful and terrible disease which devastated England some centuries ago, and from which by heredity of spirit we suffer now, Puritanism. That was a dreadful plague, the brutes held and taught that joy and laughter and merriment were evil it was a doctrine the most profane and wicked. Why, what is the commonest crime one sees? A sullen face. That is the truth of the matter. Now all my life I have believed that we are intended to be happy, that joy is of all gifts the most divine. And when I left London, abandoned my career, such as it was, I did so because I intended to devote my life to the cultivation of joy, and, by continuous and unsparing effort, to be happy. Among people, and in constant intercourse with others, I did not find it possible; there were too many distractions in towns and workrooms, and also too much suffering. So I took one step backwards or forwards, as you may choose to put it, and went straight to Nature, to trees, birds, animals, to all those things which quite clearly pursue one aim only, which blindly follow the great native instinct to be happy without any care at all for morality, or human law or divine law. I wanted, you understand, to get all joy firsthand and unadulterated, and I think it scarcely exists among men; it is obsolete. Darcy turned in his chair. Ah, but what makes birds and animals happy? he asked. Food, food and mating. Frank laughed gently in the stillness. Do not think I became a sensualist, he said. I did not make that mistake. For the sensualist carries his miseries pickaback, and round his feet is wound the shroud that shall soon enwrap him. I may be mad, it is true, but I am not so stupid anyhow as to have tried that. No, what is it that makes puppies play with their own tails, that sends cats on their prowling ecstatic errands at night? He paused a moment. So I went to Nature, he said. I sat down here in this New Forest, sat down fair and square, and looked. That was my first difficulty, to sit here quiet without being bored, to wait without being impatient, to be receptive and very alert, though for a long time nothing particular happened. The change in fact was slow in those early stages. Nothing happened? asked Darcy rather impatiently, with the sturdy revolt against any new idea which to the English mind is synonymous with nonsense. Why, what in the world should happen? Now Frank as he had known him was the most generous but most quicktempered of mortal men; in other words his anger would flare to a prodigious beacon, under almost no provocation, only to be quenched again under a gust of no less impulsive kindliness. Thus the moment Darcy had spoken, an apology for his hasty question was halfway up his tongue. But there was no need for it to have travelled even so far, for Frank laughed again with kindly, genuine mirth. Oh, how I should have resented that a few years ago, he said. Thank goodness that resentment is one of the things I have got rid of. I certainly wish that you should believe my storyin fact, you are going tobut that you at this moment should imply that you do not, does not concern me. Ah, your solitary sojournings have made you inhuman, said Darcy, still very English. No, human, said Frank. Rather more human, at least rather less of an ape. Well, that was my first quest, he continued, after a moment, the deliberate and unswerving pursuit of joy, and my method, the eager contemplation of Nature. As far as motive went, I daresay it was purely selfish, but as far as effect goes, it seems to me about the best thing one can do for ones fellowcreatures, for happiness is more infectious than smallpox. So, as I said, I sat down and waited; I looked at happy things, zealously avoided the sight of anything unhappy, and by degrees a little trickle of the happiness of this blissful world began to filter into me. The trickle grew more abundant, and now, my dear fellow, if I could for a moment divert from me into you one half of the torrent of joy that pours through me day and night, you would throw the world, art, everything aside, and just live, exist. When a mans body dies, it passes into trees and flowers. Well, that is what I have been trying to do with my soul before death. The servant had brought into the pergola a table with syphons and spirits, and had set a lamp upon it. As Frank spoke he leaned forward towards the other, and Darcy for all his matteroffact common sense could have sworn that his companions face shone, was luminous in itself. His dark brown eyes glowed from within, the unconscious smile of a child irradiated and transformed his face. Darcy felt suddenly excited, exhilarated. Go on, he said. Go on. I can feel you are somehow telling me sober truth. I daresay you are mad; but I dont see that matters. Frank laughed again. Mad? he said. Yes, certainly, if you wish. But I prefer to call it sane. However, nothing matters less than what anybody chooses to call things. God never labels his gifts; He just puts them into our hands; just as he put animals in the garden of Eden, for Adam to name if he felt disposed. So by the continual observance and study of things that were happy, continued he, I got happiness, I got joy. But seeking it, as I did, from Nature, I got much more which I did not seek, but stumbled upon originally by accident. It is difficult to explain, but I will try. About three years ago I was sitting one morning in a place I will show you tomorrow. It is down by the river brink, very green, dappled with shade and sun, and the river passes there through some little clumps of reeds. Well, as I sat there, doing nothing, but just looking and listening, I heard the sound quite distinctly of some flutelike instrument playing a strange unending melody. I thought at first it was some musical yokel on the highway and did not pay much attention. But before long the strangeness and indescribable beauty of the tune struck me. It never repeated itself, but it never came to an end, phrase after phrase ran its sweet course, it worked gradually and inevitably up to a climax, and having attained it, it went on; another climax was reached and another and another. Then with a sudden gasp of wonder I localised where it came from. It came from the reeds and from the sky and from the trees. It was everywhere, it was the sound of life. It was, my dear Darcy, as the Greeks would have said, it was Pan playing on his pipes, the voice of Nature. It was the lifemelody, the worldmelody. Darcy was far too interested to interrupt, though there was a question he would have liked to ask, and Frank went on Well, for the moment I was terrified, terrified with the impotent horror of nightmare, and I stopped my ears and just ran from the place and got back to the house panting, trembling, literally in a panic. Unknowingly, for at that time I only pursued joy, I had begun, since I drew my joy from Nature, to get in touch with Nature. Nature, force, God, call it what you will, had drawn across my face a little gossamer web of essential life. I saw that when I emerged from my terror, and I went very humbly back to where I had heard the Panpipes. But it was nearly six months before I heard them again. Why was that? asked Darcy. Surely because I had revolted, rebelled, and worst of all been frightened. For I believe that just as there is nothing in the world which so injures ones body as fear, so there is nothing that so much shuts up the soul. I was afraid, you see, of the one thing in the world which has real existence. No wonder its manifestation was withdrawn. And after six months? After six months one blessed morning I heard the piping again. I wasnt afraid that time. And since then it has grown louder, it has become more constant. I now hear it often, and I can put myself into such an attitude towards Nature that the pipes will almost certainly sound. And never yet have they played the same tune, it is always something new, something fuller, richer, more complete than before. What do you mean by such an attitude towards Nature? asked Darcy. I cant explain that; but by translating it into a bodily attitude it is this. Frank sat up for a moment quite straight in his chair, then slowly sunk back with arms outspread and head drooped. That; he said, an effortless attitude, but open, resting, receptive. It is just that which you must do with your soul. Then he sat up again. One word more, he said, and I will bore you no further. Nor unless you ask me questions shall I talk about it again. You will find me, in fact, quite sane in my mode of life. Birds and beasts, you will see behaving somewhat intimately to me, like that moorhen, but that is all. I will walk with you, ride with you, play golf with you, and talk with you on any subject you like. But I wanted you on the threshold to know what has happened to me. And one thing more will happen. He paused again, and a slight look of fear crossed his eyes. There will be a final revelation, he said, a complete and blinding stroke which will throw open to me, once and for all, the full knowledge, the full realisation and comprehension that I am one, just as you are, with life. In reality there is no me, no you, no it. Everything is part of the one and only thing which is life. I know that that is so, but the realisation of it is not yet mine. But it will be, and on that day, so I take it, I shall see Pan. It may mean death, the death of my body, that is, but I dont care. It may mean immortal, eternal life lived here and now and forever. Then having gained that, ah, my dear Darcy, I shall preach such a gospel of joy, showing myself as the living proof of the truth, that Puritanism, the dismal religion of sour faces, shall vanish like a breath of smoke, and be dispersed and disappear in the sunlit air. But first the full knowledge must be mine. Darcy watched his face narrowly. You are afraid of that moment, he said. Frank smiled at him. Quite true; you are quick to have seen that. But when it comes I hope I shall not be afraid. For some little time there was silence; then Darcy rose. You have bewitched me, you extraordinary boy, he said. You have been telling me a fairystory, and I find myself saying, Promise me it is true. I promise you that, said the other. And I know I shant sleep, added Darcy. Frank looked at him with a sort of mild wonder as if he scarcely understood. Well, what does that matter? he said. I assure you it does. I am wretched unless I sleep. Of course I can make you sleep if I want, said Frank in a rather bored voice. Well do. Very good go to bed. Ill come upstairs in ten minutes. Frank busied himself for a little after the other had gone, moving the table back under the awning of the verandah and quenching the lamp. Then he went with his quick silent tread upstairs and into Darcys room. The latter was already in bed, but very wideeyed and wakeful, and Frank with an amused smile of indulgence, as for a fretful child, sat down on the edge of the bed. Look at me, he said, and Darcy looked. The birds are sleeping in the brake, said Frank softly, and the winds are asleep. The sea sleeps, and the tides are but the heaving of its breast. The stars swing slow, rocked in the great cradle of the Heavens, and He stopped suddenly, gently blew out Darcys candle, and left him sleeping. Morning brought to Darcy a flood of hard common sense, as clear and crisp as the sunshine that filled his room. Slowly as he woke he gathered together the broken threads of the memories of the evening which had ended, so he told himself, in a trick of common hypnotism. That accounted for it all; the whole strange talk he had had was under a spell of suggestion from the extraordinary vivid boy who had once been a man; all his own excitement, his acceptance of the incredible had been merely the effect of a stronger, more potent will imposed on his own. How strong that will was, he guessed from his own instantaneous obedience to Franks suggestion of sleep. And armed with impenetrable common sense he came down to breakfast. Frank had already begun, and was consuming a large plateful of porridge and milk with the most prosaic and healthy appetite. Slept well? he asked. Yes, of course. Where did you learn hypnotism? By the side of the river. You talked an amazing quantity of nonsense last night, remarked Darcy, in a voice prickly with reason. Rather. I felt quite giddy. Look, I remembered to order a dreadful daily paper for you. You can read about money markets or politics or cricket matches. Darcy looked at him closely. In the morning light Frank looked even fresher, younger, more vital than he had done the night before, and the sight of him somehow dinted Darcys armour of common sense. You are the most extraordinary fellow I ever saw, he said. I want to ask you some more questions. Ask away, said Frank. For the next day or two Darcy plied his friend with many questions, objections and criticisms on the theory of life and gradually got out of him a coherent and complete account of his experience. In brief then, Frank believed that by lying naked, as he put it, to the force which controls the passage of the stars, the breaking of a wave, the budding of a tree, the love of a youth and maiden, he had succeeded in a way hitherto undreamed of in possessing himself of the essential principle of life. Day by day, so he thought, he was getting nearer to, and in closer union with the great power itself which caused all life to be, the spirit of nature, of force, or the spirit of God. For himself, he confessed to what others would call paganism; it was sufficient for him that there existed a principle of life. He did not worship it, he did not pray to it, he did not praise it. Some of it existed in all human beings, just as it existed in trees and animals, to realise and make living to himself the fact that it was all one, was his sole aim and object. Here perhaps Darcy would put in a word of warning. Take care, he said. To see Pan meant death, did it not. Franks eyebrows would rise at this. What does that matter? he said. True, the Greeks were always right, and they said so, but there is another possibility. For the nearer I get to it, the more living, the more vital and young I become. What then do you expect the final revelation will do for you? I have told you, said he. It will make me immortal. But it was not so much from speech and argument that Darcy grew to grasp his friends conception, as from the ordinary conduct of his life. They were passing, for instance, one morning down the village street, when an old woman, very bent and decrepit, but with an extraordinary cheerfulness of face, hobbled out from her cottage. Frank instantly stopped when he saw her. You old darling! How goes it all? he said. But she did not answer, her dim old eyes were rivetted on his face; she seemed to drink in like a thirsty creature the beautiful radiance which shone there. Suddenly she put her two withered old hands on his shoulders. Youre just the sunshine itself, she said, and he kissed her and passed on. But scarcely a hundred yards further a strange contradiction of such tenderness occurred. A child running along the path towards them fell on its face, and set up a dismal cry of fright and pain. A look of horror came into Franks eyes, and, putting his fingers in his ears, he fled at full speed down the street, and did not pause till he was out of hearing. Darcy, having ascertained that the child was not really hurt, followed him in bewilderment. Are you without pity then? he asked. Frank shook his head impatiently. Cant you see? he asked. Cant you understand that that sort of thing, pain, anger, anything unlovely throws me back, retards the coming of the great hour! Perhaps when it comes I shall be able to piece that side of life on to the other, on to the true religion of joy. At present I cant. But the old woman. Was she not ugly? Franks radiance gradually returned. Ah, no. She was like me. She longed for joy, and knew it when she saw it, the old darling. Another question suggested itself. Then what about Christianity? asked Darcy. I cant accept it. I cant believe in any creed of which the central doctrine is that God who is Joy should have had to suffer. Perhaps it was so; in some inscrutable way I believe it may have been so, but I dont understand how it was possible. So I leave it alone; my affair is joy. They had come to the weir above the village, and the thunder of riotous cool water was heavy in the air. Trees dipped into the translucent stream with slender trailing branches, and the meadow where they stood was starred with midsummer blossomings. Larks shot up carolling into the crystal dome of blue, and a thousand voices of June sang round them. Frank, bareheaded as was his wont, with his coat slung over his arm and his shirt sleeves rolled up above the elbow, stood there like some beautiful wild animal with eyes halfshut and mouth halfopen, drinking in the scented warmth of the air. Then suddenly he flung himself face downwards on the grass at the edge of the stream, burying his face in the daisies and cowslips, and lay stretched there in widearmed ecstasy, with his long fingers pressing and stroking the dewy herbs of the field. Never before had Darcy seen him thus fully possessed by his idea; his caressing fingers, his halfburied face pressed close to the grass, even the clothed lines of his figure were instinct with a vitality that somehow was different from that of other men. And some faint glow from it reached Darcy, some thrill, some vibration from that charged recumbent body passed to him, and for a moment he understood as he had not understood before, despite his persistent questions and the candid answers they received, how real, and how realised by Frank, his idea was. Then suddenly the muscles in Franks neck became stiff and alert, and he halfraised his head. The Panpipes, the Panpipes, he whispered. Close, oh, so close. Very slowly, as if a sudden movement might interrupt the melody, he raised himself and leaned on the elbow of his bent arm. His eyes opened wider, the lower lids drooped as if he focused his eyes on something very far away, and the smile on his face broadened and quivered like sunlight on still water, till the exultance of its happiness was scarcely human. So he remained motionless and rapt for some minutes, then the look of listening died from his face, and he bowed his head satisfied. Ah, that was good, he said. How is it possible you did not hear? Oh, you poor fellow! Did you really hear nothing? A week of this outdoor and stimulating life did wonders in restoring to Darcy the vigour and health which his weeks of fever had filched from him, and as his normal activity and higher pressure of vitality returned, he seemed to himself to fall even more under the spell which the miracle of Franks youth cast over him. Twenty times a day he found himself saying to himself suddenly at the end of some ten minutes silent resistance to the absurdity of Franks idea But it isnt possible; it cant be possible, and from the fact of his having to assure himself so frequently of this, he knew that he was struggling and arguing with a conclusion which already had taken root in his mind. For in any case a visible living miracle confronted him, since it was equally impossible that this youth, this boy, trembling on the verge of manhood, was thirtyfive. Yet such was the fact. July was ushered in by a couple of days of blustering and fretful rain, and Darcy, unwilling to risk a chill, kept to the house. But to Frank this weeping change of weather seemed to have no bearing on the behaviour of man, and he spent his days exactly as he did under the suns of June, lying in his hammock, stretched on the dripping grass, or making huge rambling excursions into the forest, the birds hopping from tree to tree after him, to return in the evening, drenched and soaked, but with the same unquenchable flame of joy burning within him. Catch cold? he would ask, Ive forgotten how to do it, I think. I suppose it makes ones body more sensible always to sleep outofdoors. People who live indoors always remind me of something peeled and skinless. Do you mean to say you slept outofdoors last night in that deluge? asked Darcy. And where, may I ask? Frank thought a moment. I slept in the hammock till nearly dawn, he said. For I remember the light blinked in the east when I awoke. Then I wentwhere did I gooh, yes, to the meadow where the Panpipes sounded so close a week ago. You were with me, do you remember? But I always have a rug if it is wet. And he went whistling upstairs. Somehow that little touch, his obvious effort to recall where he had slept, brought strangely home to Darcy the wonderful romance of which he was the still halfincredulous beholder. Sleep till close on dawn in a hammock, then the trampor probably scamperunderneath the windy and weeping heavens to the remote and lonely meadow by the weir! The picture of other such nights rose before him; Frank sleeping perhaps by the bathingplace under the filtered twilight of the stars, or the white blaze of moonshine, a stir and awakening at some dead hour, perhaps a space of silent wideeyed thought, and then awandering through the hushed woods to some other dormitory, alone with his happiness, alone with the joy and the life that suffused and enveloped him, without other thought or desire or aim except the hourly and neverceasing communion with the joy of nature. They were in the middle of dinner that night, talking on indifferent subjects, when Darcy suddenly broke off in the middle of a sentence. Ive got it, he said. At last Ive got it. Congratulate you, said Frank. But what? The radical unsoundness of your idea. It is this All Nature from highest to lowest is full, crammed full of suffering; every living organism in nature preys on another, yet in your aim to get close to, to be one with nature, you leave suffering altogether out; you run away from it, you refuse to recognise it. And you are waiting, you say, for the final revelation. Franks brow clouded slightly. Well, he asked, rather wearily. Cannot you guess then when the final revelation will be? In joy you are supreme, I grant you that; I did not know a man could be so master of it. You have learned perhaps practically all that nature can teach. And if, as you think, the final revelation is coming to you, it will be the revelation of horror, suffering, death, pain in all its hideous forms. Suffering does exist you hate it and fear it. Frank held up his hand. Stop; let me think, he said. There was silence for a long minute. That never struck me, he said at length. It is possible that what you suggest is true. Does the sight of Pan mean that, do you think? Is it that nature, take it altogether, suffers horribly, suffers to a hideous inconceivable extent? Shall I be shown all the suffering? He got up and came round to where Darcy sat. If it is so, so be it, he said. Because, my dear fellow, I am near, so splendidly near to the final revelation. Today the pipes have sounded almost without pause.

I have even heard the rustle in the bushes, I believe, of Pans coming. I have seen, yes, I saw today, the bushes pushed aside as if by a hand, and piece of a face, not human, peered through. But I was not frightened, at least I did not run away this time. He took a turn up to the window and back again. Yes, there is suffering all through, he said, and I have left it all out of my search. Perhaps, as you say, the revelation will be that. And in that case, it will be goodbye. I have gone on one line. I shall have gone too far along one road, without having explored the other. But I cant go back now. I wouldnt if I could; not a step would I retrace! In any case, whatever the revelation is, it will be God. Im sure of that. The rainy weather soon passed, and with the return of the sun Darcy again joined Frank in long rambling days. It grew extraordinarily hotter, and with the fresh bursting of life, after the rain, Franks vitality seemed to blaze higher and higher. Then, as is the habit of the English weather, one evening clouds began to bank themselves up in the west, the sun went down in a glare of coppery thunderrack, and the whole earth broiling under an unspeakable oppression and sultriness paused and panted for the storm. After sunset the remote fires of lightning began to wink and flicker on the horizon, but when bedtime came the storm seemed to have moved no nearer, though a very low unceasing noise of thunder was audible. Weary and oppressed by the stress of the day, Darcy fell at once into a heavy uncomforting sleep. He woke suddenly into full consciousness, with the din of some appalling explosion of thunder in his ears, and sat up in bed with racing heart. Then for a moment, as he recovered himself from the panicland which lies between sleeping and waking, there was silence, except for the steady hissing of rain on the shrubs outside his window. But suddenly that silence was shattered and shredded into fragments by a scream from somewhere close at hand outside in the black garden, a scream of supreme and despairing terror. Again and once again it shrilled up, and then a babble of awful words was interjected. A quivering sobbing voice that he knew, said My God, oh, my God; oh, Christ! And then followed a little mocking, bleating laugh. Then was silence again; only the rain hissed on the shrubs. All this was but the affair of a moment, and without pause either to put on clothes or light a candle, Darcy was already fumbling at his doorhandle. Even as he opened it he met a terrorstricken face outside, that of the manservant who carried a light. Did you hear? he asked. The mans face was bleached to a dull shining whiteness. Yes, sir, he said. It was the masters voice. Together they hurried down the stairs, and through the diningroom where an orderly table for breakfast had already been laid, and out on to the terrace. The rain for the moment had been utterly stayed, as if the tap of the heavens had been turned off, and under the lowering black sky, not quite dark, since the moon rode somewhere serene behind the conglomerated thunderclouds, Darcy stumbled into the garden, followed by the servant with the candle. The monstrous leaping shadow of himself was cast before him on the lawn; lost and wandering odours of rose and lily and damp earth were thick about him, but more pungent was some sharp and acrid smell that suddenly reminded him of a certain chalet in which he had once taken refuge in the Alps. In the blackness of the hazy light from the sky, and the vague tossing of the candle behind him, he saw that the hammock in which Frank so often lay was tenanted. A gleam of white shirt was there, as if a man sitting up in it, but across that there was an obscure dark shadow, and as he approached the acrid odour grew more intense. He was now only some few yards away, when suddenly the black shadow seemed to jump into the air, then came down with tappings of hard hoofs on the brick path that ran down the pergola, and with frolicsome skippings galloped off into the bushes. When that was gone Darcy could see quite clearly that a shirted figure sat up in the hammock. For one moment, from sheer terror of the unseen, he hung on his step, and the servant joining him they walked together to the hammock. It was Frank. He was in shirt and trousers only, and he sat up with braced arms. For one halfsecond he stared at them, his face a mask of horrible contorted terror. His upper lip was drawn back so that the gums of the teeth appeared, and his eyes were focused not on the two who approached him but on something quite close to him; his nostrils were widely expanded, as if he panted for breath, and terror incarnate and repulsion and deathly anguish ruled dreadful lines on his smooth cheeks and forehead. Then even as they looked the body sank backwards, and the ropes of the hammock wheezed and strained. Darcy lifted him out and carried him indoors. Once he thought there was a faint convulsive stir of the limbs that lay with so dead a weight in his arms, but when they got inside, there was no trace of life. But the look of supreme terror and agony of fear had gone from his face, a boy tired with play but still smiling in his sleep was the burden he laid on the floor. His eyes had closed, and the beautiful mouth lay in smiling curves, even as when a few mornings ago, in the meadow by the weir, it had quivered to the music of the unheard melody of Pans pipes. Then they looked further. Frank had come back from his bathe before dinner that night in his usual costume of shirt and trousers only. He had not dressed, and during dinner, so Darcy remembered, he had rolled up the sleeves of his shirt to above the elbow. Later, as they sat and talked after dinner on the close sultriness of the evening, he had unbuttoned the front of his shirt to let what little breath of wind there was play on his skin. The sleeves were rolled up now, the front of the shirt was unbuttoned, and on his arms and on the brown skin of his chest were strange discolorations which grew momently more clear and defined, till they saw that the marks were pointed prints, as if caused by the hoofs of some monstrous goat that had leaped and stamped upon him. The Other Bed I had gone out to Switzerland just before Christmas, expecting, from experience, a month of divinely renovating weather, of skating all day in brilliant sun, and basking in the hot frost of that windless atmosphere. Occasionally, as I knew, there might be a snowfall, which would last perhaps for fortyeight hours at the outside, and would be succeeded by another ten days of cloudless perfection, cold even to zero at night, but irradiated all day long by the unflecked splendour of the sun. Instead the climatic conditions were horrible. Day after day a gale screamed through this upland valley that should have been so windless and serene, bringing with it a tornado of sleet that changed to snow by night. For ten days there was no abatement of it, and evening after evening, as I consulted my barometer, feeling sure that the black finger would show that we were coming to the end of these abominations, I found that it had sunk a little lower yet, till it stayed, like a homing pigeon, on the s of storm. I mention these things in depreciation of the story that follows, in order that the intelligent reader may say at once, if he wishes, that all that occurred was merely a result of the malaise of nerves and digestion that perhaps arose from those stormbound and disturbing conditions. And now to go back to the beginning again. I had written to engage a room at the Htel Beau Site, and had been agreeably surprised on arrival to find that for the modest sum of twelve francs a day I was allotted a room on the first floor with two beds in it. Otherwise the hotel was quite full. Fearing to be billeted in a twentytwofranc room, by mistake, I instantly confirmed my arrangements at the bureau. There was no mistake I had ordered a twelvefranc room and had been given one. The very civil clerk hoped that I was satisfied with it, for otherwise there was nothing vacant. I hastened to say that I was more than satisfied, fearing the fate of Esau. I arrived about three in the afternoon of a cloudless and glorious day, the last of the series. I hurried down to the rink, having had the prudence to put skates in the forefront of my luggage, and spent a divine but struggling hour or two, coming up to the hotel about sunset. I had letters to write, and after ordering tea to be sent up to my gorgeous apartment, No. 23, on the first floor, I went straight up there. The door was ajar andI feel certain I should not even remember this now except in the light of what followedjust as I got close to it, I heard some faint movement inside the room and instinctively knew that my servant was there unpacking. Next moment I was in the room myself, and it was empty. The unpacking had been finished, and everything was neat, orderly, and comfortable. My barometer was on the table, and I observed with dismay that it had gone down nearly half an inch. I did not give another thought to the movement I thought I had heard from outside. Certainly I had a delightful room for my twelve francs a day. There were, as I have said, two beds in it, on one of which were already laid out my dressclothes, while nightthings were disposed on the other. There were two windows, between which stood a large washingstand, with plenty of room on it; a sofa with its back to the light stood conveniently near the pipes of central heating, there were a couple of good armchairs, a writing table, and, rarest of luxuries, another table, so that every time one had breakfast it was not necessary to pile up a drift of books and papers to make room for the tray. My window looked east, and sunset still flamed on the western faces of the virgin snows, while above, in spite of the dejected barometer, the sky was bare of clouds, and a thin slip of pale crescent moon was swung high among the stars that still burned dimly in these first moments of their kindling. Tea came up for me without delay, and, as I ate, I regarded my surroundings with extreme complacency. Then, quite suddenly and without cause, I saw that the disposition of the beds would never do; I could not possibly sleep in the bed that my servant had chosen for me, and without pause I jumped up, transferred my dress clothes to the other bed, and put my night things where they had been. It was done breathlessly almost, and not till then did I ask myself why I had done it. I found I had not the slightest idea. I had merely felt that I could not sleep in the other bed. But having made the change I felt perfectly content. My letters took me an hour or so to finish, and I had yawned and blinked considerably over the last one or two, in part from their inherent dullness, in part from quite natural sleepiness. For I had been in the train for twentyfour hours, and was fresh to these bracing airs which so conduce to appetite, activity, and sleep, and as there was still an hour before I need dress, I lay down on my sofa with a book for excuse, but the intention to slumber as reason. And consciousness ceased as if a tap had been turned off. ThenI dreamed. I dreamed that my servant came very quietly into the room, to tell me no doubt that it was time to dress. I supposed there were a few minutes to spare yet, and that he saw I was dozing, for, instead of rousing me, he moved quietly about the room, setting things in order. The light appeared to me to be very dim, for I could not see him with any distinctness, indeed, I only knew it was he because it could not be anybody else. Then he paused by my washingstand, which had a shelf for brushes and razors above it, and I saw him take a razor from its case and begin stropping it; the light was strongly reflected on the blade of the razor. He tried the edge once or twice on his thumbnail, and then to my horror I saw him trying it on his throat. Instantaneously one of those deafening dreamcrashes awoke me, and I saw the door half open, and my servant in the very act of coming in. No doubt the opening of the door had constituted the crash. I had joined a previouslyarrived party of five, all of us old friends, and accustomed to see each other often, and at dinner, and afterwards in intervals of bridge, the conversation roamed agreeably over a variety of topics, rockingturns and the prospects of weather (a thing of vast importance in Switzerland, and not a commonplace subject) and the performances at the opera, and under what circumstances as revealed in dummys hand, is it justifiable for a player to refuse to return his partners original lead in no trumps. Then over whisky and soda and the repeated last cigarette, it veered back via the Zantzigs to thought transference and the transference of emotion. Here one of the party, Harry Lambert, put forward the much discussed explanation of haunted houses based on this principle. He put it very concisely. Everything that happens, he said, whether it is a step we take, or a thought that crosses our mind, makes some change in its immediate material world. Now the most violent and concentrated emotion we can imagine is the emotion that leads a man to take so extreme a step as killing himself or somebody else. I can easily imagine such a deed so eating into the material scene, the room or the haunted heath, where it happens, that its mark lasts an enormous time. The air rings with the cry of the slain and still drips with his blood. It is not everybody who will perceive it, but sensitives will. By the way, I am sure that man who waits on us at dinner is a sensitive. It was already late, and I rose. Let us hurry him to the scene of a crime, I said. For myself I shall hurry to the scene of sleep. Outside the threatening promise of the barometer was already finding fulfilment, and a cold ugly wind was complaining among the pines, and hooting round the peaks, and snow had begun to fall. The night was thickly overcast, and it seemed as if uneasy presences were going to and fro in the darkness. But there was no use in ill augury, and certainly if we were to be housebound for a few days I was lucky in having so commodious a lodging. I had plenty to occupy myself with indoors, though I should vastly have preferred to be engaged outside, and in the immediate present how good it was to lie free in a proper bed after a cramped night in the train. I was halfundressed when there came a tap at my door, and the waiter who had served us at dinner came in carrying a bottle of whisky. He was a tall young fellow, and though I had not noticed him at dinner, I saw at once now, as he stood in the glare of the electric light, what Harry had meant when he said he was sure he was a sensitive. There is no mistaking that look it is exhibited in a peculiar inlooking of the eye. Those eyes, one knows, see further than the surface. The bottle of whisky for monsieur, he said, putting it down on the table. But I ordered no whisky, said I. He looked puzzled. Number twentythree? he said. Then he glanced at the other bed. Ah, for the other gentleman, without doubt, he said. But there is no other gentleman, said I. I am alone here. He took up the bottle again. Pardon, monsieur, he said. There must be a mistake. I am new here; I only came today. But I thought Yes? said I. I thought that number twentythree had ordered a bottle of whisky, he repeated. Good night, monsieur, and pardon. I got into bed, extinguished the light, and feeling very sleepy and heavy with the oppression, no doubt, of the snow that was coming, expected to fall asleep at once. Instead my mind would not quite go to roost, but kept sleepily stumbling about among the little events of the day, as some tired pedestrian in the dark stumbles over stones instead of lifting his feet. And as I got sleepier it seemed to me that my mind kept moving in a tiny little circle. At one moment it drowsily recollected how I had thought I had heard movement inside my room, at the next it remembered my dream of some figure going stealthily about and stropping a razor, at a third it wondered why this Swiss waiter with the eyes of a sensitive thought that number twentythree had ordered a bottle of whisky. But at the time I made no guess as to any coherence between these little isolated facts; I only dwelt on them with drowsy persistence. Then a fourth fact came to join the sleepy circle, and I wondered why I had felt a repugnance against using the other bed. But there was no explanation of this forthcoming, either, and the outlines of thought grew more blurred and hazy, until I lost consciousness altogether. Next morning began the series of awful days, sleet and snow falling relentlessly with gusts of chilly wind, making any outofdoor amusement next to impossible. The snow was too soft for toboganning, it balled on the skies, and as for the rink it was but a series of pools of slushy snow. This in itself, of course, was quite enough to account for any ordinary depression and heaviness of spirit, but all the time I felt there was something more than that to which I owed the utter blackness that hung over those days. I was beset too by fear that at first was only vague, but which gradually became more definite, until it resolved itself into a fear of number twentythree and in particular a terror of the other bed. I had no notion why or how I was afraid of it, the thing was perfectly causeless, but the shape and the outline of it grew slowly clearer, as detail after detail of ordinary life, each minute and trivial in itself, carved and moulded this fear, till it became definite. Yet the whole thing was so causeless and childish that I could speak to no one of it; I could but assure myself that it was all a figment of nerves disordered by this unseemly weather. However, as to the details, there were plenty of them. Once I woke up from strangling nightmare, unable at first to move, but in a panic of terror, believing that I was sleeping in the other bed. More than once, too, awaking before I was called, and getting out of bed to look at the aspect of the morning, I saw with a sense of dreadful misgiving that the bedclothes on the other bed were strangely disarranged, as if someone had slept there, and smoothed them down afterwards, but not so well as not to give notice of the occupation. So one night I laid a trap, so to speak, for the intruder, of which the real object was to calm my own nervousness (for I still told myself that I was frightened of nothing), and tucked in the sheet very carefully, laying the pillow on the top of it. But in the morning it seemed as if my interference had not been to the taste of the occupant, for there was more impatient disorder than usual in the bedclothes, and on the pillow was an indentation, round and rather deep, such as we may see any morning in our own beds. Yet by day these things did not frighten me, but it was when I went to bed at night that I quaked at the thought of further developments. It happened also from time to time that I wanted something brought me, or wanted my servant. On three or four of these occasions my bell was answered by the Sensitive, as we called him, but the Sensitive, I noticed, never came into the room. He would open the door a chink to receive my order, and on returning would again open it a chink to say that my boots, or whatever it was, were at the door. Once I made him come in, but I saw him cross himself as, with a face of icy terror, he stepped into the room, and the sight somehow did not reassure me. Twice also he came up in the evening, when I had not rung at all, even as he came up the first night, and opened the door a chink to say that my bottle of whisky was outside. But the poor fellow was in a state of such bewilderment when I went out and told him that I had not ordered whisky, that I did not press for an explanation. He begged my pardon profusely; he thought a bottle of whisky had been ordered for number twentythree. It was his mistake, entirelyI should not be charged for it; it must have been the other gentleman. Pardon again; he remembered there was no other gentleman, the other bed was unoccupied. It was on the night when this happened for the second time that I definitely began to wish that I too was quite certain that the other bed was unoccupied. The ten days of snow and sleet were at an end, and tonight the moon once more, grown from a mere slip to a shining shield, swung serenely among the stars. But though at dinner everyone exhibited an extraordinary change of spirit, with the rising of the barometer and the discharge of this huge snowfall, the intolerable gloom which had been mine so long but deepened and blackened. The fear was to me now like some statue, nearly finished, modelled by the carving hands of these details, and though it still stood below its moistened sheet, any moment, I felt, the sheet might be twitched away, and I be confronted with it. Twice that evening I had started to go to the bureau, to ask to have a bed made up for me, anywhere, in the billiardroom or the smokingroom, since the hotel was full, but the intolerable childishness of the proceeding revolted me. What was I afraid of? A dream of my own, a mere nightmare? Some fortuitous disarrangement of bedlinen? The fact that a Swiss waiter made mistakes about bottles of whisky? It was an impossible cowardice. But equally impossible that night were billiards or bridge, or any form of diversion. My only salvation seemed to lie in downright hard work, and soon after dinner I went to my room (in order to make my first real countermove against fear) and sat down solidly to several hours of proofcorrecting, a menial and monotonous employment, but one which is necessary, and engages the entire attention. But first I looked thoroughly round the room, to reassure myself, and found all modern and solid; a bright paper of daisies on the wall, a floor parquetted, the hotwater pipes chuckling to themselves in the corner, my bedclothes turned down for the night, the other bed The electric light was burning brightly, and there seemed to me to be a curious stain, as of a shadow, on the lower part of the pillow and the top of the sheet, definite and suggestive, and for a moment I stood there again throttled by a nameless terror. Then taking my courage in my hands I went closer and looked at it. Then I touched it; the sheet, where the stain or shadow was, seemed damp to the hand, so also was the pillow. And then I remembered; I had thrown some wet clothes on the bed before dinner. No doubt that was the reason. And fortified by this extremely simple dissipation of my fear, I sat down and began on my proofs. But my fear had been this, that the stain had not in that first moment looked like the mere greyness of watermoistened linen. From below, at first, came the sound of music, for they were dancing tonight, but I grew absorbed in my work, and only recorded the fact that after a time there was no more music. Steps went along the passages, and I heard the buzz of conversation on landings, and the closing of doors till by degrees the silence became noticeable. The loneliness of night had come. It was after the silence had become lonely that I made the first pause in my work, and by the watch on my table saw that it was already past midnight. But I had little more to do; another halfhour would see the end of the business, but there were certain notes I had to make for future reference, and my stock of paper was already exhausted. However, I had bought some in the village that afternoon, and it was in the bureau downstairs, where I had left it, when I came in and had subsequently forgotten to bring it upstairs. It would be the work of a minute only to get it. The electric light had brightened considerably during the last hour, owing no doubt to many burners being put out in the hotel, and as I left the room I saw again the stain on the pillow and sheet of the other bed. I had really forgotten all about it for the last hour, and its presence there came as an unwelcome surprise. Then I remembered the explanation of it, which had struck me before, and for purposes of selfreassurement I again touched it. It was still damp, butHad I got chilly with my work? For it was warm to the hand. Warm, and surely rather sticky. It did not seem like the touch of the waterdamp. And at the same moment I knew I was not alone in the room. There was something there, something silent as yet, and as yet invisible. But it was there. Now for the consolation of persons who are inclined to be fearful, I may say at once that I am in no way brave, but that terror which, God knows, was real enough, was yet so interesting, that interest overruled it. I stood for a moment by the other bed, and, halfconsciously only, wiped the hand that had felt the stain, for the touch of it, though all the time I told myself that it was but the touch of the melted snow on the coat I had put there, was unpleasant and unclean. More than that I did not feel, because in the presence of the unknown and the perhaps awful, the sense of curiosity, one of the strongest instincts we have, came to the fore. So, rather eager to get back to my room again, I ran downstairs to get the packet of paper. There was still a light in the bureau, and the Sensitive, on nightduty, I suppose, was sitting there dozing. My entrance did not disturb him, for I had on noiseless felt slippers, and seeing at once the package I was in search of, I took it, and left him still unawakened. That was somehow of a fortifying nature. The Sensitive anyhow could sleep in his hard chair; the occupant of the unoccupied bed was not calling to him tonight. I closed my door quietly, as one does at night when the house is silent, and sat down at once to open my packet of paper and finish my work. It was wrapped up in an old newssheet, and struggling with the last of the string that bound it, certain words caught my eye. Also the date at the top of the paper caught my eye, a date nearly a year old, or, to be quite accurate, a date fiftyone weeks old. It was an American paper and what it recorded was this The body of Mr. Silas R. Hume, who committed suicide last week at the Htel Beau Site, Moulin sur Chalons, is to be buried at his house in Boston, Mass. The inquest held in Switzerland showed that he cut his throat with a razor, in an attack of delirium tremens induced by drink. In the cupboard of his room were found three dozen empty bottles of Scotch whisky. So far I had read when without warning the electric light went out, and I was left in, what seemed for the moment, absolute darkness. And again I knew I was not alone, and I knew now who it was who was with me in the room. Then the absolute paralysis of fear seized me. As if a wind had blown over my head, I felt the hair of it stir and rise a little. My eyes also, I suppose, became accustomed to the sudden darkness, for they could now perceive the shape of the furniture in the room from the light of the starlit sky outside. They saw more too than the mere furniture. There was standing by the washstand between the two windows a figure, clothed only in nightgarments, and its hands moved among the objects on the shelf above the basin. Then with two steps it made a sort of dive for the other bed, which was in shadow. And then the sweat poured on to my forehead. Though the other bed stood in shadow I could still see dimly, but sufficiently, what was there. The shape of a head lay on the pillow, the shape of an arm lifted its hand to the electric bell that was close by on the wall, and I fancied I could hear it distantly ringing. Then a moment later came hurrying feet up the stairs and along the passage outside, and a quick rapping at my door. Monsieurs whisky, monsieurs whisky, said a voice just outside. Pardon, monsieur, I brought it as quickly as I could. The impotent paralysis of cold terror was still on me. Once I tried to speak and failed, and still the gentle tapping went on at the door, and the voice telling someone that his whisky was there. Then at a second attempt, I heard a voice which was mine saying hoarsely For Gods sake come in; I am alone with it. There was the click of a turned doorhandle, and as suddenly as it had gone out a few seconds before, the electric light came back again, and the room was in full illumination. I saw a face peer round the corner of the door, but it was at another face I looked, the face of a man sallow and shrunken, who lay in the other bed, staring at me with glazed eyes. He lay high in bed, and his throat was cut from ear to ear; and the lower part of the pillow was soaked in blood, and the sheet streamed with it. Then suddenly that hideous vision vanished, and there was only a sleepyeyed waiter looking into the room. But below the sleepiness terror was awake, and his voice shook when he spoke. Monsieur rang? he asked. No, monsieur had not rung. But monsieur made himself a couch in the billiardroom. The Outcast When Mrs. Acres bought the Gatehouse at Tarleton, which had stood so long without a tenant, and appeared in that very agreeable and lively little town as a resident, sufficient was already known about her past history to entitle her to friendliness and sympathy. Hers had been a tragic story, and the account of the inquest held on her husbands body, when, within a month of their marriage, he had shot himself before her eyes, was recent enough, and of as full a report in the papers as to enable our little community of Tarleton to remember and run over the salient grimness of the case without the need of inventing any further detailswhich, otherwise, it would have been quite capable of doing. Briefly, then, the facts had been as follows. Horace Acres appeared to have been a heartless fortunehuntera handsome, plausible wretch, ten years younger than his wife. He had made no secret to his friends of not being in love with her but of having a considerable regard for her more than considerable fortune. But hardly had he married her than his indifference developed into violent dislike, accompanied by some mysterious, inexplicable dread of her. He hated and feared her, and on the morning of the very day when he had put an end to himself he had begged her to divorce him; the case he promised would be undefended, and he would make it indefensible. She, poor soul, had refused to grant this; for, as corroborated by the evidence of friends and servants, she was utterly devoted to him, and stated with that quiet dignity which distinguished her throughout this ordeal, that she hoped that he was the victim of some miserable but temporary derangement, and would come to his right mind again. He had dined that night at his club, leaving his monthold bride to pass the evening alone, and had returned between eleven and twelve that night in a state of vile intoxication. He had gone up to her bedroom, pistol in hand, had locked the door, and his voice was heard screaming and yelling at her. Then followed the sound of one shot. On the table in his dressingroom was found a halfsheet of paper, dated that day, and this was read out in court. The horror of my position, he had written, is beyond description and endurance. I can bear it no longer my soul sickens. The jury, without leaving the court, returned the verdict that he had committed suicide while temporarily insane, and the coroner, at their request, expressed their sympathy and his own with the poor lady, who, as testified on all hands, had treated her husband with the utmost tenderness and affection. For six months Bertha Acres had travelled abroad, and then in the autumn she had bought Gatehouse at Tarleton, and settled down to the absorbing trifles which make life in a small country town so busy and strenuous.

Our modest little dwelling is within a stones throw of the Gatehouse; and when, on the return of my wife and myself from two months in Scotland, we found that Mrs. Acres was installed as a neighbour, Madge lost no time in going to call on her. She returned with a series of pleasant impressions. Mrs. Acres, still on the sunny slope that leads up to the tableland of life which begins at forty years, was extremely handsome, cordial, and charming in manner, witty and agreeable, and wonderfully well dressed. Before the conclusion of her call Madge, in country fashion, had begged her to dispose with formalities, and, instead of a frigid return of the call, to dine with us quietly next day. Did she play bridge? That being so, we would just be a party of four; for her brother, Charles Alington, had proposed himself for a visit. I listened to this with sufficient attention to grasp what Madge was saying, but what I was really thinking about was a chessproblem which I was attempting to solve. But at this point I became acutely aware that her stream of pleasant impressions dried up suddenly, and she became stonily silent. She shut speech off as by the turn of a tap, and glowered at the fire, rubbing the back of one hand with the fingers of another, as is her habit in perplexity. Go on, I said. She got up, suddenly restless. All I have been telling you is literally and soberly true, she said. I thought Mrs. Acres charming and witty and goodlooking and friendly. What more could you ask from a new acquaintance? And then, after I had asked her to dinner, I suddenly found for no earthly reason that I very much disliked her; I couldnt bear her. You said she was wonderfully well dressed, I permitted myself to remark. If the Queen took the Knight Dont be silly! said Madge. I am wonderfully well dressed too. But behind all her agreeableness and charm and good looks I suddenly felt there was something else which I detested and dreaded. Its no use asking me what it was, because I havent the slightest idea. If I knew what it was, the thing would explain itself. But I felt a horrornothing vivid, nothing close, you understand, but somewhere in the background. Can the mind have a turn, do you think, just as the body can, when for a second or two you suddenly feel giddy? I think it must have been thatoh! Im sure it was that. But Im glad I asked her to dine. I mean to like her. I shant have a turn again, shall I? No, certainly not, I said. If the Queen refrained from taking the tempting Knight Oh, do stop your silly chessproblem! said Madge. Bite him, Fungus! Fungus, so called because he is the son of Humour and Gustavus Adolphus, rose from his place on the hearthrug, and with a horse laugh nuzzled against my leg, which is his way of biting those he loves. Then the most amiable of bulldogs, who has a passion for the human race, lay down on my foot and sighed heavily. But Madge evidently wanted to talk, and I pushed the chessboard away. Tell me more about the horror, I said. It was just horror, she saida sort of sickness of the soul. I found my brain puzzling over some vague reminiscence, surely connected with Mrs. Acres, which those words mistily evoked. But next moment that train of thought was cut short, for the old and sinister legend about the Gatehouse came into my mind as accounting for the horror of which Madge spoke. In the days of Elizabethan religious persecutions it had, then newly built, been inhabited by two brothers, of whom the elder, to whom it belonged, had Mass said there every Sunday. Betrayed by the younger, he was arrested and racked to death. Subsequently the younger, in a fit of remorse, hanged himself in the panelled parlour. Certainly there was a story that the house was haunted by his strangled apparition dangling from the beams, and the late tenants of the house (which now had stood vacant for over three years) had quitted it after a months occupation, in consequence, so it was commonly said, of unaccountable and horrible sights. What was more likely, then, than that Madge, who from childhood has been intensely sensitive to occult and psychic phenomena, should have caught, on that strange wireless receiver which is characteristic of sensitives, some whispered message? But you know the story of the house, I said. Isnt it quite possible that something of that may have reached you? Where did you sit, for instance? In the panelled parlour? She brightened at that. Ah, you wise man! she said. I never thought of that. That may account for it all. I hope it does. You shall be left in peace with your chess for being so brilliant. I had occasion half an hour later to go to the postoffice, a hundred yards up the High Street, on the matter of a registered letter which I wanted to despatch that evening. Dusk was gathering, but the red glow of sunset still smouldered in the west, sufficient to enable me to recognise familiar forms and features of passersby. Just as I came opposite the postoffice there approached from the other direction a tall, finely built woman, whom, I felt sure, I had never seen before. Her destination was the same as mine, and I hung on my step a moment to let her pass in first. Simultaneously I felt that I knew, in some vague, faint manner, what Madge had meant when she talked about a sickness of the soul. It was no nearer realisation to me than is the running of a tune in the head to the audible external hearing of it, and I attributed my sudden recognition of her feeling to the fact that in all probability my mind had subconsciously been dwelling on what she had said, and not for a moment did I connect it with any external cause. And then it occurred to me who, possibly, this woman was. She finished the transaction of her errand a few seconds before me, and when I got out into the street again she was a dozen yards down the pavement, walking in the direction of my house and of the Gatehouse. Opposite my own door I deliberately lingered, and saw her pass down the steps that led from the road to the entrance of the Gatehouse. Even as I turned into my own door the unbidden reminiscence which had eluded me before came out into the open, and I cast my net over it. It was her husband, who, in the inexplicable communication he had left on his dressingroom table, just before he shot himself, had written my soul sickens. It was odd, though scarcely more than that, for Madge to have used those identical words. Charles Alington, my wifes brother, who arrived next afternoon, is quite the happiest man whom I have ever come across. The material world, that perennial spring of thwarted ambition, physical desire, and perpetual disappointment, is practically unknown to him. Envy, malice, and all uncharitableness are equally alien, because he does not want to obtain what anybody else has got, and has no sense of possession, which is queer, since he is enormously rich. He fears nothing, he hopes for nothing, he has no abhorrences or affections, for all physical and nervous functions are in him in the service of an intense inquisitiveness. He never passed a moral judgment in his life, he only wants to explore and to know. Knowledge, in fact, is his entire preoccupation, and since chemists and medical scientists probe and mine in the world of tinctures and microbes far more efficiently than he could do, as he has so little care for anything that can be weighed or propagated, he devotes himself, absorbedly and ecstatically, to that world that lies about the confines of conscious existence. Anything not yet certainly determined appeals to him with the call of a trumpet he ceases to take an interest in a subject as soon as it shows signs of assuming a practical and definite status. He was intensely concerned, for instance, in wireless transmission, until Signor Marconi proved that it came within the scope of practical science, and then Charles abandoned it as dull. I had seen him last two months before, when he was in a great perturbation, since he was speaking at a meeting of AngloIsraelites in the morning, to show that the Scone Stone, which is now in the Coronation Chair at Westminster, was for certain the pillow on which Jacobs head had rested when he saw the vision at Bethel; was addressing the Psychical Research Society in the afternoon on the subject of messages received from the dead through automatic script, and in the evening was, by way of a holiday, only listening to a lecture on reincarnation. None of these things could, as yet, be definitely proved, and that was why he loved them. During the intervals when the occult and the fantastic do not occupy him, he is, in spite of his fifty years and wizened mien, exactly like a schoolboy of eighteen back on his holidays and brimming with superfluous energy. I found Charles already arrived when I got home next afternoon, after a round of golf. He was betwixt and between the serious and the holiday mood, for he had evidently been reading to Madge from a journal concerning reincarnation, and was rather severe to me. Golf! he said, with insulting scorn. What is there to know about golf? You hit a ball into the air I was a little sore over the events of the afternoon. Thats just what I dont do, I said. I hit it along the ground! Well, it doesnt matter where you hit it, said he. Its all subject to known laws. But the guess, the conjecture theres the thrill and the excitement of life. The charlatan with his new cure for cancer, the automatic writer with his messages from the dead, the reincarnationist with his positive assertions that he was Napoleon or a Christian slavethey are the people who advance knowledge. You have to guess before you know. Even Darwin saw that when he said you could not investigate without a hypothesis! So whats your hypothesis this minute? I asked. Why, that weve all lived before, and that were going to live again here on this same old earth. Any other conception of a future life is impossible. Are all the people who have been born and have died since the world emerged from chaos going to become inhabitants of some future world? What a squash, you know, my dear Madge! Now, I know what youre going to ask me. If weve all lived before, why cant we remember it? But thats so simple! If you remembered being Cleopatra, you would go on behaving like Cleopatra; and what would Tarleton say? Judas Iscariot, too! Fancy knowing you had been Judas Iscariot! You couldnt get over it! you would commit suicide, or cause everybody who was connected with you to commit suicide from their horror of you. Or imagine being a grocers boy who knew he had been Julius Caesar. Of course, sex doesnt matter souls, as far as I understand, are sexlessjust sparks of life, which are put into physical envelopes, some male, some female. You might have been King David, Madge and poor Tony here one of his wives. That would be wonderfully neat, said I. Charles broke out into a shout of laughter. It would indeed, he said. But I wont talk sense any more to you scoffers. Im absolutely tired out, I will confess, with thinking. I want to have a pretty lady to come to dinner, and talk to her as if she was just herself and I myself, and nobody else. I want to win twoandsixpence at bridge with the expenditure of enormous thought. I want to have a large breakfast tomorrow and read the Times afterwards, and go to Tonys club and talk about crops and golf and Irish affairs and Peace Conferences, and all the things that dont matter one straw! Youre going to begin your programme tonight, dear, said Madge. A very pretty lady is coming to dinner, and were going to play bridge afterwards. Madge and I were ready for Mrs. Acres when she arrived, but Charles was not yet down. Fungus, who has a wild adoration for Charles, quite unaccountable, since Charles has no feelings for dogs, was helping him to dress, and Madge, Mrs. Acres, and I waited for his appearance. It was certainly Mrs. Acres whom I had met last night at the door of the postoffice, but the dim light of sunset had not enabled me to see how wonderfully handsome she was. There was something slightly Jewish about her profile the high forehead, the very fulllipped mouth, the bridged nose, the prominent chin, all suggested rather than exemplified an eastern origin. And when she spoke she had that rich softness of utterance, not quite hoarseness, but not quite of the clearcut distinctness of tone which characterises northern nations. Something southern, something eastern. I am bound to ask one thing, she said, when, after the usual greetings, we stood round the fireplace, waiting for Charlesbut have you got a dog? Madge moved towards the bell. Yes, but he shant come down if you dislike dogs, she said. Hes wonderfully kind, but I know Ah, its not that, said Mrs. Acres. I adore dogs. But I only wished to spare your dogs feelings. Though I adore them, they hate me, and theyre terribly frightened of me. Theres something anticanine about me. It was too late to say more. Charless steps clattered in the little hall outside, and Fungus was hoarse and amused. Next moment the door opened, and the two came in. Fungus came in first. He lolloped in a festive manner into the middle of the room, sniffed and snored in greeting, and then turned tail. He slipped and skidded on the parquet outside, and we heard him bundling down the kitchen stairs. Rude dog, said Madge. Charles, let me introduce you to Mrs. Acres. My brother, Mrs. Acres Sir Charles Alington. Our little dinnertable of four would not permit of separate conversations, and general topics, springing up like mushrooms, wilted and died at their very inception. What mood possessed the others I did not at that time know, but for myself I was only conscious of some fundamental distaste of the handsome, clever woman who sat on my right, and seemed quite unaffected by the withering atmosphere. She was charming to the eye, she was witty to the ear, she had grace and gracefulness, and all the time she was something terrible. But by degrees, as I found my own distaste increasing, I saw that my brotherinlaws interest was growing correspondingly keen. The pretty lady whose presence at dinner he had desired and obtained was enchaining himnot, so I began to guess, for her charm and her prettiness, but for some purpose of study, and I wondered whether it was her beautiful Jewish profile that was confirming to his mind some AngloIsraelitish theory, whether he saw in her fine brown eyes the glance of the seer and the clairvoyante, or whether he divined in her some reincarnation of one of the famous or the infamous dead. Certainly she had for him some fascination beyond that of the legitimate charm of a very handsome woman; he was studying her with intense curiosity. And you are comfortable in the Gatehouse? he suddenly rapped out at her, as if asking some question of which the answer was crucial. Ah! but so comfortable, she saidsuch a delightful atmosphere. I have never known a house that felt so peaceful and homelike. Or is it merely fanciful to imagine that some houses have a sense of tranquillity about them and others are uneasy and even terrible? Charles stared at her a moment in silence before he recollected his manners. No, there may easily be something in it, I should say, he answered. One can imagine long centuries of tranquillity actually investing a home with some sort of psychical aura perceptible to those who are sensitive. She turned to Madge. And yet I have heard a ridiculous story that the house is supposed to be haunted, she said. If it is, it is surely haunted by delightful, contented spirits. Dinner was over. Madge rose. Come in very soon, Tony, she said to me, and lets get to our bridge. But her eyes said, Dont leave me long alone with her. Charles turned briskly round when the door had shut. An extremely interesting woman, he said. Very handsome, said I. Is she? I didnt notice. Her mind, her spiritthats what intrigued me. What is she? Whats behind? Why did Fungus turn tail like that? Queer, too, about her finding the atmosphere of the Gatehouse so tranquil. The late tenants, I remember, didnt find that soothing touch about it! How do you account for that? I asked. There might be several explanations. You might say that the late tenants were fanciful, imaginative people, and that the present tenant is a sensible, matteroffact woman. Certainly she seemed to be. Or I suggested. He laughed. Well, you might saymind, I dont say sobut you might say that thethe spiritual tenants of the house find Mrs. Acres a congenial companion, and want to retain her. So they keep quiet, and dont upset the cooks nerves! Somehow this answer exasperated and jarred on me. What do you mean? I said. The spiritual tenant of the house, I suppose, is the man who betrayed his brother and hanged himself. Why should he find a charming woman like Mrs. Acres a congenial companion? Charles got up briskly. Usually he is more than ready to discuss such topics, but tonight it seemed that he had no such inclination. Didnt Madge tell us not to be long? he asked. You know how I run on if I once get on that subject, Tony, so dont give me the opportunity. But why did you say that? I persisted. Because I was talking nonsense. You know me well enough to be aware that I am an habitual criminal in that respect. It was indeed strange to find how completely both the first impression that Madge had formed of Mrs. Acres and the feeling that followed so quickly on its heels were endorsed by those who, during the next week or two, did a neighbours duty to the newcomer. All were loud in praise of her charm, her pleasant, kindly wit, her good looks, her beautiful clothes, but even while this Lobgesang was in full chorus it would suddenly die away, and an uneasy silence descended, which somehow was more eloquent than all the appreciative speech. Odd, unaccountable little incidents had occurred, which were whispered from mouth to mouth till they became common property. The same fear that Fungus had shown of her was exhibited by another dog. A parallel case occurred when she returned the call of our parsons wife. Mrs. Dowlett had a cage of canaries in the window of her drawingroom. These birds had manifested symptoms of extreme terror when Mrs. Acres entered the room, beating themselves against the wires of their cage, and uttering the alarmnote. She inspired some sort of inexplicable fear, over which we, as trained and civilised human beings, had control, so that we behaved ourselves. But animals, without that check, gave way altogether to it, even as Fungus had done. Mrs. Acres entertained; she gave charming little dinnerparties of eight, with a couple of tables at bridge to follow, but over these evenings there hung a blight and a blackness. No doubt the sinister story of the panelled parlour contributed to this. This curious secret dread of her, of which as on that first evening at my house, she appeared to be completely unconscious differed very widely in degree. Most people, like myself, were conscious of it, but only very remotely so, and we found ourselves at the Gatehouse behaving quite as usual, though with this unease in the background. But with a few, and most of all with Madge, it grew into a sort of obsession. She made every effort to combat it; her will was entirely set against it, but her struggle seemed only to establish its power over her. The pathetic and pitiful part was that Mrs. Acres from the first had taken a tremendous liking to her, and used to drop in continually, calling first to Madge at the window, in that pleasant, serene voice of hers, to tell Fungus that the hated one was imminent. Then came a day when Madge and I were bidden to a party at the Gatehouse on Christmas evening. This was to be the last of Mrs. Acress hospitalities for the present, since she was leaving immediately afterwards for a couple of months in Egypt. So, with this remission ahead, Madge almost gleefully accepted the bidding. But when the evening came she was seized with so violent an attack of sickness and shivering that she was utterly unable to fulfil her engagement. Her doctor could find no physical trouble to account for this it seemed that the anticipation of her evening alone caused it, and here was the culmination of her shrinking from our kindly and pleasant neighbour. She could only tell me that her sensations, as she began to dress for the party, were like those of that moment in sleep when somewhere in the drowsy brain nightmare is ripening. Something independent of her will revolted at what lay before her. Spring had begun to stretch herself in the lap of winter when next the curtain rose on this veiled drama of forces but dimly comprehended and shudderingly conjectured; but then, indeed, nightmare ripened swiftly in broad noon. And this was the way of it. Charles Alington had again come to stay with us five days before Easter, and expressed himself as humorously disappointed to find that the subject of his curiosity was still absent from the Gatehouse. On the Saturday morning before Easter he appeared very late for breakfast, and Madge had already gone her ways. I rang for a fresh teapot, and while this was on its way he took up the Times. I only read the outside page of it, he said. The rest is too full of mere materialistic dullnessespolitics, sports, moneymarket He stopped, and passed the paper over to me. There, where Im pointing, he saidamong the deaths. The first one. What I read was this Acres, Bertha. Died at sea, Thursday night, 30th March, and by her own request buried at sea. (Received by wireless from P. O. steamer Peshawar.) He held out his hand for the paper again, and turned over the leaves. Lloyds, he said. The Peshawar arrived at Tilbury yesterday afternoon. The burial must have taken place somewhere in the English Channel. On the afternoon of Easter Sunday Madge and I motored out to the golf links three miles away. She proposed to walk along the beach just outside the dunes while I had my round, and return to the clubhouse for tea in two hours time. The day was one of most lucid spring a warm southwest wind bowled white clouds along the sky, and their shadows jovially scudded over the sandhills. We had told her of Mrs. Acress death, and from that moment something dark and vague which had been lying over her mind since the autumn seemed to join this fleet of the shadows of clouds and leave her in sunlight. We parted at the door of the clubhouse, and she set out on her walk. Half an hour later, as my opponent and I were waiting on the fifth tee, where the road crosses the links, for the couple in front of us to move on, a servant from the clubhouse, scudding along the road, caught sight of us, and, jumping from his bicycle, came to where we stood. Youre wanted at the clubhouse, sir, he said to me. Mrs. Carford was walking along the shore, and she found something left by the tide. A body, sir. Twas in a sack, but the sack was torn, and she sawIts upset her very much, sir. We thought it best to come for you. I took the boys bicycle and went back to the clubhouse as fast as I could turn the wheel. I felt sure I knew what Madge had found, and, knowing that, realised the shock. Five minutes later she was telling me her story in gasps and whispers. The tide was going down, she said, and I walked along the highwater mark. There were pretty shells; I was picking them up. And then I saw it in front of mejust shapeless, just a sack and then, as I came nearer, it took shape; there were knees and elbows. It moved, it rolled over, and where the head was the sack was torn, and I saw her face. Her eyes were open, Tony, and I fled. All the time I felt it was rolling along after me. Oh, Tony! shes dead, isnt she? She wont come back to the Gatehouse? Do you promise me? Theres something awful! I wonder if I guess. The sea gives her up. The sea wont suffer her to rest in it. The news of the finding had already been telephoned to Tarleton, and soon a party of four men with a stretcher arrived. There was no doubt as to the identity of the body, for though it had been in the water for three days no corruption had come to it. The weights with which at burial it had been laden must by some strange chance have been detached from it, and by a chance stranger yet it had drifted to the shore closest to her home. That night it lay in the mortuary, and the inquest was held on it next day, though that was a bankholiday. From there it was taken to the Gatehouse and coffined, and it lay in the panelled parlour for the funeral on the morrow. Madge, after that one hysterical outburst, had completely recovered herself, and on the Monday evening she made a little wreath of the springflowers which the early warmth had called into blossom in the garden, and I went across with it to the Gatehouse. Though the news of Mrs. Acress death and the subsequent finding of the body had been widely advertised, there had been no response from relations or friends, and as I laid the solitary wreath on the coffin a sense of the utter loneliness of what lay within seized and encompassed me. And then a portent, no less, took place before my eyes. Hardly had the freshly gathered flowers been laid on the coffin than they drooped and wilted. The stalks of the daffodils bent, and their bright chalices closed; the odour of the wallflowers died, and they withered as I watched. What did it mean, that even the petals of spring shrank and were moribund? I told Madge nothing of this; and she, as if through some pang of remorse, was determined to be present next day at the funeral. No arrival of friends or relations had taken place, and from the Gatehouse there came none of the servants. They stood in the porch as the coffin was brought out of the house, and even before it was put into the hearse had gone back again and closed the door. So, at the cemetery on the hill above Tarleton, Madge and her brother and I were the only mourners. The afternoon was densely overcast, though we got no rainfall, and it was with thick clouds above and a seamist drifting between the gravestones that we came, after the service in the cemeterychapel, to the place of interment. And thenI can hardly write of it nowwhen it came for the coffin to be lowered into the grave, it was found that by some faulty measurement it could not descend, for the excavation was not long enough to hold it. Madge was standing close to us, and at this moment I heard her sob. And the kindly earth will not receive her, she whispered. There was awful delay the diggers must be sent for again, and meantime the rain had begun to fall thick and tepid. For some reasonperhaps some outlying feeler of Madges obsession had wound a tentacle round meI felt that I must know that earth had gone to earth, but I could not suffer Madge to wait. So, in this miserable pause, I got Charles to take her home, and then returned. Pick and shovel were busy, and soon the restingplace was ready. The interrupted service continued, the handful of wet earth splashed on the coffinlid, and when all was over I left the cemetery, still feeling, I knew not why, that all was not over. Some restlessness and want of certainty possessed me, and instead of going home I fared forth into the rolling wooded country inland, with the intention of walking off these batlike terrors that flapped around me. The rain had ceased, and a blurred sunlight penetrated the seamist which still blanketed the fields and woods, and for half an hour, moving briskly, I endeavoured to fight down some fantastic conviction that had gripped my mind in its claws. I refused to look straight at that conviction, telling myself how fantastic, how unreasonable it was; but as often as I put out a hand to throttle it there came the echo of Madges words The sea will not suffer her; the kindly earth will not receive her. And if I could shut my eyes to that there came some remembrance of the day she died, and of halfforgotten fragments of Charless superstitious belief in reincarnation. The whole thing, incredible though its component parts were, hung together with a terrible tenacity. Before long the rain began again, and I turned, meaning to go by the mainroad into Tarleton, which passes in a wideflung curve some halfmile outside the cemetery. But as I approached the path through the fields, which, leaving the less direct route, passes close to the cemetery and brings you by a steeper and shorter descent into the town, I felt myself irresistibly impelled to take it. I told myself, of course, that I wished to make my wet walk as short as possible; but at the back of my mind was the halfconscious, but none the less imperative need to know by ocular evidence that the grave by which I had stood that afternoon had been filled in, and that the body of Mrs. Acres now lay tranquil beneath the soil. My path would be even shorter if I passed through the graveyard, and so presently I was fumbling in the gloom for the latch of the gate, and closed it again behind me. Rain was falling now thick and sullenly, and in the bleared twilight I picked my way among the mounds and slipped on the dripping grass, and there in front of me was the newly turned earth. All was finished the gravediggers had done their work and departed, and earth had gone back again into the keeping of the earth. It brought me some great lightening of the spirit to know that, and I was on the point of turning away when a sound of stir from the heaped soil caught my ear, and I saw a little stream of pebbles mixed with clay trickle down the side of the mound above the grave the heavy rain, no doubt, had loosened the earth. And then came another and yet another, and with terror gripping at my heart I perceived that this was no loosening from without, but from within, for to right and left the piled soil was falling away with the press of something from below. Faster and faster it poured off the grave, and ever higher at the head of it rose a mound of earth pushed upwards from beneath. Somewhere out of sight there came the sound as of creaking and breaking wood, and then through that mound of earth there protruded the end of the coffin. The lid was shattered loose pieces of the boards fell off it, and from within the cavity there faced me white features and wide eyes. All this I saw, while sheer terror held me motionless; then, I suppose, came the breakingpoint, and with such panic as surely man never felt before I was stumbling away among the graves and racing towards the kindly human lights of the town below. I went to the parson who had conducted the service that afternoon with my incredible tale, and an hour later he, Charles Alington, and two or three men from the undertakers were on the spot. They found the coffin, completely disinterred, lying on the ground by the grave, which was now threequarters full of the earth which had fallen back into it. After what had happened it was decided to make no further attempt to bury it; and next day the body was cremated. Now, it is open to anyone who may read this tale to reject the incident of this emergence of the coffin altogether, and account for the other strange happenings by the comfortable theory of coincidence. He can certainly satisfy himself that one Bertha Acres did die at sea on this particular Thursday before Easter, and was buried at sea there is nothing extraordinary about that. Nor is it the least impossible that the weights should have slipped from the canvas shroud, and that the body should have been washed ashore on the coast by Tarleton (why not Tarleton, as well as any other little town near the coast?); nor is there anything inherently significant in the fact that the grave, as originally dug, was not of sufficient dimensions to receive the coffin. That all these incidents should have happened to the body of a single individual is odd, but then the nature of coincidence is to be odd.

They form a startling series, but unless coincidences are startling they escape observation altogether. So, if you reject the last incident here recorded, or account for it by some local disturbance, an earthquake, or the breaking of a spring just below the grave, you can comfortably recline on the cushion of coincidence. For myself, I give no explanation of these events, though my brotherinlaw brought forward one with which he himself is perfectly satisfied. Only the other day he sent me, with considerable jubilation, a copy of some extracts from a medieval treatise on the subject of reincarnation which sufficiently indicates his theory. The original work was in Latin, which, mistrusting my scholarship, he kindly translated for me. I transcribe his quotations exactly as he sent them to me. We have these certain instances of his reincarnation. In one his spirit was incarnated in the body of a man; in the other, in that of a woman, fair of outward aspect, and of a pleasant conversation, but held in dread and in horror by those who came into more than casual intercourse with her. She, it is said, died on the anniversary of the day on which he hanged himself, after the betrayal, but of this I have no certain information. What is sure is that, when the time came for her burial, the kindly earth would receive her not, but though the grave was dug deep and well it spewed her forth again. Of the man in whom his cursed spirit was reincarnated it is said that, being on a voyage when he died, he was cast overboard with weights to sink him; but the sea would not suffer him to rest in her bosom, but slipped the weights from him, and cast him forth again on to the coast. Howbeit, when the full time of his expiation shall have come and his deadly sin forgiven, the corporal body which is the cursed receptacle of his spirit shall at length be purged with fire, and so he shall, in the infinite mercy of the Almighty, have rest, and shall wander no more. The Room in the Tower It is probable that everybody who is at all a constant dreamer has had at least one experience of an event or a sequence of circumstances which have come to his mind in sleep being subsequently realised in the material world. But, in my opinion, so far from this being a strange thing, it would be far odder if this fulfilment did not occasionally happen, since our dreams are, as a rule, concerned with people whom we know and places with which we are familiar, such as might very naturally occur in the awake and daylit world. True, these dreams are often broken into by some absurd and fantastic incident, which puts them out of court in regard to their subsequent fulfilment, but on the mere calculation of chances, it does not appear in the least unlikely that a dream imagined by anyone who dreams constantly should occasionally come true. Not long ago, for instance, I experienced such a fulfilment of a dream which seems to me in no way remarkable and to have no kind of psychical significance. The manner of it was as follows. A certain friend of mine, living abroad, is amiable enough to write to me about once in a fortnight. Thus, when fourteen days or thereabouts have elapsed since I last heard from him, my mind, probably, either consciously or subconsciously, is expectant of a letter from him. One night last week I dreamed that as I was going upstairs to dress for dinner I heard, as I often heard, the sound of the postmans knock on my front door, and diverted my direction downstairs instead. There, among other correspondence, was a letter from him. Thereafter the fantastic entered, for on opening it I found inside the ace of diamonds, and scribbled across it in his wellknown handwriting, I am sending you this for safe custody, as you know it is running an unreasonable risk to keep aces in Italy. The next evening I was just preparing to go upstairs to dress when I heard the postmans knock, and did precisely as I had done in my dream. There, among other letters, was one from my friend. Only it did not contain the ace of diamonds. Had it done so, I should have attached more weight to the matter, which, as it stands, seems to me a perfectly ordinary coincidence. No doubt I consciously or subconsciously expected a letter from him, and this suggested to me my dream. Similarly, the fact that my friend had not written to me for a fortnight suggested to him that he should do so. But occasionally it is not so easy to find such an explanation, and for the following story I can find no explanation at all. It came out of the dark, and into the dark it has gone again. All my life I have been a habitual dreamer the nights are few, that is to say, when I do not find on awaking in the morning that some mental experience has been mine, and sometimes, all night long, apparently, a series of the most dazzling adventures befall me. Almost without exception these adventures are pleasant, though often merely trivial. It is of an exception that I am going to speak. It was when I was about sixteen that a certain dream first came to me, and this is how it befell. It opened with my being set down at the door of a big redbrick house, where, I understood, I was going to stay. The servant who opened the door told me that tea was going on in the garden, and led me through a low darkpanelled hall, with a large open fireplace, on to a cheerful green lawn set round with flower beds. There were grouped about the teatable a small party of people, but they were all strangers to me except one, who was a schoolfellow called Jack Stone, clearly the son of the house, and he introduced me to his mother and father and a couple of sisters. I was, I remember, somewhat astonished to find myself here, for the boy in question was scarcely known to me, and I rather disliked what I knew of him moreover, he had left school nearly a year before. The afternoon was very hot, and an intolerable oppression reigned. On the far side of the lawn ran a redbrick wall, with an iron gate in its centre, outside which stood a walnut tree. We sat in the shadow of the house opposite a row of long windows, inside which I could see a table with cloth laid, glimmering with glass and silver. This garden front of the house was very long, and at one end of it stood a tower of three stories, which looked to me much older than the rest of the building. Before long, Mrs. Stone, who, like the rest of the party, had sat in absolute silence, said to me, Jack will show you your room I have given you the room in the tower. Quite inexplicably my heart sank at her words. I felt as if I had known that I should have the room in the tower, and that it contained something dreadful and significant. Jack instantly got up, and I understood that I had to follow him. In silence we passed through the hall, and mounted a great oak staircase with many corners, and arrived at a small landing with two doors set in it. He pushed one of these open for me to enter, and without coming in himself, closed it behind me. Then I knew that my conjecture had been right there was something awful in the room, and with the terror of nightmare growing swiftly and enveloping me, I awoke in a spasm of terror. Now that dream or variations on it occurred to me intermittently for fifteen years. Most often it came in exactly this form, the arrival, the tea laid out on the lawn, the deadly silence succeeded by that one deadly sentence, the mounting with Jack Stone up to the room in the tower where horror dwelt, and it always came to a close in the nightmare of terror at that which was in the room, though I never saw what it was. At other times I experienced variations on this same theme. Occasionally, for instance, we would be sitting at dinner in the diningroom, into the windows of which I had looked on the first night when the dream of this house visited me, but wherever we were, there was the same silence, the same sense of dreadful oppression and foreboding. And the silence I knew would always be broken by Mrs. Stone saying to me, Jack will show you your room I have given you the room in the tower. Upon which (this was invariable) I had to follow him up the oak staircase with many corners, and enter the place that I dreaded more and more each time that I visited it in sleep. Or, again, I would find myself playing cards still in silence in a drawingroom lit with immense chandeliers, that gave a blinding illumination. What the game was I have no idea; what I remember, with a sense of miserable anticipation, was that soon Mrs. Stone would get up and say to me, Jack will show you your room I have given you the room in the tower. This drawingroom where we played cards was next to the diningroom, and, as I have said, was always brilliantly illuminated, whereas the rest of the house was full of dusk and shadows. And yet, how often, in spite of those bouquets of lights, have I not pored over the cards that were dealed me, scarcely able for some reason to see them. Their designs, too, were strange there were no red suits, but all were black, and among them there were certain cards which were black all over. I hated and dreaded those. As this dream continued to recur, I got to know the greater part of the house. There was a smokingroom beyond the drawingroom, at the end of a passage with a green baize door. It was always very dark there, and as often as I went there I passed somebody whom I could not see in the doorway coming out. Curious developments, too, took place in the characters that peopled the dream as might happen to living persons. Mrs. Stone, for instance, who, when I first saw her, had been black haired, became grey, and instead of rising briskly, as she had done at first when she said, Jack will show you your room I have given you the room in the tower, got up very feebly, as if the strength was leaving her limbs. Jack also grew up, and became a rather illlooking young man, with a brown moustache, while one of the sisters ceased to appear, and I understood she was married. Then it so happened that I was not visited by this dream for six months or more, and I began to hope, in such inexplicable dread did I hold it, that it had passed away for good. But one night after this interval I again found myself being shown out on to the lawn for tea, and Mrs. Stone was not there, while the others were all dressed in black. At once I guessed the reason, and my heart leaped at the thought that perhaps this time I should not have to sleep in the room in the tower, and though we usually all sat in silence, on this occasion the sense of relief made me talk and laugh as I had never yet done. But even then matters were not altogether comfortable, for no one else spoke, but they all looked secretly at each other. And soon the foolish stream of my talk ran dry, and gradually an apprehension worse than anything I had previously known gained on me as the light slowly faded. Suddenly a voice which I knew well broke the stillness, the voice of Mrs. Stone, saying, Jack will show you your room I have given you the room in the tower. It seemed to come from near the gate in the redbrick wall that bounded the lawn, and looking up, I saw that the grass outside was sown thick with gravestones. A curious greyish light shone from them, and I could read the lettering on the grave nearest me, and it was, In evil memory of Julia Stone. And as usual Jack got up, and again I followed him through the hall and up the staircase with many corners. On this occasion it was darker than usual, and when I passed into the room in the tower I could only just see the furniture, the position of which was already familiar to me. Also there was a dreadful odour of decay in the room, and I woke screaming. The dream, with such variations and developments as I have mentioned, went on at intervals for fifteen years. Sometimes I would dream it two or three nights in succession; once, as I have said, there was an intermission of six months, but taking a reasonable average, I should say that I dreamed it quite as often as once in a month. It had, as is plain, something of nightmare about it, since it always ended in the same appalling terror, which so far from getting less, seemed to me to gather fresh fear every time that I experienced it. There was, too, a strange and dreadful consistency about it. The characters in it, as I have mentioned, got regularly older, death and marriage visited this silent family, and I never in the dream, after Mrs. Stone had died, set eyes on her again. But it was always her voice that told me that the room in the tower was prepared for me, and whether we had tea out on the lawn, or the scene was laid in one of the rooms overlooking it, I could always see her gravestone standing just outside the iron gate. It was the same, too, with the married daughter; usually she was not present, but once or twice she returned again, in company with a man, whom I took to be her husband. He, too, like the rest of them, was always silent. But, owing to the constant repetition of the dream, I had ceased to attach, in my waking hours, any significance to it. I never met Jack Stone again during all those years, nor did I ever see a house that resembled this dark house of my dream. And then something happened. I had been in London in this year, up till the end of July, and during the first week in August went down to stay with a friend in a house he had taken for the summer months, in the Ashdown Forest district of Sussex. I left London early, for John Clinton was to meet me at Forest Row Station, and we were going to spend the day golfing, and go to his house in the evening. He had his motor with him, and we set off, about five of the afternoon, after a thoroughly delightful day, for the drive, the distance being some ten miles. As it was still so early we did not have tea at the club house, but waited till we should get home. As we drove, the weather, which up till then had been, though hot, deliciously fresh, seemed to me to alter in quality, and become very stagnant and oppressive, and I felt that indefinable sense of ominous apprehension that I am accustomed to before thunder. John, however, did not share my views, attributing my loss of lightness to the fact that I had lost both my matches. Events proved, however, that I was right, though I do not think that the thunderstorm that broke that night was the sole cause of my depression. Our way lay through deep highbanked lanes, and before we had gone very far I fell asleep, and was only awakened by the stopping of the motor. And with a sudden thrill, partly of fear but chiefly of curiosity, I found myself standing in the doorway of my house of dream. We went, I half wondering whether or not I was dreaming still, through a low oakpanelled hall, and out on to the lawn, where tea was laid in the shadow of the house. It was set in flower beds, a redbrick wall, with a gate in it, bounded one side, and out beyond that was a space of rough grass with a walnut tree. The faade of the house was very long, and at one end stood a threestoried tower, markedly older than the rest. Here for the moment all resemblance to the repeated dream ceased. There was no silent and somehow terrible family, but a large assembly of exceedingly cheerful persons, all of whom were known to me. And in spite of the horror with which the dream itself had always filled me, I felt nothing of it now that the scene of it was thus reproduced before me. But I felt the intensest curiosity as to what was going to happen. Tea pursued its cheerful course, and before long Mrs. Clinton got up. And at that moment I think I knew what she was going to say. She spoke to me, and what she said was Jack will show you your room I have given you the room in the tower. At that, for half a second, the horror of the dream took hold of me again. But it quickly passed, and again I felt nothing more than the most intense curiosity. It was not very long before it was amply satisfied. John turned to me. Right up at the top of the house, he said, but I think youll be comfortable. Were absolutely full up. Would you like to go and see it now? By Jove, I believe that you are right, and that we are going to have a thunderstorm. How dark it has become. I got up and followed him. We passed through the hall, and up the perfectly familiar staircase. Then he opened the door, and I went in. And at that moment sheer unreasoning terror again possessed me. I did not know for certain what I feared I simply feared. Then like a sudden recollection, when one remembers a name which has long escaped the memory, I knew what I feared. I feared Mrs. Stone, whose grave with the sinister inscription, In evil memory, I had so often seen in my dream, just beyond the lawn which lay below my window. And then once more the fear passed so completely that I wondered what there was to fear, and I found myself, sober and quiet and sane, in the room in the tower, the name of which I had so often heard in my dream, and the scene of which was so familiar. I looked round it with a certain sense of proprietorship, and found that nothing had been changed from the dreaming nights in which I knew it so well. Just to the left of the door was the bed, lengthways along the wall, with the head of it in the angle. In a line with it was the fireplace and a small bookcase; opposite the door the outer wall was pierced by two latticepaned windows, between which stood the dressingtable, while ranged along the fourth wall was the washingstand and a big cupboard. My luggage had already been unpacked, for the furniture of dressing and undressing lay orderly on the washstand and toilettable, while my dinner clothes were spread out on the coverlet of the bed. And then, with a sudden start of unexplained dismay, I saw that there were two rather conspicuous objects which I had not seen before in my dreams one a lifesized oilpainting of Mrs. Stone, the other a blackandwhite sketch of Jack Stone, representing him as he had appeared to me only a week before in the last of the series of these repeated dreams, a rather secret and evillooking man of about thirty. His picture hung between the windows, looking straight across the room to the other portrait, which hung at the side of the bed. At that I looked next, and as I looked I felt once more the horror of nightmare seize me. It represented Mrs. Stone as I had seen her last in my dreams old and withered and white haired. But in spite of the evident feebleness of body, a dreadful exuberance and vitality shone through the envelope of flesh, an exuberance wholly malign, a vitality that foamed and frothed with unimaginable evil. Evil beamed from the narrow, leering eyes; it laughed in the demonlike mouth. The whole face was instinct with some secret and appalling mirth; the hands, clasped together on the knee, seemed shaking with suppressed and nameless glee. Then I saw also that it was signed in the lefthand bottom corner, and wondering who the artist could be, I looked more closely, and read the inscription, Julia Stone by Julia Stone. There came a tap at the door, and John Clinton entered. Got everything you want? he asked. Rather more than I want, said I, pointing to the picture. He laughed. Hardfeatured old lady, he said. By herself, too, I remember. Anyhow she cant have flattered herself much. But dont you see? said I. Its scarcely a human face at all. Its the face of some witch, of some devil. He looked at it more closely. Yes; it isnt very pleasant, he said. Scarcely a bedside manner, eh? Yes; I can imagine getting the nightmare if I went to sleep with that close by my bed. Ill have it taken down if you like. I really wish you would, I said. He rang the bell, and with the help of a servant we detached the picture and carried it out on to the landing, and put it with its face to the wall. By Jove, the old lady is a weight, said John, mopping his forehead. I wonder if she had something on her mind. The extraordinary weight of the picture had struck me too. I was about to reply, when I caught sight of my own hand. There was blood on it, in considerable quantities, covering the whole palm. Ive cut myself somehow, said I. John gave a little startled exclamation. Why, I have too, he said. Simultaneously the footman took out his handkerchief and wiped his hand with it. I saw that there was blood also on his handkerchief. John and I went back into the tower room and washed the blood off; but neither on his hand nor on mine was there the slightest trace of a scratch or cut. It seemed to me that, having ascertained this, we both, by a sort of tacit consent, did not allude to it again. Something in my case had dimly occurred to me that I did not wish to think about. It was but a conjecture, but I fancied that I knew the same thing had occurred to him. The heat and oppression of the air, for the storm we had expected was still undischarged, increased very much after dinner, and for some time most of the party, among whom were John Clinton and myself, sat outside on the path bounding the lawn, where we had had tea. The night was absolutely dark, and no twinkle of star or moon ray could penetrate the pall of cloud that overset the sky. By degrees our assembly thinned, the women went up to bed, men dispersed to the smoking or billiard room, and by eleven oclock my host and I were the only two left. All the evening I thought that he had something on his mind, and as soon as we were alone he spoke. The man who helped us with the picture had blood on his hand, too, did you notice? he said. I asked him just now if he had cut himself, and he said he supposed he had, but that he could find no mark of it. Now where did that blood come from? By dint of telling myself that I was not going to think about it, I had succeeded in not doing so, and I did not want, especially just at bedtime, to be reminded of it. I dont know, said I, and I dont really care so long as the picture of Mrs. Julia Stone is not by my bed. He got up. But its odd, he said. Ha! Now youll see another odd thing. A dog of his, an Irish terrier by breed, had come out of the house as we talked. The door behind us into the hall was open, and a bright oblong of light shone across the lawn to the iron gate which led on to the rough grass outside, where the walnut tree stood. I saw that the dog had all his hackles up, bristling with rage and fright; his lips were curled back from his teeth, as if he was ready to spring at something, and he was growling to himself. He took not the slightest notice of his master or me, but stiffly and tensely walked across the grass to the iron gate. There he stood for a moment, looking through the bars and still growling. Then of a sudden his courage seemed to desert him he gave one long howl, and scuttled back to the house with a curious crouching sort of movement. He does that halfadozen times a day, said John. He sees something which he both hates and fears. I walked to the gate and looked over it. Something was moving on the grass outside, and soon a sound which I could not instantly identify came to my ears. Then I remembered what it was it was the purring of a cat. I lit a match, and saw the purrer, a big blue Persian, walking round and round in a little circle just outside the gate, stepping high and ecstatically, with tail carried aloft like a banner. Its eyes were bright and shining, and every now and then it put its head down and sniffed at the grass. I laughed. The end of that mystery, I am afraid, I said. Heres a large cat having Walpurgis night all alone. Yes, thats Darius, said John. He spends half the day and all night there. But thats not the end of the dog mystery, for Toby and he are the best of friends, but the beginning of the cat mystery. Whats the cat doing there? And why is Darius pleased, while Toby is terrorstricken? At that moment I remembered the rather horrible detail of my dreams when I saw through the gate, just where the cat was now, the white tombstone with the sinister inscription. But before I could answer the rain began, as suddenly and heavily as if a tap had been turned on, and simultaneously the big cat squeezed through the bars of the gate, and came leaping across the lawn to the house for shelter. Then it sat in the doorway, looking out eagerly into the dark. It spat and struck at John with its paw, as he pushed it in, in order to close the door. Somehow, with the portrait of Julia Stone in the passage outside, the room in the tower had absolutely no alarm for me, and as I went to bed, feeling very sleepy and heavy, I had nothing more than interest for the curious incident about our bleeding hands, and the conduct of the cat and dog. The last thing I looked at before I put out my light was the square empty space by my bed where the portrait had been. Here the paper was of its original full tint of dark red over the rest of the walls it had faded. Then I blew out my candle and instantly fell asleep. My awaking was equally instantaneous, and I sat bolt upright in bed under the impression that some bright light had been flashed in my face, though it was now absolutely pitch dark. I knew exactly where I was, in the room which I had dreaded in dreams, but no horror that I ever felt when asleep approached the fear that now invaded and froze my brain. Immediately after a peal of thunder crackled just above the house, but the probability that it was only a flash of lightning which awoke me gave no reassurance to my galloping heart. Something I knew was in the room with me, and instinctively I put out my right hand, which was nearest the wall, to keep it away. And my hand touched the edge of a pictureframe hanging close to me. I sprang out of bed, upsetting the small table that stood by it, and I heard my watch, candle, and matches clatter on to the floor. But for the moment there was no need of light, for a blinding flash leaped out of the clouds, and showed me that by my bed again hung the picture of Mrs. Stone. And instantly the room went into blackness again. But in that flash I saw another thing also, namely a figure that leaned over the end of my bed, watching me. It was dressed in some closeclinging white garment, spotted and stained with mould, and the face was that of the portrait. Overhead the thunder cracked and roared, and when it ceased and the deathly stillness succeeded, I heard the rustle of movement coming nearer me, and, more horrible yet, perceived an odour of corruption and decay. And then a hand was laid on the side of my neck, and close beside my ear I heard quicktaken, eager breathing. Yet I knew that this thing, though it could be perceived by touch, by smell, by eye and by ear, was still not of this earth, but something that had passed out of the body and had power to make itself manifest. Then a voice, already familiar to me, spoke. I knew you would come to the room in the tower, it said. I have been long waiting for you. At last you have come. Tonight I shall feast; before long we will feast together. And the quick breathing came closer to me; I could feel it on my neck. At that the terror, which I think had paralyzed me for the moment, gave way to the wild instinct of selfpreservation. I hit wildly with both arms, kicking out at the same moment, and heard a little animalsqueal, and something soft dropped with a thud beside me. I took a couple of steps forward, nearly tripping up over whatever it was that lay there, and by the merest goodluck found the handle of the door. In another second I ran out on the landing, and had banged the door behind me. Almost at the same moment I heard a door open somewhere below, and John Clinton, candle in hand, came running upstairs. What is it? he said. I sleep just below you, and heard a noise as ifGood heavens, theres blood on your shoulder. I stood there, so he told me afterwards, swaying from side to side, white as a sheet, with the mark on my shoulder as if a hand covered with blood had been laid there. Its in there, I said, pointing. She, you know. The portrait is in there, too, hanging up on the place we took it from. At that he laughed. My dear fellow, this is mere nightmare, he said. He pushed by me, and opened the door, I standing there simply inert with terror, unable to stop him, unable to move. Phew! What an awful smell, he said. Then there was silence; he had passed out of my sight behind the open door. Next moment he came out again, as white as myself, and instantly shut it. Yes, the portraits there, he said, and on the floor is a thinga thing spotted with earth, like what they bury people in. Come away, quick, come away. How I got downstairs I hardly know. An awful shuddering and nausea of the spirit rather than of the flesh had seized me, and more than once he had to place my feet upon the steps, while every now and then he cast glances of terror and apprehension up the stairs. But in time we came to his dressingroom on the floor below, and there I told him what I have here described. The sequel can be made short; indeed, some of my readers have perhaps already guessed what it was, if they remember that inexplicable affair of the churchyard at West Fawley, some eight years ago, where an attempt was made three times to bury the body of a certain woman who had committed suicide. On each occasion the coffin was found in the course of a few days again protruding from the ground. After the third attempt, in order that the thing should not be talked about, the body was buried elsewhere in unconsecrated ground. Where it was buried was just outside the iron gate of the garden belonging to the house where this woman had lived. She had committed suicide in a room at the top of the tower in that house. Her name was Julia Stone. Subsequently the body was again secretly dug up, and the coffin was found to be full of blood. The Shootings of Achnaleish The diningroom windows, both front and back, the one looking into Oakley Street, the other into a small backyard with three sooty shrubs in it (known as the garden), were all open, so that the table stood in midstream of such air as there was. But in spite of this the heat was stifling, since, for once in a way, July had remembered that it was the duty of good little summers to be hot. Hot in consequence it had been heat reverberated from the housewalls, it rose through the boot from the pavingstones, it poured down from a large superheated sun that walked the sky all day long in a benignant and golden manner. Dinner was over, but the small party of four who had eaten it still lingered. Mabel Armytageit was she who had laid down the duty of good little summersspoke first. Oh, Jim, it sounds too heavenly, she said. It makes me feel cool to think of it. Just fancy, in a fortnights time we shall all four of us be there, in our own shootinglodge Farmhouse, said Jim. Well, I didnt suppose it was Balmoral, with our own coffeecoloured salmon river roaring down to join the waters of our own loch. Jim lit a cigarette. Mabel, you mustnt think of shootinglodges and salmon rivers and lochs, he said. Its a farmhouse, rather a big one, though Im sure we shall find it hard enough to fit in. The salmon river you speak of is a big burn, no more, though it appears that salmon have been caught there. But when I saw it, it would have required as much cleverness on the part of a salmon to fit into it as it will require on our parts to fit into our farmhouse. And the loch is a tarn. Mabel snatched the Guide to Highland Shootings out of my hand with a rudeness that even a sister should not show her elder brother, and pointed a withering finger at her husband. Achnaleish, she declaimed, is situated in one of the grandest and most remote parts of Sutherlandshire. To be let from August 12 till the end of October, the lodge with shooting and fishing belonging. Proprietor supplies two keepers, fishinggillie, boat on loch, and dogs.

Tenant should secure about 500 head of grouse and 500 head of mixed game, including partridge, blackgame, woodcock, snipe, roe deer; also rabbits in very large number, especially by ferreting. Large baskets of brown trout can be taken from the loch, and whenever the water is high seatrout and occasional salmon. Lodge containsI cant go on; its too hot, and you know the rest. Rent only 350! Jim listened patiently. Well? he said. What then? Mabel rose with dignity. It is a shootinglodge with a salmon river and a loch, just as I have said. Come, Madge, lets go out. It is too hot to sit in the house. Youll be calling Buxton the majordomo next, remarked Jim, as his wife passed him. I had picked up the Guide to Highland Shootings again which my sister had so unceremoniously plucked from me, and idly compared the rent and attractions of Achnaleish with other places that were to let. Seems cheap, too, I said. Why, heres another place, just the same sort of size and bag, for which they ask 500; heres another at 550. Jim helped himself to coffee. Yes, it does seem cheap, he said. But, of course, its very remote it took me a good three hours from Lairg, and I dont suppose I was driving very noticeably below the legal limit. But its cheap, as you say. Now, Madge (who is my wife) has her prejudices. One of theman extremely expensive oneis that anything cheap has always some hidden and subtle drawback, which you discover when it is too late. And the drawback to cheap houses is drains or officesthe presence, so to speak, of the former, and the absence of the latter. So I hazarded these. No, the drains are all right, said Jim, because I got the certificate of the inspector, and as for offices, really I think the servants parts are better than ours. Nowhy its so cheap, I cant imagine. Perhaps the bag is overstated, I suggested. Jim again shook his head. No, thats the funny thing about it, he said. The bag, I am sure, is understated. At least, I walked over the moor for a couple of hours, and the whole place is simply crawling with hares. Why, you could shoot five hundred hares alone on it. Hares? I asked. Thats rather queer, so far up, isnt it? Jim laughed. So I thought. And the hares are queer, too; big beasts, very dark in colour. Lets join the others outside. Jove! what a hot night! Even as Mabel had said, that day fortnight found us all four, the four who had stifled and sweltered in Chelsea, flying through the cool and invigorating winds of the north. The road was in admirable condition, and I should not wonder if for the second time Jims big Napier went not noticeably below the legal limit. The servants had gone straight up, starting the same day as we, while we had got out at Perth, motored to Inverness, and were now, on the second day, nearing our goal. Never have I seen so depopulated a road. I do not suppose there was a man to a mile of it. We had left Lairg about five that afternoon, expecting to arrive at Achnaleish by eight, but one disaster after another overtook us. Now it was the engine, and now a tyre that delayed us, till finally we stopped some eight miles short of our destination, to light up, for with evening had come a huge wrack of cloud out of the west, so that we were cheated of the clear postsunset twilight of the north. Then on again, till, with a little dancing of the car over a bridge, Jim said Thats the bridge of our salmon river; so look out for the turning up to the lodge. It is to the right, and only a narrow track. You can send her along, Sefton, he called to the chauffeur; we shant meet a soul. I was sitting in front, finding the speed and the darkness extraordinarily exhilarating. A bright circle of light was cast by our lamps, fading into darkness in front, while at the sides, cut off by the casing of the lamps, the transition into blackness was sharp and sudden. Every now and then, across this circle of illumination some wild thing would pass now a bird, with hurried flutter of wings when it saw the speed of the luminous monster, would just save itself from being knocked over; now a rabbit feeding by the side of the road would dash onto it and then bounce back again; but more frequently it would be a hare that sprang up from its feeding and raced in front of us. They seemed dazed and scared by the light, unable to wheel into the darkness again, until time and again I thought we must run over one, so narrowly, in giving a sort of desperate sideways leap, did it miss our wheels. Then it seemed that one started up almost from under us, and I saw, to my surprise, it was enormous in size, and in colour apparently quite black. For some hundred yards it raced in front of us, fascinated by the bright light pursuing it, then, like the rest, it dashed for the darkness. But it was too late, and with a horrid jolt we ran over it. At once Sefton slowed down and stopped, for Jims rule is to go back always and make sure that any poor runover is dead. So, when we stopped, the chauffeur jumped down and ran back. What was it? Jim asked me, as we waited. A hare. Sefton came running back. Yes, sir, quite dead, he said. I picked it up, sir. What for? Thought you might like to see it, sir. Its the biggest hare I ever see, and its quite black. It was immediately after this that we came to the track up to the house, and in a few minutes we were within doors. There we found that if shootinglodge was a term unsuitable, so also was farmhouse, so roomy, excellently proportioned, and well furnished was our dwelling, while the contentment that beamed from Buxtons face was sufficient testimonial for the offices. In the hall, too, with its big open fireplace, were a couple of big solemn bookcases, full of serious works, such as some educated minister might have left, and, coming down dressed for dinner before the others, I dipped into the shelves. Thensomething must long have been vaguely simmering in my brain, for I pounced on the book as soon as I saw itI came upon Elwess Folklore of the North West Highlands, and looked out Hare in the index. Then I read Nor is it only witches that are believed to have the power of changing themselves into animals. Men and women on whom no suspicion of the sort lies are thought to be able to do this, and to don the bodies of certain animals, notably hares. Such, according to local superstition, are easily distinguishable by their size and colour, which approaches jet black. I was up and out early next morning, prey to the vivid desire that attacks many folk in new placesnamely, to look on the fresh country and the new horizonsand, on going out, certainly the surprise was great. For I had imagined an utterly lonely and solitary habitation; instead, scarce half a mile away, down the steep braeside at the top of which stood our commodious farmhouse, ran a typically Scotch village street, the hamlet no doubt of Achnaleish. So steep was this hillside that the village was really remote; if it was half a mile away in crowflying measurement, it must have been a couple of hundred yards below us. But its existence was the odd thing to me there were some four dozen houses, at the least, while we had not seen half that number since leaving Lairg. A mile away, perhaps, lay the shining shield of the western sea; to the other side, away from the village, I had no difficulty in recognising the river and the loch. The house, in fact, was set on a hogs back; from all sides it must needs be climbed to. But, as is the custom of the Scots, no house, however small, should be without its due brightness of flowers, and the walls of this were purple with clematis and orange with tropaeolum. It all looked very placid and serene and homelike. I continued my tour of exploration, and came back rather late for breakfast. A slight check in the days arrangements had occurred, for the head keeper, Maclaren, had not come up, and the second, Sandie Ross, reported that the reason for this had been the sudden death of his mother the evening before. She was not known to be ill, but just as she was going to bed she had thrown up her arms, screamed suddenly as if with fright, and was found to be dead. Sandie, who repeated this news to me after breakfast, was just a slow, polite Scotchman, rather shy, rather awkward. Just as he finishedwe were standing about outside the backdoorthere came up from the stables the smart, very Englishlooking Sefton. In one hand he carried the black hare. He touched his hat to me as he went in. Just to show it to Mr. Armytage, sir, he said. Shes as black as a boot. He turned into the door, but not before Sandie Ross had seen what he carried, and the slow, polite Scotchman was instantly turned into some furtive, frightenedlooking man. And where might it be that you found that, sir? he asked. Now, the blackhare superstition had already begun to intrigue me. Why does that interest you? I asked. The slow Scotch look was resumed with an effort. Itll no interest me, he said. I just asked. There are unco many black hares in Achnaleish. Then his curiosity got the better of him. Shed have been nigh to where the road passes by and on to Achnaleish? he asked. The hare? Yes, we found her on the road there. Sandie turned away. She aye sat there, he said. There were a number of little plantations climbing up the steep hillside from Achnaleish to the moor above, and we had a pleasant slack sort of morning shooting there, walking through and round them with a nondescript tribe of beaters, among whom the serious Buxton figured. We had fair enough sport, but of the hares which Jim had seen in such profusion none that morning came to the gun, till at last, just before lunch, there came out of the apex of one of these plantations, some thirty yards from where Jim was standing, a very large, darkcoloured hare. For one moment I saw him hesitatefor he holds the correct view about long or doubtful shots at haresthen he put up his gun to fire. Sandie, who had walked round outside, after giving the beaters their instructions, was at this moment close to him, and with incredible quickness rushed upon him and with his stick struck up the barrels of the gun before he could fire. Black hare! he cried. Yed shoot a black hare? Theres no shooting of hares at all in Achnaleish, and mark that. Never have I seen so sudden and extraordinary a change in a mans face it was as if he had just prevented some blackguard of the street from murdering his wife. An the sickness about an all, he added indignantly. When the puir folk escape from their peching fevered bodies an hour or two, to the caller muirs. Then he seemed to recover himself. I ask your pardon, sir, he said to Jim. I was upset with ane thing an anither, an the black hare ye found deid last nighteh, Im blatherin again. But theres no a hare shot on Achnaleish, thats sure. Jim was still looking in mere speechless astonishment at Sandie when I came up. And, though shooting is dear to me, so too is folklore. But weve taken the shooting of Achnaleish, Sandie, I said. There was nothing there about not shooting hares. Sandie suddenly boiled up again for a minute. An mebbe there was nothing there about shooting the bairns and the weemen! he cried. I looked round, and saw that by now the beaters had all come through the wood of them Buxton and Jims valet, who was also among them, stood apart all the rest were standing round us two with gleaming eyes and open mouths, hanging on the debate, and forced, so I imagined, from their imperfect knowledge of English to attend closely in order to catch the drift of what went on. Every now and then a murmur of Gaelic passed between them, and this somehow I found peculiarly disconcerting. But what have the hares to do with the children or women of Achnaleish? I asked. There was no reply to this beyond the reiterated sentence Theres na shooting of hares in Achnaleish whatever, and then Sandie turned to Jim. Thats the end of the bit wood, sir, he said. Weve been a roound. Certainly the beat had been very satisfactory. A roe had fallen to Jim (one ought also to have fallen to me, but remained, if not standing, at any rate running away). We had a dozen of blackgame, four pigeons, six brace of grouse (these were, of course, but outliers, as we had not gone on to the moor proper at all), some thirty rabbits, and four couple of woodcock. This, it must be understood, was just from the fringe of plantations about the house, but this was all we meant to do today, making only a morning of it, since our ladies had expressly desired first lessons in the art of angling in the afternoon, so that they too could be busy. Excellently too had Sandie worked the beat, leaving us now, after going, as he said, all round, a couple of hundred yards only from the house, at a few minutes to two. So, after a little private signalling from Jim to me, he spoke to Sandie, dropping the harequestion altogether. Well, the beat has gone excellently, he said, and this afternoon well be fishing. Please settle with the beaters every evening, and tell me what you have paid out. Good morning to you all. We walked back to the house, but the moment we had turned a hum of confabulation began behind us, and, looking back, I saw Sandie and all the beaters in close whispering conclave. Then Jim spoke. More in your line than mine, he said; I prefer shooting a hare to routing out some cockandbull story as to why I shouldnt. What does it all mean? I mentioned what I had found in Elwes last night. Then do they think it was we who killed the old lady on the road, and that I was going to kill somebody else this morning? he asked. How does one know that they wont say that rabbits are their aunts, and woodcock their uncles, and grouse their children? I never heard such rot, and tomorrow well have a hare drive. Blow the grouse! Well settle this harequestion first. Jim by this time was in the frame of mind typical of the English when their rights are threatened. He had the shooting of Achnaleish, on which were hares, sir, hares. And if he chose to shoot hares, neither papal bull nor royal charter could stop him. Then therell be a row, said I, and Jim sniffed scornfully. At lunch Sandies remark about the sickness, which I had forgotten till that moment, was explained. Fancy that horrible influenza getting here, said Madge. Mabel and I went down to the village this morning, and, oh, Ted, you can get all sorts of things, from mackintoshes to peppermints, at the most heavenly shop, and there was a child there looking awfully ill and feverish. So we inquired it was the sicknessthat was all they knew. But, from what the woman said, its clearly influenza. Sudden fever, and all the rest of it. Bad type? I asked. Yes; there have been several deaths already among the old people from pneumonia following it. Now, I hope that as an Englishman I too have a notion of my rights, and attempt anyhow to enforce them, as a general rule, if they are wantonly threatened. But if a mad bull wishes to prevent my going across a certain field, I do not insist on my rights, but go round instead, since I see no reasonable hope of convincing the bull that according to the constitution of my country I may walk in this field unmolested. And that afternoon, as Madge and I drifted about the loch, while I was not employed in disentangling her flies from each other or her hair or my coat, I pondered over our position with regard to the hares and men of Achnaleish, and thought that the question of the bull and the field represented our standpoint pretty accurately. Jim had the shooting of Achnaleish, and that undoubtedly included the right to shoot hares so too he might have the right to walk over a field in which was a mad bull. But it seemed to me not more futile to argue with the bull than to hope to convince these folk of Achnaleish that the hares wereas was assuredly the caseonly hares, and not the embodiments of their friends and relations. For that, beyond all doubt, was their belief, and it would take, not half an hours talk, but perhaps a couple of generations of education to kill that belief, or even to reduce it to the level of a superstition. At present it was no superstitionthe terror and incredulous horror on Sandies face when Jim raised his gun to fire at the hare told me thatit was a belief as sober and commonplace as our own belief that the hares were not incarnations of living folk in Achnaleish. Also, virulent influenza was raging in the place, and Jim proposed to have a haredrive tomorrow! What would happen? That evening Jim raved about it in the smokingroom. But, good gracious, man, what can they do? he cried. Whats the use of an old gaffer from Achnaleish saying Ive shot his granddaughter and, when he is asked to produce the corpse, telling the jury that weve eaten it, but that he has got the skin as evidence? What skin? A hareskin! Oh, folklore is all very well in its way, a nice subject for discussion when topics are scarce, but dont tell me it can enter into practical life. What can they do? They can shoot us, I remarked. The canny, Godfearing Scotchmen shoot us for shooting hares? he asked. Well, its a possibility. However, I dont think youll have much of a haredrive in any case. Why not? Because you wont get a single native beater, and you wont get a keeper to come either. Youll have to go with Buxton and your man. Then Ill discharge Sandie, snapped Jim. That would be a pity he knows his work. Jim got up. Well, his work tomorrow will be to drive hares for you and me, said Jim. Or do you funk? I funk, I replied. The scene next morning was extremely short. Jim and I went out before breakfast, and found Sandie at the back door, silent and respectful. In the yard were a dozen young Highlanders, who had beaten for us the day before. Morning, Sandie, said Jim shortly. Well drive hares today. We ought to get a lot in those narrow gorges up above. Get a dozen beaters more, can you? There will be na haredrive here, said Sandie quietly. I have given you your orders, said Jim. Sandie turned to the group of beaters outside and spoke half a dozen words in Gaelic. Next moment the yard was empty, and they were all running down the hillside towards Achnaleish. One stood on the skyline a moment, waving his arms, making some signal, as I supposed, to the village below. Then Sandie turned again. An whaur are your beaters, sir? he asked. For the moment I was afraid Jim was going to strike him. But he controlled himself. You are discharged, he said. The haredrive, therefore, since there were neither beaters nor keeperMaclaren, the headkeeper, having been given this dayoff to bury his motherwas clearly out of the question, and Jim, still blustering rather, but a good bit taken aback at the sudden disciplined defection of the beaters, was in betting humour that they would all return by tomorrow morning. Meanwhile the post which should have arrived before now had not come, though Mabel from her bedroom window had seen the postcart on its way up the drive a quarter of an hour ago. At that a sudden idea struck me, and I ran to the edge of the hogs back on which the house was set. It was even as I thought the postcart was just striking the highroad below, going away from the house and back to the village, without having left our letters. I went back to the diningroom. Everything apparently was going wrong this morning the bread was stale, the milk was not fresh, and the bell was rung for Buxton. Quite so neither milkman nor baker had called. From the point of view of folklore this was admirable. Theres another cockandbull story called taboo, I said. It means that nobody will supply you with anything. My dear fellow, a little knowledge is a dangerous thing, said Jim, helping himself to marmalade. I laughed. You are irritated, I said, because you are beginning to be afraid that there is something in it. Yes, thats quite true, he said. But who could have supposed there was anything in it? Ah, dash it! there cant be. A hare is a hare. Except when it is your first cousin, said I. Then I shall go out and shoot first cousins by myself, he said. That, I am glad to say, in the light of what followed, we dissuaded him from doing, and instead he went off with Madge down the burn. And I, I may confess, occupied myself the whole morning, ensconced in a thick piece of scrub on the edge of the steep brae above Achnaleish, in watching through a fieldglass what went on there. One could see as from a balloon almost the street with its houses was spread like a map below. First, then, there was a funeralthe funeral, I suppose, of the mother of Maclaren, attended, I should say, by the whole village. But after that there was no dispersal of the folk to their work it was as if it was the Sabbath; they hung about the street talking. Now one group would break up, but it would only go to swell another, and no one went either to his house or to the fields. Then, shortly before lunch, another idea occurred to me, and I ran down the hillside, appearing suddenly in the street, to put it to the test. Sandie was there, but he turned his back square on me, as did everybody else, and as I approached any group talk fell dead. But a certain movement seemed to be going on; where they stood and talked before, they now moved and were silent. Soon I saw what that meant. None would remain in the street with me every man was going to his house. The end house of the street was clearly the heavenly shop we had been told of yesterday. The door was open and a small child was looking round it as I approached, for my plan was to go in, order something, and try to get into conversation. But, while I was still a yard or two off, I saw through the glass of the door a man inside come quickly up and pull the child roughly away, banging the door and locking it. I knocked and rang, but there was no response only from inside came the crying of the child. The street which had been so busy and populous was now completely empty; it might have been the street of some longdeserted place, but that thin smoke curled here and there above the houses. It was as silent, too, as the grave, but, for all that, I knew it was watching. From every house, I felt sure, I was being watched by eyes of mistrust and hate, yet no sign of living being could I see. There was to me something rather eerie about this to know one is watched by invisible eyes is never, I suppose, quite a comfortable sensation; to know that those eyes are all hostile does not increase the sense of security. So I just climbed back up the hillside again, and from my thicket above the brae again I peered down. Once more the street was full. Now, all this made me uneasy the taboo had been started, andsince not a soul had been near us since Sandie gave the word, whatever it was, that morningwas in excellent working order. Then what was the purport of these meetings and colloquies? What else threatened? The afternoon told me. It was about two oclock when these meetings finally broke up, and at once the whole village left the street for the hillsides, much as if they were all returning to work. The only odd thing indeed was that no one remained behind women and children alike went out, all in little parties of two and three. Some of these I watched rather idly, for I had formed the hasty conclusion that they were all going back to their usual employments, and saw that here a woman and girl were cutting dead bracken and heather. That was reasonable enough, and I turned my glass on others. Group after group I examined; all were doing the same thing, cutting fuel fuel. Then vaguely, with a sense of impossibility, a thought flashed across me; again it flashed, more vividly. This time I left my hidingplace with considerable alacrity and went to find Jim down by the burn. I told him exactly what I had seen and what I believed it meant, and I fancy that his belief in the possibility of folklore entering the domain of practical life was very considerably quickened. In any case, it was not a quarter of an hour afterwards that the chauffeur and I were going, precisely as fast as the Napier was able, along the road to Lairg. We had not told the women what my conjecture was, because we believed that, making the dispositions we were making, there was no cause for alarmsounding. One private signal only existed between Jim within the house that night and me outside. If my conjecture proved to be correct, he was to place a light in the window of my room, which I should see returning after dark from Lairg. My ostensible reason for going was to get some local fishingflies. As we flowedthere is no other word for the movement of these big cars but thatover the road to Lairg, I ran over everything in my mind. I felt no doubt whatever that all the brushwood and kindling I had seen being gathered in was to be piled after nightfall round our walls and set on fire. This certainly would not be done till after dark; indeed, we both felt sure that it would not be done till it was supposed that we were all abed. It remained to see whether the police at Lairg agreed with my conjecture, and it was to ascertain this that I was now flowing there. I told my story to the chief constable as soon as I got there, omitting nothing and, I think, exaggerating nothing. His face got graver and graver as I proceeded. Yes, sir, you did right to come, he said. The folk at Achnaleish are the dourest and the most savage in all Scotland. Youll have to give up this harehunting, though, whatever, he added. He rang up his telephone. Ill get five men, he said, and Ill be with you in ten minutes. Our plan of campaign was simple. We were to leave the car well out of sight of Achnaleish, andsupposing the signal was in my windowsteal up from all sides to command the house from every direction. It would not be difficult to make our way unseen through the plantations that ran up close to the house, and hidden at their margins we could see whether the brushwood and heather was piled up round the lodge. There we should wait to see if anybody attempted to fire it. That somebody, whenever he showed his light, would be instantly covered by a rifle and challenged. It was about ten when we dismounted and stalked our way up to the house. The light burned in my window; all else was quiet. Personally, I was unarmed, and so, when I had planted the men in places of advantageous concealment round the house, my work was over. Then I returned to Sergeant Duncan, the chief constable, at the corner of the hedge by the garden, and waited. How long we waited I do not know, but it seemed as if aeons slipped by over us. Now and then an owl would hoot, now and then a rabbit ran out from cover and nibbled the short sweet grass of the lawn. The night was thickly overcast with clouds, and the house seemed no more than a black blot, with slits of light where windows were lit within. By and by even these slits of illumination were extinguished, and other lights appeared in the top story. After a while they, too, vanished; no sign of life appeared on the quiet house. Then suddenly the end came I heard a foot grate on the gravel; I saw the gleam of a lantern, and heard Duncans voice. Man, he shouted, if you move hand or foot I fire. My riflebead is dead on you. Then I blew the whistle; the others ran up, and in less than a minute it was all over. The man we closed in on was Maclaren. They killed my mither with that hellcarriage, he said, as she juist sat on the road, puir body, who had niver hurt them. And that seemed to him an excellent reason for attempting to burn us all to death. But it took time to get into the house their preparations had been singularly workmanlike, for every window and door on the ground floor was wired up. Now, we had Achnaleish for two months, but we had no wish to be burned or otherwise murdered. What we wanted was not a prosecution of our headkeeper, but peace, the necessaries of life, and beaters. For that we were willing to shoot no hares, and release Maclaren. An hours conclave next morning settled these things; the ensuing two months were most enjoyable, and relations were the friendliest. But if anybody wants to test how far what Jim still calls cockandbull stories can enter into practical life, I should suggest to him to go ashooting hares at Achnaleish. The Terror by Night The transference of emotion is a phenomenon so common, so constantly witnessed, that mankind in general have long ceased to be conscious of its existence, as a thing worth our wonder or consideration, regarding it as being as natural and commonplace as the transference of things that act by the ascertained laws of matter. Nobody, for instance, is surprised, if, when the room is too hot, the opening of a window causes the cold fresh air of outside to be transferred into the room, and in the same way no one is surprised when into the same room, perhaps, which we will imagine as being peopled with dull and gloomy persons, there enters someone of fresh and sunny mind, who instantly brings into the stuffy mental atmosphere a change analogous to that of the opened windows. Exactly how this infection is conveyed we do not know; considering the wireless wonders (that act by material laws) which are already beginning to lose their wonder now that we have our newspaper brought as a matter of course every morning in midAtlantic, it would not perhaps be rash to conjecture that in some subtle and occult way the transference of emotion is in reality material too. Certainly (to take another instance) the sight of definitely material things, like writing on a page, conveys emotion apparently direct to our minds, as when our pleasure or pity is stirred by a book, and it is therefore possible that mind may act on mind by means as material as that. Occasionally, however, we come across phenomena, which, though they may easily be as material as any of these things, are rarer, and therefore more astounding. Some people call them ghosts, some conjuring tricks, and some nonsense. It seems simpler to group them under the head of transferred emotions, and they may appeal to any of the senses. Some ghosts are seen, some heard, some felt, and though I know of no instance of a ghost being tasted, yet it will seem in the following pages that these occult phenomenon may appeal at any rate to the senses that perceive heat, cold, or smell. For, to take the analogy of wireless telegraphy, we are all of us probably receivers to some extent, and catch now and then a message or part of a message that the eternal waves of emotion are ceaselessly shouting aloud to those who have ears to hear, and materializing themselves for those who have eyes to see. Not being, as a rule, perfectly tuned, we grasp but pieces and fragments of such messages, a few coherent words it may be, or a few words which seem to have no sense. The following story, however, to my mind, is interesting, because it shows how different pieces of what no doubt was one message were received and recorded by several different people simultaneously. Ten years have elapsed since the events recorded took place, but they were written down at the time. Jack Lorimer and I were very old friends before he married, and his marriage to a first cousin of mine did not make, as so often happens, a slackening in our intimacy. Within a few months after, it was found out that his wife had consumption, and, without any loss of time, she was sent off to Davos, with her sister to look after her. The disease had evidently been detected at a very early stage, and there was excellent ground for hoping that with proper care and strict regime she would be cured by the lifegiving frosts of that wonderful valley. The two had gone out in the November of which I am speaking, and Jack and I joined them for a month at Christmas, and found that week after week she was steadily and quickly gaining ground.

We had to be back in town by the end of January, but it was settled that Ida should remain out with her sister for a week or two more. They both, I remember, came down to the station to see us off, and I am not likely to forget the last words that passed Oh, dont look so woebegone Jack, his wife had said; youll see me again before long. Then the fussy little mountain engine squeaked, as a puppy squeaks when its toe is trodden on, and we puffed our way up the pass. London was in its usual desperate February plight when we got back, full of fogs and stillborn frosts that seemed to produce a cold far more bitter than the piercing temperature of those sunny altitudes from which we had come. We both, I think, felt rather lonely, and even before we had got to our journeys end we had settled that for the present it was ridiculous that we should keep open two houses when one would suffice, and would also be far more cheerful for us both. So, as we both lived in almost identical houses in the same street in Chelsea, we decided to toss, live in the house which the coin indicated (heads mine, tails his) share expenses, attempt to let the other house, and, if successful, share the proceeds. A French fivefranc piece of the second empire told us it was heads. We had been back some ten days, receiving every day the most excellent accounts from Davos, when, first on him, then on me, there descended like some tropical storm, a feeling of indefinable fear. Very possibly this sense of apprehension (for there is nothing in the world so virulently infectious) reached me through him on the other hand both these attacks of vague foreboding may have come from the same source. But it is true that it did not attack me till he spoke of it, so the possibility perhaps inclines to my having caught it from him. He spoke of it first, I remember, one evening when we had met for a good night talk, after having come back from separate houses where we had dined. I have felt most awfully down all day, he said; and just after receiving this splendid account from Daisy, I cant think what is the matter. He poured himself out some whisky and soda as he spoke. Oh, touch of liver, I said. I shouldnt drink that if I were you. Give it me instead. I was never better in my life, he said. I was opening letters, as we talked, and came across one from the house agent, which, with trembling eagerness I read. Hurrah, I cried, offer of five guaswhy cant he write it in proper Englishfive guineas a week till Easter for number 31. We shall roll in guineas! Oh, but I cant stop here till Easter, he said. I dont see why not. Nor by the way does Daisy. I heard from her this morning, and she told me to persuade you to stop. Thats to say, if you like. It really is more cheerful for you here. I forgot, you were telling me something. The glorious news about the weekly guineas did not cheer him up in the least. Thanks awfully. Of course Ill stop. He moved up and down the room once or twice. No, its not me that is wrong, he said, its It, whatever It is. The terror by night. Which you are commanded not to be afraid of, I remarked. I know its easy commanding. Im frightened somethings coming. Five guineas a week are coming, I said. I shant sit up and be infected by your fears. All that matters, Davos, is going as well as it can. What was the last report? Incredibly better. Take that to bed with you. The infectionif infection it wasdid not take hold of me then, for I remember going to sleep feeling quite cheerful, but I awoke in some dark still hour and It, the terror by night, had come while I slept. Fear and misgiving, blind, unreasonable, and paralysing, had taken and gripped me. What was it? Just as by an aneroid we can foretell the approach of storm, so by this sinking of the spirit, unlike anything I had ever felt before, I felt sure that disaster of some sort was presaged. Jack saw it at once when we met at breakfast next morning, in the brown haggard light of a foggy day, not dark enough for candles, but dismal beyond all telling. So it has come to you too, he said. And I had not even the fightingpower left to tell him that I was merely slightly unwell. Besides, never in my life had I felt better. All next day, all the day after that fear lay like a black cloak over my mind; I did not know what I dreaded, but it was something very acute, something that was very near. It was coming nearer every moment, spreading like a pall of clouds over the sky; but on the third day, after miserably cowering under it, I suppose some sort of courage came back to me either this was pure imagination, some trick of disordered nerves or whatnot, in which case we were both disquieting ourselves in vain, or from the immeasurable waves of emotion that beat upon the minds of men, something within both of us had caught a current, a pressure. In either case it was infinitely better to try, however ineffectively, to stand up against it. For these two days I had neither worked nor played; I had only shrunk and shuddered; I planned for myself a busy day, with diversion for us both in the evening. We will dine early, I said, and go to the Man from Blankleys. I have already asked Philip to come, and he is coming, and I have telephoned for tickets. Dinner at seven. Philip, I may remark, is an old friend of ours, neighbour in this street, and by profession a muchrespected doctor. Jack laid down his paper. Yes, I expect youre right, he said. Its no use doing nothing, it doesnt help things. Did you sleep well? Yes, beautifully, I said rather snappishly, for I was all on edge with the added burden of an almost sleepless night. I wish I had, said he. This would not do at all. We have got to play up! I said. Here are we two strong and stalwart persons, with as much cause for satisfaction with life as any you can mention, letting ourselves behave like worms. Our fear may be over things imaginary or over things that are real, but it is the fact of being afraid that is so despicable. There is nothing in the world to fear except fear. You know that as well as I do. Now lets read our papers with interest. Which do you back, Mr. Druce, or the Duke of Portland, or the Times Book Club? That day, therefore, passed very busily for me; and there were enough events moving in front of that black background, which I was conscious was there all the time, to enable me to keep my eyes away from it, and I was detained rather late at the office, and had to drive back to Chelsea, in order to be in time to dress for dinner, instead of walking back as I had intended. Then the message, which for these three days, had been twittering in our minds, the receivers, just making them quiver and rattle came through. I found Jack already dressed, since it was within a minute or two of seven when I got in, and sitting in the drawingroom. The day had been warm and muggy, but when I looked in on the way up to my room, it seemed to me to have grown suddenly and bitterly cold, not with the dampness of English frost, but with the clear and stinging exhilaration of such days as we had recently spent in Switzerland. Fire was laid in the grate but not lit, and I went down on my knees on the hearthrug to light it. Why, its freezing in here, I said. What donkeys servants are! It never occurs to them that you want fires in cold weather, and no fires in hot weather. Oh, for heavens sake dont light the fire, said he, its the warmest muggiest evening I ever remember. I stared at him in astonishment. My hands were shaking with the cold. He saw this. Why, you are shivering! he said. Have you caught a chill? But as to the room being cold let us look at the thermometer. There was one on the writingtable. Sixtyfive, he said. There was no disputing that, nor did I want to, for at that moment, it suddenly struck us, dimly and distantly that It was coming through. I felt it like some curious internal vibration. Hot or cold, I must go and dress, I said. Still shivering, but feeling as if I was breathing some rarefied exhilarating air, I went up to my room. My clothes were already laid out, but, by an oversight, no hot water had been brought up, and I rang for my man. He came up almost at once, but he looked scared, or, to my alreadystartled senses, he appeared so. Whats the matter? I asked. Nothing, sir, he said, and he could hardly articulate the words. I thought you rang. Yes. Hot water. But whats the matter? He shifted from one foot to the other. I thought I saw a lady on the stairs, he said, coming up close behind me. And the front door bell hadnt rung that I heard. Where did you think you saw her? I asked. On the stairs. Then on the landing outside the drawingroom door, sir, he said. She stood there as if she didnt know whether to go in or not. Oneone of the servants, I said. But again I felt that It was coming through. No, sir. It was none of the servants, he said. Who was it then? Couldnt see distinctly sir, it was dimlike. But I thought it was Mrs. Lorimer. Oh, go and get me some hot water, I said. But he lingered; he was quite clearly frightened. At this moment the frontdoor bell rang. It was just seven, and already Philip had come with brutal punctuality while I was not yet halfdressed. Thats Dr. Enderly, I said. Perhaps if he is on the stairs you may be able to pass the place where you saw the lady. Then quite suddenly there rang through the house a scream, so terrible, so appalling in its agony and supreme terror, that I simply stood still and shuddered, unable to move. Then by an effort so violent that I felt as if something must break, I recalled the power of motion, and ran downstairs, my man at my heels, to meet Philip who was running up from the ground floor. He had heard it too. Whats the matter? he said. What was that? Together we went into the drawingroom, Jack was lying in front of the fireplace, with the chair in which he had been sitting a few minutes before overturned. Philip went straight to him and bent over him, tearing open his white shirt. Open all the windows, he said, the place reeks. We flung open the windows, and there poured in, so it seemed to me, a stream of hot air into the bitter cold. Eventually Philip got up. He is dead, he said. Keep the windows open. The place is still thick with chloroform. Gradually to my sense the room got warmer, to Philips the drugladen atmosphere dispersed. But neither my servant nor I had smelt anything at all. A couple of hours later there came a telegram from Davos for me. It was to tell me to break the news of Daisys death to Jack, and was sent by her sister. She supposed he would come out immediately. But he had been gone two hours now. I left for Davos next day, and learned what had happened. Daisy had been suffering for three days from a little abscess which had to be opened, and, though the operation was of the slightest, she had been so nervous about it that the doctor gave her chloroform. She made a good recovery from the anaesthetic, but an hour later had a sudden attack of syncope, and had died that night at a few minutes before eight, by central European time, corresponding to seven in English time. She had insisted that Jack should be told nothing about this little operation till it was over, since the matter was quite unconnected with her general health, and she did not wish to cause him needless anxiety. And there the story ends. To my servant there came the sight of a woman outside the drawingroom door, where Jack was, hesitating about her entrance, at the moment when Daisys soul hovered between the two worlds; to me there cameI do not think it is fanciful to suppose thisthe keen exhilarating cold of Davos; to Philip there came the fumes of chloroform. And to Jack, I must suppose, came his wife. So he joined her. The Thing in the Hall The following pages are the account given me by Dr. Assheton of the Thing in the Hall. I took notes, as copious as my quickness of hand allowed me, from his dictation, and subsequently read to him this narrative in its transcribed and connected form. This was on the day before his death, which indeed probably occurred within an hour after I had left him, and, as readers of inquests and such atrocious literature may remember, I had to give evidence before the coroners jury. Only a week before Dr. Assheton had to give similar evidence, but as a medical expert, with regard to the death of his friend, Louis Fielder, which occurred in a manner identical with his own. As a specialist, he said he believed that his friend had committed suicide while of unsound mind, and the verdict was brought in accordingly. But in the inquest held over Dr. Asshetons body, though the verdict eventually returned was the same, there was more room for doubt. For I was bound to state that only shortly before his death, I read what follows to him; that he corrected me with extreme precision on a few points of detail, that he seemed perfectly himself, and that at the end he used these words I am quite certain as a brain specialist that I am completely sane, and that these things happened not merely in my imagination, but in the external world. If I had to give evidence again about poor Louis, I should be compelled to take a different line. Please put that down at the end of your account, or at the beginning, if it arranges itself better so. There will be a few words I must add at the end of this story, and a few words of explanation must precede it. Briefly, they are these. Francis Assheton and Louis Fielder were up at Cambridge together, and there formed the friendship that lasted nearly till their death. In general attributes no two men could have been less alike, for while Dr. Assheton had become at the age of thirtyfive the first and final authority on his subject, which was the functions and diseases of the brain, Louis Fielder at the same age was still on the threshold of achievement. Assheton, apparently without any brilliance at all, had by careful and incessant work arrived at the top of his profession, while Fielder, brilliant at school, brilliant at college and brilliant ever afterwards, had never done anything. He was too eager, so it seemed to his friends, to set about the dreary work of patient investigation and logical deductions; he was forever guessing and prying, and striking out luminous ideas, which he left burning, so to speak, to illumine the work of others. But at bottom, the two men had this compelling interest in common, namely, an insatiable curiosity after the unknown, perhaps the most potent bond yet devised between the solitary units that make up the race of man. Bothtill the endwere absolutely fearless, and Dr. Assheton would sit by the bedside of the man stricken with bubonic plague to note the gradual surge of the tide of disease to the reasoning faculty with the same absorption as Fielder would study Xrays one week, flying machines the next, and spiritualism the third. The rest of the story, I think, explains itselfor does not quite do so. This, anyhow, is what I read to Dr. Assheton, being the connected narrative of what he had himself told me. It is he, of course, who speaks. After I returned from Paris, where I had studied under Charcot, I set up practice at home. The general doctrine of hypnotism, suggestion, and cure by such means had been accepted even in London by this time, and, owing to a few papers I had written on the subject, together with my foreign diplomas, I found that I was a busy man almost as soon as I had arrived in town. Louis Fielder had his ideas about how I should make my dbut (for he had ideas on every subject, and all of them original), and entreated me to come and live not in the stronghold of doctors, Chloroform Square, as he called it, but down in Chelsea, where there was a house vacant next his own. Who cares where a doctor lives, he said, so long as he cures people? Besides you dont believe in old methods; why believe in old localities? Oh, there is an atmosphere of painless death in Chloroform Square! Come and make people live instead! And on most evenings I shall have so much to tell you; I cant drop in across half London. Now if you have been abroad for five years, it is a great deal to know that you have any intimate friend at all still left in the metropolis, and, as Louis said, to have that intimate friend next door, is an excellent reason for going next door. Above all, I remembered from Cambridge days, what Louis dropping in meant. Towards bedtime, when work was over, there would come a rapid step on the landing, and for an hour, or two hours, he would gush with ideas. He simply diffused life, which is ideas, wherever he went. He fed ones brain, which is the one thing which matters. Most people who are ill, are ill because their brain is starving, and the body rebels, and gets lumbago or cancer. That is the chief doctrine of my work such as it has been. All bodily disease springs from the brain. It is merely the brain that has to be fed and rested and exercised properly to make the body absolutely healthy, and immune from all disease. But when the brain is affected, it is as useful to pour medicines down the sink, as make your patient swallow them, unlessand this is a paramount limitationunless he believes in them. I said something of the kind to Louis one night, when, at the end of a busy day, I had dined with him. We were sitting over coffee in the hall, or so it is called, where he takes his meals. Outside, his house is just like mine, and ten thousand other small houses in London, but on entering, instead of finding a narrow passage with a door on one side, leading into the diningroom, which again communicates with a small back room called the study, he has had the sense to eliminate all unnecessary walls, and consequently the whole ground floor of his house is one room, with stairs leading up to the first floor. Study, diningroom and passage have been knocked into one; you enter a big room from the front door. The only drawback is that the postman makes loud noises close to you, as you dine, and just as I made these commonplace observations to him about the effect of the brain on the body and the senses, there came a loud rap, somewhere close to me, that was startling. You ought to muffle your knocker, I said, anyhow during the time of meals. Louis leaned back and laughed. There isnt a knocker, he said. You were startled a week ago, and said the same thing. So I took the knocker off. The letters slide in now. But you heard a knock, did you? Didnt you? said I. Why, certainly. But it wasnt the postman. It was the Thing. I dont know what it is. That makes it so interesting. Now if there is one thing that the hypnotist, the believer in unexplained influences, detests and despises, it is the whole rootnotion of spiritualism. Drugs are not more opposed to his belief than the exploded, discredited idea of the influence of spirits on our lives. And both are discredited for the same reason; it is easy to understand how brain can act on brain, just as it is easy to understand how body can act on body, so that there is no more difficulty in the reception of the idea that the strong mind can direct the weak one, than there is in the fact of a wrestler of greater strength overcoming one of less. But that spirits should rap at furniture and divert the course of events is as absurd as administering phosphorus to strengthen the brain. That was what I thought then. However, I felt sure it was the postman, and instantly rose and went to the door. There were no letters in the box, and I opened the door. The postman was just ascending the steps. He gave the letters into my hand. Louis was sipping his coffee when I came back to the table. Have you ever tried tableturning? he asked. Its rather odd. No, and I have not tried violetleaves as a cure for cancer, I said. Oh, try everything, he said. I know that that is your plan, just as it is mine. All these years that you have been away, you have tried all sorts of things, first with no faith, then with just a little faith, and finally with mountainmoving faith. Why, you didnt believe in hypnotism at all when you went to Paris. He rang the bell as he spoke, and his servant came up and cleared the table. While this was being done we strolled about the room, looking at prints, with applause for a Bartolozzi that Louis had bought in the New Cut, and dead silence over a Perdita which he had acquired at considerable cost. Then he sat down again at the table on which we had dined. It was round, and mahoganyheavy, with a central foot divided into claws. Try its weight, he said; see if you can push it about. So I held the edge of it in my hands, and found that I could just move it. But that was all; it required the exercise of a good deal of strength to stir it. Now put your hands on the top of it, he said, and see what you can do. I could not do anything, my fingers merely slipped about on it. But I protested at the idea of spending the evening thus. I would much sooner play chess or noughts and crosses with you, I said, or even talk about politics, than turn tables. You wont mean to push, nor shall I, but we shall push without meaning to. Louis nodded. Just a minute, he said, let us both put our fingers only on the top of the table and push for all we are worth, from right to left. We pushed. At least I pushed, and I observed his fingernails. From pink they grew to white, because of the pressure he exercised. So I must assume that he pushed too. Once, as we tried this, the table creaked. But it did not move. Then there came a quick peremptory rap, not I thought on the front door, but somewhere in the room. Its the Thing, said he. Today, as I speak to you, I suppose it was. But on that evening it seemed only like a challenge. I wanted to demonstrate its absurdity. For five years, on and off, Ive been studying rank spiritualism, he said. I havent told you before, because I wanted to lay before you certain phenomena, which I cant explain, but which now seem to me to be at my command. You shall see and hear, and then decide if you will help me. And in order to let me see better, you are proposing to put out the lights, I said. Yes; you will see why. I am here as a sceptic, said I. Scep away, said he. Next moment the room was in darkness, except for a very faint glow of firelight. The windowcurtains were thick, and no streetillumination penetrated them, and the familiar, cheerful sounds of pedestrians and wheeled traffic came in muffled. I was at the side of the table towards the door; Louis was opposite me, for I could see his figure dimly silhouetted against the glow from the smouldering fire. Put your hands on the table, he said, quite lightly, andhow shall I say itexpect. Still protesting in spirit, I expected. I could hear his breathing rather quickened, and it seemed to me odd that anybody could find excitement in standing in the dark over a large mahogany table, expecting. Thenthrough my fingertips, laid lightly on the table, there began to come a faint vibration, like nothing so much as the vibration through the handle of a kettle when water is beginning to boil inside it. This got gradually more pronounced and violent till it was like the throbbing of a motorcar. It seemed to give off a low humming note. Then quite suddenly the table seemed to slip from under my fingers and began very slowly to revolve. Keep your hands on it and move with it, said Louis, and as he spoke I saw his silhouette pass away from in front of the fire, moving as the table moved. For some moments there was silence, and we continued, rather absurdly, to circle round keeping step, so to speak, with the table. Then Louis spoke again, and his voice was trembling with excitement. Are you there? he said. There was no reply, of course, and he asked it again. This time there came a rap like that which I had thought during dinner to be the postman. But whether it was that the room was dark, or that despite myself I felt rather excited too, it seemed to me now to be far louder than before. Also it appeared to come neither from here nor there, but to be diffused through the room. Then the curious revolving of the table ceased, but the intense, violent throbbing continued. My eyes were fixed on it, though owing to the darkness I could see nothing, when quite suddenly a little speck of light moved across it, so that for an instant I saw my own hands. Then came another and another, like the spark of matches struck in the dark, or like fireflies crossing the dusk in southern gardens. Then came another knock of shattering loudness, and the throbbing of the table ceased, and the lights vanished. Such were the phenomena at the first sance at which I was present, but Fielder, it must be remembered, had been studying, expecting, he called it, for some years. To adopt spiritualistic language (which at that time I was very far from doing), he was the medium, I merely the observer, and all the phenomena I had seen that night were habitually produced or witnessed by him. I make this limitation since he told me that certain of them now appeared to be outside his own control altogether. The knockings would come when his mind, as far as he knew, was entirely occupied in other matters, and sometimes he had even been awakened out of sleep by them. The lights were also independent of his volition. Now my theory at the time was that all these things were purely subjective in him, and that what he expressed by saying that they were out of his control, meant that they had become fixed and rooted in the unconscious self, of which we know so little, but which, more and more, we see to play so enormous a part in the life of a man. In fact, it is not too much to say that the vast majority of our deeds spring, apparently without volition, from this unconscious self. All hearing is the unconscious exercise of the aural nerve, all seeing of the optic, all walking, all ordinary movement seem to be done without the exercise of will on our part. Nay more, should we take to some new form of progression, skating, for instance, the beginner will learn with falls and difficulty the outside edge, but within a few hours of his having learned his balance on it, he will give no more thought to what he learned so short a time ago as an acrobatic feat, than he gives to the placing of one foot before the other. But to the brain specialist all this was intensely interesting, and to the student of hypnotism, as I was, even more so, for (such was the conclusion I came to after this first sance), the fact that I saw and heard just what Louis saw and heard was an exhibition of thoughttransference which in all my experience in the Charcotschools I had never seen surpassed, if indeed rivalled. I knew that I was myself extremely sensitive to suggestion, and my part in it this evening I believed to be purely that of the receiver of suggestions so vivid that I visualised and heard these phenomena which existed only in the brain of my friend. We talked over what had occurred upstairs. His view was that the Thing was trying to communicate with us. According to him it was the Thing that moved the table and tapped, and made us see streaks of light. Yes, but the Thing, I interrupted, what do you mean? Is it a greatuncleoh, I have seen so many relatives appear at sances, and heard so many of their dreadful platitudesor what is it? A spirit? Whose spirit? Louis was sitting opposite to me, and on the little table before us there was an electric light. Looking at him I saw the pupil of his eye suddenly dilate. To the medical manprovided that some violent change in the light is not the cause of the dilationthat meant only one thing, terror. But it quickly resumed its normal proportion again. Then he got up, and stood in front of the fire. No, I dont think it is greatuncle anybody, he said, I dont know, as I told you, what the Thing is. But if you ask me what my conjecture is, it is that the Thing is an Elemental. And pray explain further. What is an Elemental? Once again his eye dilated. It will take two minutes, he said. But, listen. There are good things in this world, are there not, and bad things? Cancer, I take it is bad, andand fresh air is good; honesty is good, lying is bad. Impulses of some sort direct both sides, and some power suggests the impulses. Well, I went into this spiritualistic business impartially. I learned to expect, to throw open the door into the soul, and I said, Anyone may come in. And I think Something has applied for admission, the Thing that tapped and turned the table and struck matches, as you saw, across it. Now the control of the evil principle in the world is in the hands of a power which entrusts its errands to the things which I call Elementals. Oh, they have been seen; I doubt not that they will be seen again. I did not, and do not ask good spirits to come in. I dont want The Churchs one foundation played on a musical box. Nor do I want an Elemental. I only threw open the door. I believe the Thing has come into my house, and is establishing communication with me. Oh, I want to go the whole hog. What is it? In the name of Satan, if necessary, what is it? I just want to know. What followed I thought then might easily be an invention of the imagination, but what I believed to have happened was this. A piano with music on it was standing at the far end of the room by the door, and a sudden draught entered the room, so strong that the leaves turned. Next the draught troubled a vase of daffodils, and the yellow heads nodded. Then it reached the candles that stood close to us, and they fluttered, burning blue and low. Then it reached me, and the draught was cold, and stirred my hair. Then it eddied, so to speak, and went across to Louis, and his hair also moved, as I could see. Then it went downwards towards the fire, and flames suddenly started up in its path, blown upwards. The rug by the fireplace flapped also. Funny, wasnt it? he asked. And has the Elemental gone up the chimney? said I. Oh, no, said he, the Thing only passed us. Then suddenly he pointed at the wall just behind my chair, and his voice cracked as he spoke. Look, whats that? he said. There on the wall. Considerably startled I turned in the direction of his shaking finger. The wall was pale grey in tone, and sharpcut against it was a shadow that, as I looked, moved. It was like the shadow of some enormous slug, legless and fat, some two feet high by about four feet long. Only at one end of it was a head shaped like the head of a seal, with open mouth and panting tongue. Then even as I looked it faded, and from somewhere close at hand there sounded another of those shattering knocks. For a moment after there was silence between us, and horror was thick as snow in the air. But, somehow neither Louis or I were frightened for more than one moment. The whole thing was so absorbingly interesting. Thats what I mean by its being outside my control, he said. I said I was ready for anyany visitor to come in, and by God, weve got a beauty. Now I was still, even in spite of the appearance of this shadow, quite convinced that I was only taking observations of a most curious case of disordered brain accompanied by the most vivid and remarkable thoughttransference. I believed that I had not seen a sluglike shadow at all, but that Louis had visualised this dreadful creature so intensely that I saw what he saw. I found also that his spiritualistic trashbooks which I thought a truer nomenclature than textbooks, mentioned this as a common form for Elementals to take. He on the other hand was more firmly convinced than ever that we were dealing not with a subjective but an objective phenomenon. For the next six months or so we sat constantly, but made no further progress, nor did the Thing or its shadow appear again, and I began to feel that we were really wasting time.

Then it occurred to me, to get in a socalled medium, induce hypnotic sleep, and see if we could learn anything further. This we did, sitting as before round the diningroom table. The room was not quite dark, and I could see sufficiently clearly what happened. The medium, a young man, sat between Louis and myself, and without the slightest difficulty I put him into a light hypnotic sleep. Instantly there came a series of the most terrific raps, and across the table there slid something more palpable than a shadow, with a faint luminance about it, as if the surface of it was smouldering. At the moment the mediums face became contorted to a mask of hellish terror; mouth and eyes were both open, and the eyes were focused on something close to him. The Thing waving its head came closer and closer to him, and reached out towards his throat. Then with a yell of panic, and warding off this horror with his hands, the medium sprang up, but It had already caught hold, and for the moment he could not get free. Then simultaneously Louis and I went to his aid, and my hands touched something cold and slimy. But pull as we could we could not get it away. There was no firm handhold to be taken; it was as if one tried to grasp slimy fur, and the touch of it was horrible, unclean, like a leper. Then, in a sort of despair, though I still could not believe that the horror was real, for it must be a vision of diseased imagination, I remembered that the switch of the four electric lights was close to my hand. I turned them all on. There on the floor lay the medium, Louis was kneeling by him with a face of wet paper, but there was nothing else there. Only the collar of the medium was crumpled and torn, and on his throat were two scratches that bled. The medium was still in hypnotic sleep, and I woke him. He felt at his collar, put his hand to his throat and found it bleeding, but, as I expected, knew nothing whatever of what had passed. We told him that there had been an unusual manifestation, and he had, while in sleep, wrestled with something. We had got the result we wished for, and were much obliged to him. I never saw him again. A week after that he died of bloodpoisoning. From that evening dates the second stage of this adventure. The Thing had materialised (I use again spiritualistic language which I still did not use at the time). The huge slug, the Elemental, manifested itself no longer by knocks and waltzing tables, nor yet by shadows. It was there in a form that could be seen and felt. But it stillthis was my strong pointwas only a thing of twilight; the sudden kindling of the electric light had shown us that there was nothing there. In this struggle perhaps the medium had clutched his own throat, perhaps I had grasped Louis sleeve, he mine. But though I said these things to myself, I am not sure that I believed them in the same way that I believe the sun will rise tomorrow. Now as a student of brainfunctions and a student in hypnotic affairs, I ought perhaps to have steadily and unremittingly pursued this extraordinary series of phenomena. But I had my practice to attend to, and I found that with the best will in the world, I could think of nothing else except the occurrence in the hall next door. So I refused to take part in any further sance with Louis. I had another reason also. For the last four or five months he was becoming depraved. I have been no prude or Puritan in my own life, and I hope I have not turned a Pharisaical shoulder on sinners. But in all branches of life and morals, Louis had become infamous. He was turned out of a club for cheating at cards, and narrated the event to me with gusto. He had become cruel; he tortured his cat to death; he had become bestial. I used to shudder as I passed his house, expecting I knew not what fiendish thing to be looking at me from the window. Then came a night only a week ago, when I was awakened by an awful cry, swelling and falling and rising again. It came from next door. I ran downstairs in my pyjamas, and out into the street. The policeman on the beat had heard it too, and it came from the hall of Louis house, the window of which was open. Together we burst the door in. You know what we found. The screaming had ceased but a moment before, but he was dead already. Both jugulars were severed, torn open. It was dawn, early and dusky when I got back to my house next door. Even as I went in something seemed to push by me, something soft and slimy. It could not be Louis imagination this time. Since then I have seen glimpses of it every evening. I am awakened at night by tappings, and in the shadows in the corner of my room there sits something more substantial than a shadow. Within an hour of my leaving Dr. Assheton, the quiet street was once more aroused by cries of terror and agony. He was already dead, and in no other manner than his friend, when they got into the house. Ghost Stories By E. F. Benson. Uncopyright May you do good and not evil. May you find forgiveness for yourself and forgive others. May you share freely, never taking more than you give. Copyright pages exist to tell you that you cant do something. Unlike them, this Uncopyright page exists to tell you that the writing and artwork in this ebook are believed to be in the United States public domain; that is, they are believed to be free of copyright restrictions in the United States. The United States public domain represents our collective cultural heritage, and items in it are free for anyone in the United States to do almost anything at all with, without having to get permission. Copyright laws are different all over the world, and the source text or artwork in this ebook may still be copyrighted in other countries. If youre not located in the United States, you must check your local laws before using this ebook. Standard Ebooks makes no representations regarding the copyright status of the source text or artwork in this ebook in any country other than the United States. Nonauthorship activities performed on items that are in the public domainsocalled sweat of the brow workdont create a new copyright. That means that nobody can claim a new copyright on an item that is in the public domain for, among other things, work like digitization, markup, or typography. Regardless, the contributors to this ebook release their contributions under the terms in the CC0 1.0 Universal Public Domain Dedication, thus dedicating to the worldwide public domain all of the work theyve done on this ebook, including but not limited to metadata, the titlepage, imprint, colophon, this Uncopyright, and any changes or enhancements to, or markup on, the original text and artwork. This dedication doesnt change the copyright status of the source text or artwork. We make this dedication in the interest of enriching our global cultural heritage, to promote free and libre culture around the world, and to give back to the unrestricted culture that has given all of us so much. Table of Contents Titlepage Imprint The Room in the Tower The DustCloud Gavons Eve The Confession of Charles Linkworth At Abdul Alis Grave The Shootings of Achnaleish How Fear Departed from the Long Gallery Caterpillars The Cat The BusConductor The Man Who Went Too Far Between the Lights Outside the Door The Terror by Night The Other Bed The Thing in the Hall The House with the Brickkiln And the Dead Spake The Outcast The HorrorHorn Machaon Negotium Perambulans. At the Farmhouse Inscrutable Decrees The Gardener Mr. Tillys Sance Mrs. Amworth In the Tube Rodericks Story Colophon Uncopyright Landmarks Ghost Stories

I 1801.I have just returned from a visit to my landlordthe solitary neighbour that I shall be troubled with. This is certainly a beautiful country! In all England, I do not believe that I could have fixed on a situation so completely removed from the stir of society. A perfect misanthropists heaven and Mr. Heathcliff and I are such a suitable pair to divide the desolation between us. A capital fellow! He little imagined how my heart warmed towards him when I beheld his black eyes withdraw so suspiciously under their brows, as I rode up, and when his fingers sheltered themselves, with a jealous resolution, still further in his waistcoat, as I announced my name. Mr. Heathcliff? I said. A nod was the answer. Mr. Lockwood, your new tenant, sir. I do myself the honour of calling as soon as possible after my arrival, to express the hope that I have not inconvenienced you by my perseverance in soliciting the occupation of Thrushcross Grange I heard yesterday you had had some thoughts Thrushcross Grange is my own, sir, he interrupted, wincing. I should not allow anyone to inconvenience me, if I could hinder itwalk in! The walk in was uttered with closed teeth, and expressed the sentiment, Go to the Deuce! even the gate over which he leant manifested no sympathising movement to the words; and I think that circumstance determined me to accept the invitation I felt interested in a man who seemed more exaggeratedly reserved than myself. When he saw my horses breast fairly pushing the barrier, he did put out his hand to unchain it, and then sullenly preceded me up the causeway, calling, as we entered the courtJoseph, take Mr. Lockwoods horse; and bring up some wine. Here we have the whole establishment of domestics, I suppose, was the reflection suggested by this compound order. No wonder the grass grows up between the flags, and cattle are the only hedgecutters. Joseph was an elderly, nay, an old man very old, perhaps, though hale and sinewy. The Lord help us! he soliloquised in an undertone of peevish displeasure, while relieving me of my horse looking, meantime, in my face so sourly that I charitably conjectured he must have need of divine aid to digest his dinner, and his pious ejaculation had no reference to my unexpected advent. Wuthering Heights is the name of Mr. Heathcliffs dwelling. Wuthering being a significant provincial adjective, descriptive of the atmospheric tumult to which its station is exposed in stormy weather. Pure, bracing ventilation they must have up there at all times, indeed one may guess the power of the north wind blowing over the edge, by the excessive slant of a few stunted firs at the end of the house; and by a range of gaunt thorns all stretching their limbs one way, as if craving alms of the sun. Happily, the architect had foresight to build it strong the narrow windows are deeply set in the wall, and the corners defended with large jutting stones. Before passing the threshold, I paused to admire a quantity of grotesque carving lavished over the front, and especially about the principal door; above which, among a wilderness of crumbling griffins and shameless little boys, I detected the date 1500, and the name Hareton Earnshaw. I would have made a few comments, and requested a short history of the place from the surly owner; but his attitude at the door appeared to demand my speedy entrance, or complete departure, and I had no desire to aggravate his impatience previous to inspecting the penetralium. One stop brought us into the family sittingroom, without any introductory lobby or passage they call it here the house preeminently. It includes kitchen and parlour, generally; but I believe at Wuthering Heights the kitchen is forced to retreat altogether into another quarter at least I distinguished a chatter of tongues, and a clatter of culinary utensils, deep within; and I observed no signs of roasting, boiling, or baking, about the huge fireplace; nor any glitter of copper saucepans and tin cullenders on the walls. One end, indeed, reflected splendidly both light and heat from ranks of immense pewter dishes, interspersed with silver jugs and tankards, towering row after row, on a vast oak dresser, to the very roof. The latter had never been underdrawn its entire anatomy lay bare to an inquiring eye, except where a frame of wood laden with oatcakes and clusters of legs of beef, mutton, and ham, concealed it. Above the chimney were sundry villainous old guns, and a couple of horsepistols and, by way of ornament, three gaudilypainted canisters disposed along its ledge. The floor was of smooth, white stone; the chairs, highbacked, primitive structures, painted green one or two heavy black ones lurking in the shade. In an arch under the dresser reposed a huge, livercoloured bitch pointer, surrounded by a swarm of squealing puppies; and other dogs haunted other recesses. The apartment and furniture would have been nothing extraordinary as belonging to a homely, northern farmer, with a stubborn countenance, and stalwart limbs set out to advantage in kneebreeches and gaiters. Such an individual seated in his armchair, his mug of ale frothing on the round table before him, is to be seen in any circuit of five or six miles among these hills, if you go at the right time after dinner. But Mr. Heathcliff forms a singular contrast to his abode and style of living. He is a darkskinned gipsy in aspect, in dress and manners a gentleman that is, as much a gentleman as many a country squire rather slovenly, perhaps, yet not looking amiss with his negligence, because he has an erect and handsome figure; and rather morose. Possibly, some people might suspect him of a degree of underbred pride; I have a sympathetic chord within that tells me it is nothing of the sort I know, by instinct, his reserve springs from an aversion to showy displays of feelingto manifestations of mutual kindliness. Hell love and hate equally under cover, and esteem it a species of impertinence to be loved or hated again. No, Im running on too fast I bestow my own attributes overliberally on him. Mr. Heathcliff may have entirely dissimilar reasons for keeping his hand out of the way when he meets a wouldbe acquaintance, to those which actuate me. Let me hope my constitution is almost peculiar my dear mother used to say I should never have a comfortable home; and only last summer I proved myself perfectly unworthy of one. While enjoying a month of fine weather at the seacoast, I was thrown into the company of a most fascinating creature a real goddess in my eyes, as long as she took no notice of me. I never told my love vocally; still, if looks have language, the merest idiot might have guessed I was over head and ears she understood me at last, and looked a returnthe sweetest of all imaginable looks. And what did I do? I confess it with shameshrunk icily into myself, like a snail; at every glance retired colder and farther; till finally the poor innocent was led to doubt her own senses, and, overwhelmed with confusion at her supposed mistake, persuaded her mamma to decamp. By this curious turn of disposition I have gained the reputation of deliberate heartlessness; how undeserved, I alone can appreciate. I took a seat at the end of the hearthstone opposite that towards which my landlord advanced, and filled up an interval of silence by attempting to caress the canine mother, who had left her nursery, and was sneaking wolfishly to the back of my legs, her lip curled up, and her white teeth watering for a snatch. My caress provoked a long, guttural gnarl. Youd better let the dog alone, growled Mr. Heathcliff in unison, checking fiercer demonstrations with a punch of his foot. Shes not accustomed to be spoilednot kept for a pet. Then, striding to a side door, he shouted again, Joseph! Joseph mumbled indistinctly in the depths of the cellar, but gave no intimation of ascending; so his master dived down to him, leaving me visvis the ruffianly bitch and a pair of grim shaggy sheepdogs, who shared with her a jealous guardianship over all my movements. Not anxious to come in contact with their fangs, I sat still; but, imagining they would scarcely understand tacit insults, I unfortunately indulged in winking and making faces at the trio, and some turn of my physiognomy so irritated madam, that she suddenly broke into a fury and leapt on my knees. I flung her back, and hastened to interpose the table between us. This proceeding aroused the whole hive halfadozen fourfooted fiends, of various sizes and ages, issued from hidden dens to the common centre. I felt my heels and coatlaps peculiar subjects of assault; and parrying off the larger combatants as effectually as I could with the poker, I was constrained to demand, aloud, assistance from some of the household in reestablishing peace. Mr. Heathcliff and his man climbed the cellar steps with vexatious phlegm I dont think they moved one second faster than usual, though the hearth was an absolute tempest of worrying and yelping. Happily, an inhabitant of the kitchen made more despatch a lusty dame, with tuckedup gown, bare arms, and fireflushed cheeks, rushed into the midst of us flourishing a fryingpan and used that weapon, and her tongue, to such purpose, that the storm subsided magically, and she only remained, heaving like a sea after a high wind, when her master entered on the scene. What the devil is the matter? he asked, eyeing me in a manner that I could ill endure, after this inhospitable treatment. What the devil, indeed! I muttered. The herd of possessed swine could have had no worse spirits in them than those animals of yours, sir. You might as well leave a stranger with a brood of tigers! They wont meddle with persons who touch nothing, he remarked, putting the bottle before me, and restoring the displaced table. The dogs do right to be vigilant. Take a glass of wine? No, thank you. Not bitten, are you? If I had been, I would have set my signet on the biter. Heathcliffs countenance relaxed into a grin. Come, come, he said, you are flurried, Mr. Lockwood. Here, take a little wine. Guests are so exceedingly rare in this house that I and my dogs, I am willing to own, hardly know how to receive them. Your health, sir? I bowed and returned the pledge; beginning to perceive that it would be foolish to sit sulking for the misbehaviour of a pack of curs; besides, I felt loth to yield the fellow further amusement at my expense; since his humour took that turn. Heprobably swayed by prudential consideration of the folly of offending a good tenantrelaxed a little in the laconic style of chipping off his pronouns and auxiliary verbs, and introduced what he supposed would be a subject of interest to mea discourse on the advantages and disadvantages of my present place of retirement. I found him very intelligent on the topics we touched; and before I went home, I was encouraged so far as to volunteer another visit tomorrow. He evidently wished no repetition of my intrusion. I shall go, notwithstanding. It is astonishing how sociable I feel myself compared with him. II Yesterday afternoon set in misty and cold. I had half a mind to spend it by my study fire, instead of wading through heath and mud to Wuthering Heights. On coming up from dinner, however, (N.B.I dine between twelve and one oclock; the housekeeper, a matronly lady, taken as a fixture along with the house, could not, or would not, comprehend my request that I might be served at five)on mounting the stairs with this lazy intention, and stepping into the room, I saw a servantgirl on her knees surrounded by brushes and coalscuttles, and raising an infernal dust as she extinguished the flames with heaps of cinders. This spectacle drove me back immediately; I took my hat, and, after a fourmiles walk, arrived at Heathcliffs gardengate just in time to escape the first feathery flakes of a snowshower. On that bleak hilltop the earth was hard with a black frost, and the air made me shiver through every limb. Being unable to remove the chain, I jumped over, and, running up the flagged causeway bordered with straggling gooseberrybushes, knocked vainly for admittance, till my knuckles tingled and the dogs howled. Wretched inmates! I ejaculated, mentally, you deserve perpetual isolation from your species for your churlish inhospitality. At least, I would not keep my doors barred in the daytime. I dont careI will get in! So resolved, I grasped the latch and shook it vehemently. Vinegarfaced Joseph projected his head from a round window of the barn. What are ye for? he shouted. T maisters down i t fowld. Go round by th end o t laith, if ye went to spake to him. Is there nobody inside to open the door? I hallooed, responsively. Theres nobbut t missis; and shooll not oppen t an ye mak yer flaysome dins till neeght. Why? Cannot you tell her whom I am, eh, Joseph? Norne me! Ill hae no hend wit, muttered the head, vanishing. The snow began to drive thickly. I seized the handle to essay another trial; when a young man without coat, and shouldering a pitchfork, appeared in the yard behind. He hailed me to follow him, and, after marching through a washhouse, and a paved area containing a coalshed, pump, and pigeoncot, we at length arrived in the huge, warm, cheerful apartment where I was formerly received. It glowed delightfully in the radiance of an immense fire, compounded of coal, peat, and wood; and near the table, laid for a plentiful evening meal, I was pleased to observe the missis, an individual whose existence I had never previously suspected. I bowed and waited, thinking she would bid me take a seat. She looked at me, leaning back in her chair, and remained motionless and mute. Rough weather! I remarked. Im afraid, Mrs. Heathcliff, the door must bear the consequence of your servants leisure attendance I had hard work to make them hear me. She never opened her mouth. I staredshe stared also at any rate, she kept her eyes on me in a cool, regardless manner, exceedingly embarrassing and disagreeable. Sit down, said the young man, gruffly. Hell be in soon. I obeyed; and hemmed, and called the villain Juno, who deigned, at this second interview, to move the extreme tip of her tail, in token of owning my acquaintance. A beautiful animal! I commenced again. Do you intend parting with the little ones, madam? They are not mine, said the amiable hostess, more repellingly than Heathcliff himself could have replied. Ah, your favourites are among these? I continued, turning to an obscure cushion full of something like cats. A strange choice of favourites! she observed scornfully. Unluckily, it was a heap of dead rabbits. I hemmed once more, and drew closer to the hearth, repeating my comment on the wildness of the evening. You should not have come out, she said, rising and reaching from the chimneypiece two of the painted canisters. Her position before was sheltered from the light; now, I had a distinct view of her whole figure and countenance. She was slender, and apparently scarcely past girlhood an admirable form, and the most exquisite little face that I have ever had the pleasure of beholding; small features, very fair; flaxen ringlets, or rather golden, hanging loose on her delicate neck; and eyes, had they been agreeable in expression, that would have been irresistible fortunately for my susceptible heart, the only sentiment they evinced hovered between scorn and a kind of desperation, singularly unnatural to be detected there. The canisters were almost out of her reach; I made a motion to aid her; she turned upon me as a miser might turn if anyone attempted to assist him in counting his gold. I dont want your help, she snapped; I can get them for myself. I beg your pardon! I hastened to reply. Were you asked to tea? she demanded, tying an apron over her neat black frock, and standing with a spoonful of the leaf poised over the pot. I shall be glad to have a cup, I answered. Were you asked? she repeated. No, I said, half smiling. You are the proper person to ask me. She flung the tea back, spoon and all, and resumed her chair in a pet; her forehead corrugated, and her red underlip pushed out, like a childs ready to cry. Meanwhile, the young man had slung on to his person a decidedly shabby upper garment, and, erecting himself before the blaze, looked down on me from the corner of his eyes, for all the world as if there were some mortal feud unavenged between us. I began to doubt whether he were a servant or not his dress and speech were both rude, entirely devoid of the superiority observable in Mr. and Mrs. Heathcliff; his thick brown curls were rough and uncultivated, his whiskers encroached bearishly over his cheeks, and his hands were embrowned like those of a common labourer still his bearing was free, almost haughty, and he showed none of a domestics assiduity in attending on the lady of the house. In the absence of clear proofs of his condition, I deemed it best to abstain from noticing his curious conduct; and, five minutes afterwards, the entrance of Heathcliff relieved me, in some measure, from my uncomfortable state. You see, sir, I am come, according to promise! I exclaimed, assuming the cheerful; and I fear I shall be weatherbound for half an hour, if you can afford me shelter during that space. Half an hour? he said, shaking the white flakes from his clothes; I wonder you should select the thick of a snowstorm to ramble about in. Do you know that you run a risk of being lost in the marshes? People familiar with these moors often miss their road on such evenings; and I can tell you there is no chance of a change at present. Perhaps I can get a guide among your lads, and he might stay at the Grange till morningcould you spare me one? No, I could not. Oh, indeed! Well, then, I must trust to my own sagacity. Umph! Are you going to mak the tea? demanded he of the shabby coat, shifting his ferocious gaze from me to the young lady. Is he to have any? she asked, appealing to Heathcliff. Get it ready, will you? was the answer, uttered so savagely that I started. The tone in which the words were said revealed a genuine bad nature. I no longer felt inclined to call Heathcliff a capital fellow. When the preparations were finished, he invited me withNow, sir, bring forward your chair. And we all, including the rustic youth, drew round the table an austere silence prevailing while we discussed our meal. I thought, if I had caused the cloud, it was my duty to make an effort to dispel it. They could not every day sit so grim and taciturn; and it was impossible, however illtempered they might be, that the universal scowl they wore was their everyday countenance. It is strange, I began, in the interval of swallowing one cup of tea and receiving anotherit is strange how custom can mould our tastes and ideas many could not imagine the existence of happiness in a life of such complete exile from the world as you spend, Mr. Heathcliff; yet, Ill venture to say, that, surrounded by your family, and with your amiable lady as the presiding genius over your home and heart My amiable lady! he interrupted, with an almost diabolical sneer on his face. Where is shemy amiable lady? Mrs. Heathcliff, your wife, I mean. Well, yesoh, you would intimate that her spirit has taken the post of ministering angel, and guards the fortunes of Wuthering Heights, even when her body is gone. Is that it? Perceiving myself in a blunder, I attempted to correct it. I might have seen there was too great a disparity between the ages of the parties to make it likely that they were man and wife. One was about forty a period of mental vigour at which men seldom cherish the delusion of being married for love by girls that dream is reserved for the solace of our declining years. The other did not look seventeen. Then it flashed upon meThe clown at my elbow, who is drinking his tea out of a basin and eating his bread with unwashed hands, may be her husband Heathcliff junior, of course. Here is the consequence of being buried alive she has thrown herself away upon that boor from sheer ignorance that better individuals existed! A sad pityI must beware how I cause her to regret her choice. The last reflection may seem conceited; it was not. My neighbour struck me as bordering on repulsive; I knew, through experience, that I was tolerably attractive. Mrs. Heathcliff is my daughterinlaw, said Heathcliff, corroborating my surmise. He turned, as he spoke, a peculiar look in her direction a look of hatred; unless he has a most perverse set of facial muscles that will not, like those of other people, interpret the language of his soul. Ah, certainlyI see now you are the favoured possessor of the beneficent fairy, I remarked, turning to my neighbour. This was worse than before the youth grew crimson, and clenched his fist, with every appearance of a meditated assault. But he seemed to recollect himself presently, and smothered the storm in a brutal curse, muttered on my behalf which, however, I took care not to notice. Unhappy in your conjectures, sir, observed my host; we neither of us have the privilege of owning your good fairy; her mate is dead. I said she was my daughterinlaw therefore, she must have married my son. And this young man is Not my son, assuredly. Heathcliff smiled again, as if it were rather too bold a jest to attribute the paternity of that bear to him. My name is Hareton Earnshaw, growled the other; and Id counsel you to respect it! Ive shown no disrespect, was my reply, laughing internally at the dignity with which he announced himself. He fixed his eye on me longer than I cared to return the stare, for fear I might be tempted either to box his ears or render my hilarity audible. I began to feel unmistakably out of place in that pleasant family circle. The dismal spiritual atmosphere overcame, and more than neutralised, the glowing physical comforts round me; and I resolved to be cautious how I ventured under those rafters a third time. The business of eating being concluded, and no one uttering a word of sociable conversation, I approached a window to examine the weather. A sorrowful sight I saw dark night coming down prematurely, and sky and hills mingled in one bitter whirl of wind and suffocating snow. I dont think it possible for me to get home now without a guide, I could not help exclaiming. The roads will be buried already; and, if they were bare, I could scarcely distinguish a foot in advance. Hareton, drive those dozen sheep into the barn porch. Theyll be covered if left in the fold all night and put a plank before them, said Heathcliff. How must I do? I continued, with rising irritation. There was no reply to my question; and on looking round I saw only Joseph bringing in a pail of porridge for the dogs, and Mrs. Heathcliff leaning over the fire, diverting herself with burning a bundle of matches which had fallen from the chimneypiece as she restored the teacanister to its place. The former, when he had deposited his burden, took a critical survey of the room, and in cracked tones grated outAw wonder how yah can faishion to stand thear i idleness un war, when all on ems goan out! Bud yahre a nowt, and its no use talkingyahll niver mend oyer ill ways, but goa raight to t divil, like yer mother afore ye! I imagined, for a moment, that this piece of eloquence was addressed to me; and, sufficiently enraged, stepped towards the aged rascal with an intention of kicking him out of the door. Mrs. Heathcliff, however, checked me by her answer. You scandalous old hypocrite! she replied. Are you not afraid of being carried away bodily, whenever you mention the devils name? I warn you to refrain from provoking me, or Ill ask your abduction as a special favour! Stop! look here, Joseph, she continued, taking a long, dark book from a shelf; Ill show you how far Ive progressed in the Black Art I shall soon be competent to make a clear house of it. The red cow didnt die by chance; and your rheumatism can hardly be reckoned among providential visitations! Oh, wicked, wicked! gasped the elder; may the Lord deliver us from evil! No, reprobate! you are a castawaybe off, or Ill hurt you seriously! Ill have you all modelled in wax and clay! and the first who passes the limits I fix shallIll not say what he shall be done tobut, youll see! Go, Im looking at you! The little witch put a mock malignity into her beautiful eyes, and Joseph, trembling with sincere horror, hurried out, praying, and ejaculating wicked as he went. I thought her conduct must be prompted by a species of dreary fun; and, now that we were alone, I endeavoured to interest her in my distress. Mrs. Heathcliff, I said earnestly, you must excuse me for troubling you. I presume, because, with that face, Im sure you cannot help being goodhearted. Do point out some landmarks by which I may know my way home I have no more idea how to get there than you would have how to get to London! Take the road you came, she answered, ensconcing herself in a chair, with a candle, and the long book open before her. It is brief advice, but as sound as I can give. Then, if you hear of me being discovered dead in a bog or a pit full of snow, your conscience wont whisper that it is partly your fault? How so? I cannot escort you. They wouldnt let me go to the end of the garden wall. You! I should be sorry to ask you to cross the threshold, for my convenience, on such a night, I cried. I want you to tell me my way, not to show it or else to persuade Mr. Heathcliff to give me a guide. Who? There is himself, Earnshaw, Zillah, Joseph and I. Which would you have? Are there no boys at the farm? No; those are all. Then, it follows that I am compelled to stay. That you may settle with your host. I have nothing to do with it. I hope it will be a lesson to you to make no more rash journeys on these hills, cried Heathcliffs stern voice from the kitchen entrance. As to staying here, I dont keep accommodations for visitors you must share a bed with Hareton or Joseph, if you do. I can sleep on a chair in this room, I replied. No, no! A stranger is a stranger, be he rich or poor it will not suit me to permit anyone the range of the place while I am off guard! said the unmannerly wretch. With this insult my patience was at an end. I uttered an expression of disgust, and pushed past him into the yard, running against Earnshaw in my haste. It was so dark that I could not see the means of exit; and, as I wandered round, I heard another specimen of their civil behaviour amongst each other. At first the young man appeared about to befriend me. Ill go with him as far as the park, he said. Youll go with him to hell! exclaimed his master, or whatever relation he bore. And who is to look after the horses, eh? A mans life is of more consequence than one evenings neglect of the horses somebody must go, murmured Mrs. Heathcliff, more kindly than I expected. Not at your command! retorted Hareton. If you set store on him, youd better be quiet. Then I hope his ghost will haunt you; and I hope Mr. Heathcliff will never get another tenant till the Grange is a ruin, she answered, sharply. Hearken, hearken, shoos cursing on em! muttered Joseph, towards whom I had been steering. He sat within earshot, milking the cows by the light of a lantern, which I seized unceremoniously, and, calling out that I would send it back on the morrow, rushed to the nearest postern. Maister, maister, hes staling t lanthern! shouted the ancient, pursuing my retreat. Hey, Gnasher! Hey, dog! Hey Wolf, holld him, holld him! On opening the little door, two hairy monsters flew at my throat, bearing me down, and extinguishing the light; while a mingled guffaw from Heathcliff and Hareton put the copestone on my rage and humiliation. Fortunately, the beasts seemed more bent on stretching their paws, and yawning, and flourishing their tails, than devouring me alive; but they would suffer no resurrection, and I was forced to lie till their malignant masters pleased to deliver me then, hatless and trembling with wrath, I ordered the miscreants to let me outon their peril to keep me one minute longerwith several incoherent threats of retaliation that, in their indefinite depth of virulency, smacked of King Lear. The vehemence of my agitation brought on a copious bleeding at the nose, and still Heathcliff laughed, and still I scolded. I dont know what would have concluded the scene, had there not been one person at hand rather more rational than myself, and more benevolent than my entertainer. This was Zillah, the stout housewife; who at length issued forth to inquire into the nature of the uproar. She thought that some of them had been laying violent hands on me; and, not daring to attack her master, she turned her vocal artillery against the younger scoundrel. Well, Mr. Earnshaw, she cried, I wonder what youll have agait next? Are we going to murder folk on our very doorstones? I see this house will never do for melook at t poor lad, hes fair choking! Wisht, wisht; you munnt go on so. Come in, and Ill cure that there now, hold ye still. With these words she suddenly splashed a pint of icy water down my neck, and pulled me into the kitchen. Mr. Heathcliff followed, his accidental merriment expiring quickly in his habitual moroseness. I was sick exceedingly, and dizzy, and faint; and thus compelled perforce to accept lodgings under his roof. He told Zillah to give me a glass of brandy, and then passed on to the inner room; while she condoled with me on my sorry predicament, and having obeyed his orders, whereby I was somewhat revived, ushered me to bed. III While leading the way upstairs, she recommended that I should hide the candle, and not make a noise; for her master had an odd notion about the chamber she would put me in, and never let anybody lodge there willingly. I asked the reason. She did not know, she answered she had only lived there a year or two; and they had so many queer goings on, she could not begin to be curious. Too stupefied to be curious myself, I fastened my door and glanced round for the bed. The whole furniture consisted of a chair, a clothespress, and a large oak case, with squares cut out near the top resembling coach windows. Having approached this structure, I looked inside, and perceived it to be a singular sort of oldfashioned couch, very conveniently designed to obviate the necessity for every member of the family having a room to himself. In fact, it formed a little closet, and the ledge of a window, which it enclosed, served as a table. I slid back the panelled sides, got in with my light, pulled them together again, and felt secure against the vigilance of Heathcliff, and everyone else. The ledge, where I placed my candle, had a few mildewed books piled up in one corner; and it was covered with writing scratched on the paint. This writing, however, was nothing but a name repeated in all kinds of characters, large and smallCatherine Earnshaw, here and there varied to Catherine Heathcliff, and then again to Catherine Linton. In vapid listlessness I leant my head against the window, and continued spelling over Catherine EarnshawHeathcliffLinton, till my eyes closed; but they had not rested five minutes when a glare of white letters started from the dark, as vivid as spectresthe air swarmed with Catherines; and rousing myself to dispel the obtrusive name, I discovered my candlewick reclining on one of the antique volumes, and perfuming the place with an odour of roasted calfskin. I snuffed it off, and, very ill at ease under the influence of cold and lingering nausea, sat up and spread open the injured tome on my knee. It was a Testament, in lean type, and smelling dreadfully musty a flyleaf bore the inscriptionCatherine Earnshaw, her book, and a date some quarter of a century back. I shut it, and took up another and another, till I had examined all.

Catherines library was select, and its state of dilapidation proved it to have been well used, though not altogether for a legitimate purpose scarcely one chapter had escaped a penandink commentaryat least the appearance of onecovering every morsel of blank that the printer had left. Some were detached sentences; other parts took the form of a regular diary, scrawled in an unformed, childish hand. At the top of an extra page (quite a treasure, probably, when first lighted on) I was greatly amused to behold an excellent caricature of my friend Josephrudely, yet powerfully sketched. An immediate interest kindled within me for the unknown Catherine, and I began forthwith to decipher her faded hieroglyphics. An awful Sunday, commenced the paragraph beneath. I wish my father were back again. Hindley is a detestable substitutehis conduct to Heathcliff is atrociousH. and I are going to rebelwe took our initiatory step this evening. All day had been flooding with rain; we could not go to church, so Joseph must needs get up a congregation in the garret; and, while Hindley and his wife basked downstairs before a comfortable firedoing anything but reading their Bibles, Ill answer for itHeathcliff, myself, and the unhappy ploughboy were commanded to take our prayerbooks, and mount we were ranged in a row, on a sack of corn, groaning and shivering, and hoping that Joseph would shiver too, so that he might give us a short homily for his own sake. A vain idea! The service lasted precisely three hours; and yet my brother had the face to exclaim, when he saw us descending, What, done already? On Sunday evenings we used to be permitted to play, if we did not make much noise; now a mere titter is sufficient to send us into corners. You forget you have a master here, says the tyrant. Ill demolish the first who puts me out of temper! I insist on perfect sobriety and silence. Oh, boy! was that you? Frances darling, pull his hair as you go by I heard him snap his fingers. Frances pulled his hair heartily, and then went and seated herself on her husbands knee, and there they were, like two babies, kissing and talking nonsense by the hourfoolish palaver that we should be ashamed of. We made ourselves as snug as our means allowed in the arch of the dresser. I had just fastened our pinafores together, and hung them up for a curtain, when in comes Joseph, on an errand from the stables. He tears down my handiwork, boxes my ears, and croaks T maister nobbut just buried, and Sabbath not oered, und t sound o t gospel still i yer lugs, and ye darr be laiking! Shame on ye! sit ye down, ill childer! theres good books eneugh if yell read em sit ye down, and think o yer sowls! Saying this, he compelled us so to square our positions that we might receive from the faroff fire a dull ray to show us the text of the lumber he thrust upon us. I could not bear the employment. I took my dingy volume by the scroop, and hurled it into the dogkennel, vowing I hated a good book. Heathcliff kicked his to the same place. Then there was a hubbub! Maister Hindley! shouted our chaplain. Maister, coom hither! Miss Cathys riven th back off Th Helmet o Salvation, un Heathcliffs pawsed his fit into t first part o T Brooad Way to Destruction! Its fair flaysome that ye let em go on this gait. Ech! th owd man wad ha laced em properlybut hes goan! Hindley hurried up from his paradise on the hearth, and seizing one of us by the collar, and the other by the arm, hurled both into the backkitchen; where, Joseph asseverated, owd Nick would fetch us as sure as we were living and, so comforted, we each sought a separate nook to await his advent. I reached this book, and a pot of ink from a shelf, and pushed the housedoor ajar to give me light, and I have got the time on with writing for twenty minutes; but my companion is impatient, and proposes that we should appropriate the dairywomans cloak, and have a scamper on the moors, under its shelter. A pleasant suggestionand then, if the surly old man come in, he may believe his prophecy verifiedwe cannot be damper, or colder, in the rain than we are here. I suppose Catherine fulfilled her project, for the next sentence took up another subject she waxed lachrymose. How little did I dream that Hindley would ever make me cry so! she wrote. My head aches, till I cannot keep it on the pillow; and still I cant give over. Poor Heathcliff! Hindley calls him a vagabond, and wont let him sit with us, nor eat with us any more; and, he says, he and I must not play together, and threatens to turn him out of the house if we break his orders. He has been blaming our father (how dared he?) for treating H. too liberally; and swears he will reduce him to his right place I began to nod drowsily over the dim page my eye wandered from manuscript to print. I saw a red ornamented titleSeventy Times Seven, and the First of the SeventyFirst. A Pious Discourse delivered by the Reverend Jabez Branderham, in the Chapel of Gimmerden Sough. And while I was, halfconsciously, worrying my brain to guess what Jabez Branderham would make of his subject, I sank back in bed, and fell asleep. Alas, for the effects of bad tea and bad temper! What else could it be that made me pass such a terrible night? I dont remember another that I can at all compare with it since I was capable of suffering. I began to dream, almost before I ceased to be sensible of my locality. I thought it was morning; and I had set out on my way home, with Joseph for a guide. The snow lay yards deep in our road; and, as we floundered on, my companion wearied me with constant reproaches that I had not brought a pilgrims staff telling me that I could never get into the house without one, and boastfully flourishing a heavyheaded cudgel, which I understood to be so denominated. For a moment I considered it absurd that I should need such a weapon to gain admittance into my own residence. Then a new idea flashed across me. I was not going there we were journeying to hear the famous Jabez Branderham preach, from the textSeventy Times Seven; and either Joseph, the preacher, or I had committed the First of the SeventyFirst, and were to be publicly exposed and excommunicated. We came to the chapel. I have passed it really in my walks, twice or thrice; it lies in a hollow, between two hills an elevated hollow, near a swamp, whose peaty moisture is said to answer all the purposes of embalming on the few corpses deposited there. The roof has been kept whole hitherto; but as the clergymans stipend is only twenty pounds per annum, and a house with two rooms, threatening speedily to determine into one, no clergyman will undertake the duties of pastor especially as it is currently reported that his flock would rather let him starve than increase the living by one penny from their own pockets. However, in my dream, Jabez had a full and attentive congregation; and he preachedgood God! what a sermon; divided into four hundred and ninety parts, each fully equal to an ordinary address from the pulpit, and each discussing a separate sin! Where he searched for them, I cannot tell. He had his private manner of interpreting the phrase, and it seemed necessary the brother should sin different sins on every occasion. They were of the most curious character odd transgressions that I never imagined previously. Oh, how weary I grow. How I writhed, and yawned, and nodded, and revived! How I pinched and pricked myself, and rubbed my eyes, and stood up, and sat down again, and nudged Joseph to inform me if he would ever have done. I was condemned to hear all out finally, he reached the First of the SeventyFirst. At that crisis, a sudden inspiration descended on me; I was moved to rise and denounce Jabez Branderham as the sinner of the sin that no Christian need pardon. Sir, I exclaimed, sitting here within these four walls, at one stretch, I have endured and forgiven the four hundred and ninety heads of your discourse. Seventy times seven times have I plucked up my hat and been about to departSeventy times seven times have you preposterously forced me to resume my seat. The four hundred and ninetyfirst is too much. Fellowmartyrs, have at him! Drag him down, and crush him to atoms, that the place which knows him may know him no more! Thou art the Man! cried Jabez, after a solemn pause, leaning over his cushion. Seventy times seven times didst thou gapingly contort thy visageseventy times seven did I take counsel with my soulLo, this is human weakness this also may be absolved! The First of the SeventyFirst is come. Brethren, execute upon him the judgment written. Such honour have all His saints! With that concluding word, the whole assembly, exalting their pilgrims staves, rushed round me in a body; and I, having no weapon to raise in selfdefence, commenced grappling with Joseph, my nearest and most ferocious assailant, for his. In the confluence of the multitude, several clubs crossed; blows, aimed at me, fell on other sconces. Presently the whole chapel resounded with rappings and counter rappings every mans hand was against his neighbour; and Branderham, unwilling to remain idle, poured forth his zeal in a shower of loud taps on the boards of the pulpit, which responded so smartly that, at last, to my unspeakable relief, they woke me. And what was it that had suggested the tremendous tumult? What had played Jabezs part in the row? Merely the branch of a firtree that touched my lattice as the blast wailed by, and rattled its dry cones against the panes! I listened doubtingly an instant; detected the disturber, then turned and dozed, and dreamt again if possible, still more disagreeably than before. This time, I remembered I was lying in the oak closet, and I heard distinctly the gusty wind, and the driving of the snow; I heard, also, the fir bough repeat its teasing sound, and ascribed it to the right cause but it annoyed me so much, that I resolved to silence it, if possible; and, I thought, I rose and endeavoured to unhasp the casement. The hook was soldered into the staple a circumstance observed by me when awake, but forgotten. I must stop it, nevertheless! I muttered, knocking my knuckles through the glass, and stretching an arm out to seize the importunate branch; instead of which, my fingers closed on the fingers of a little, icecold hand! The intense horror of nightmare came over me I tried to draw back my arm, but the hand clung to it, and a most melancholy voice sobbed, Let me inlet me in! Who are you? I asked, struggling, meanwhile, to disengage myself. Catherine Linton, it replied, shiveringly (why did I think of Linton? I had read Earnshaw twenty times for Linton)Im come home Id lost my way on the moor! As it spoke, I discerned, obscurely, a childs face looking through the window. Terror made me cruel; and, finding it useless to attempt shaking the creature off, I pulled its wrist on to the broken pane, and rubbed it to and fro till the blood ran down and soaked the bedclothes still it wailed, Let me in! and maintained its tenacious grip, almost maddening me with fear. How can I! I said at length. Let me go, if you want me to let you in! The fingers relaxed, I snatched mine through the hole, hurriedly piled the books up in a pyramid against it, and stopped my ears to exclude the lamentable prayer. I seemed to keep them closed above a quarter of an hour; yet, the instant I listened again, there was the doleful cry moaning on! Begone! I shouted. Ill never let you in, not if you beg for twenty years. It is twenty years, mourned the voice twenty years. Ive been a waif for twenty years! Thereat began a feeble scratching outside, and the pile of books moved as if thrust forward. I tried to jump up; but could not stir a limb; and so yelled aloud, in a frenzy of fright. To my confusion, I discovered the yell was not ideal hasty footsteps approached my chamber door; somebody pushed it open, with a vigorous hand, and a light glimmered through the squares at the top of the bed. I sat shuddering yet, and wiping the perspiration from my forehead the intruder appeared to hesitate, and muttered to himself. At last, he said, in a halfwhisper, plainly not expecting an answer, Is anyone here? I considered it best to confess my presence; for I knew Heathcliffs accents, and feared he might search further, if I kept quiet. With this intention, I turned and opened the panels. I shall not soon forget the effect my action produced. Heathcliff stood near the entrance, in his shirt and trousers; with a candle dripping over his fingers, and his face as white as the wall behind him. The first creak of the oak startled him like an electric shock the light leaped from his hold to a distance of some feet, and his agitation was so extreme, that he could hardly pick it up. It is only your guest, sir, I called out, desirous to spare him the humiliation of exposing his cowardice further. I had the misfortune to scream in my sleep, owing to a frightful nightmare. Im sorry I disturbed you. Oh, God confound you, Mr. Lockwood! I wish you were at the commenced my host, setting the candle on a chair, because he found it impossible to hold it steady. And who showed you up into this room? he continued, crushing his nails into his palms, and grinding his teeth to subdue the maxillary convulsions. Who was it? Ive a good mind to turn them out of the house this moment? It was your servant Zillah, I replied, flinging myself on to the floor, and rapidly resuming my garments. I should not care if you did, Mr. Heathcliff; she richly deserves it. I suppose that she wanted to get another proof that the place was haunted, at my expense. Well, it isswarming with ghosts and goblins! You have reason in shutting it up, I assure you. No one will thank you for a doze in such a den! What do you mean? asked Heathcliff, and what are you doing? Lie down and finish out the night, since you are here; but, for heavens sake! dont repeat that horrid noise nothing could excuse it, unless you were having your throat cut! If the little fiend had got in at the window, she probably would have strangled me! I returned. Im not going to endure the persecutions of your hospitable ancestors again. Was not the Reverend Jabez Branderham akin to you on the mothers side? And that minx, Catherine Linton, or Earnshaw, or however she was calledshe must have been a changelingwicked little soul! She told me she had been walking the earth these twenty years a just punishment for her mortal transgressions, Ive no doubt! Scarcely were these words uttered when I recollected the association of Heathcliffs with Catherines name in the book, which had completely slipped from my memory, till thus awakened. I blushed at my inconsideration but, without showing further consciousness of the offence, I hastened to addThe truth is, sir, I passed the first part of the night in Here I stopped afreshI was about to say perusing those old volumes, then it would have revealed my knowledge of their written, as well as their printed, contents; so, correcting myself, I went onin spelling over the name scratched on that windowledge. A monotonous occupation, calculated to set me asleep, like counting, or What can you mean by talking in this way to me! thundered Heathcliff with savage vehemence. Howhow dare you, under my roof?God! hes mad to speak so! And he struck his forehead with rage. I did not know whether to resent this language or pursue my explanation; but he seemed so powerfully affected that I took pity and proceeded with my dreams; affirming I had never heard the appellation of Catherine Linton before, but reading it often over produced an impression which personified itself when I had no longer my imagination under control. Heathcliff gradually fell back into the shelter of the bed, as I spoke; finally sitting down almost concealed behind it. I guessed, however, by his irregular and intercepted breathing, that he struggled to vanquish an excess of violent emotion. Not liking to show him that I had heard the conflict, I continued my toilette rather noisily, looked at my watch, and soliloquised on the length of the night Not three oclock yet! I could have taken oath it had been six. Time stagnates here we must surely have retired to rest at eight! Always at nine in winter, and rise at four, said my host, suppressing a groan and, as I fancied, by the motion of his arms shadow, dashing a tear from his eyes. Mr. Lockwood, he added, you may go into my room youll only be in the way, coming downstairs so early and your childish outcry has sent sleep to the devil for me. And for me, too, I replied. Ill walk in the yard till daylight, and then Ill be off; and you need not dread a repetition of my intrusion. Im now quite cured of seeking pleasure in society, be it country or town. A sensible man ought to find sufficient company in himself. Delightful company! muttered Heathcliff. Take the candle, and go where you please. I shall join you directly. Keep out of the yard, though, the dogs are unchained; and the houseJuno mounts sentinel there, andnay, you can only ramble about the steps and passages. But, away with you! Ill come in two minutes! I obeyed, so far as to quit the chamber; when, ignorant where the narrow lobbies led, I stood still, and was witness, involuntarily, to a piece of superstition on the part of my landlord which belied, oddly, his apparent sense. He got on to the bed, and wrenched open the lattice, bursting, as he pulled at it, into an uncontrollable passion of tears. Come in! come in! he sobbed. Cathy, do come. Oh, doonce more! Oh! my hearts darling! hear me this time, Catherine, at last! The spectre showed a spectres ordinary caprice it gave no sign of being; but the snow and wind whirled wildly through, even reaching my station, and blowing out the light. There was such anguish in the gush of grief that accompanied this raving, that my compassion made me overlook its folly, and I drew off, half angry to have listened at all, and vexed at having related my ridiculous nightmare, since it produced that agony; though why was beyond my comprehension. I descended cautiously to the lower regions, and landed in the backkitchen, where a gleam of fire, raked compactly together, enabled me to rekindle my candle. Nothing was stirring except a brindled, grey cat, which crept from the ashes, and saluted me with a querulous mew. Two benches, shaped in sections of a circle, nearly enclosed the hearth; on one of these I stretched myself, and Grimalkin mounted the other. We were both of us nodding ere anyone invaded our retreat, and then it was Joseph, shuffling down a wooden ladder that vanished in the roof, through a trap the ascent to his garret, I suppose. He cast a sinister look at the little flame which I had enticed to play between the ribs, swept the cat from its elevation, and bestowing himself in the vacancy, commenced the operation of stuffing a threeinch pipe with tobacco. My presence in his sanctum was evidently esteemed a piece of impudence too shameful for remark he silently applied the tube to his lips, folded his arms, and puffed away. I let him enjoy the luxury unannoyed; and after sucking out his last wreath, and heaving a profound sigh, he got up, and departed as solemnly as he came. A more elastic footstep entered next; and now I opened my mouth for a good morning, but closed it again, the salutation unachieved; for Hareton Earnshaw was performing his orison sotto voce, in a series of curses directed against every object he touched, while he rummaged a corner for a spade or shovel to dig through the drifts. He glanced over the back of the bench, dilating his nostrils, and thought as little of exchanging civilities with me as with my companion the cat. I guessed, by his preparations, that egress was allowed, and, leaving my hard couch, made a movement to follow him. He noticed this, and thrust at an inner door with the end of his spade, intimating by an inarticulate sound that there was the place where I must go, if I changed my locality. It opened into the house, where the females were already astir; Zillah urging flakes of flame up the chimney with a colossal bellows; and Mrs. Heathcliff, kneeling on the hearth, reading a book by the aid of the blaze. She held her hand interposed between the furnaceheat and her eyes, and seemed absorbed in her occupation; desisting from it only to chide the servant for covering her with sparks, or to push away a dog, now and then, that snoozled its nose overforwardly into her face. I was surprised to see Heathcliff there also. He stood by the fire, his back towards me, just finishing a stormy scene with poor Zillah; who ever and anon interrupted her labour to pluck up the corner of her apron, and heave an indignant groan. And you, you worthless he broke out as I entered, turning to his daughterinlaw, and employing an epithet as harmless as duck, or sheep, but generally represented by a dash. There you are, at your idle tricks again! The rest of them do earn their breadyou live on my charity! Put your trash away, and find something to do. You shall pay me for the plague of having you eternally in my sightdo you hear, damnable jade? Ill put my trash away, because you can make me if I refuse, answered the young lady, closing her book, and throwing it on a chair. But Ill not do anything, though you should swear your tongue out, except what I please! Heathcliff lifted his hand, and the speaker sprang to a safer distance, obviously acquainted with its weight. Having no desire to be entertained by a catanddog combat, I stepped forward briskly, as if eager to partake the warmth of the hearth, and innocent of any knowledge of the interrupted dispute. Each had enough decorum to suspend further hostilities Heathcliff placed his fists, out of temptation, in his pockets; Mrs. Heathcliff curled her lip, and walked to a seat far off, where she kept her word by playing the part of a statue during the remainder of my stay. That was not long. I declined joining their breakfast, and, at the first gleam of dawn, took an opportunity of escaping into the free air, now clear, and still, and cold as impalpable ice. My landlord halloed for me to stop ere I reached the bottom of the garden, and offered to accompany me across the moor. It was well he did, for the whole hillback was one billowy, white ocean; the swells and falls not indicating corresponding rises and depressions in the ground many pits, at least, were filled to a level; and entire ranges of mounds, the refuse of the quarries, blotted from the chart which my yesterdays walk left pictured in my mind. I had remarked on one side of the road, at intervals of six or seven yards, a line of upright stones, continued through the whole length of the barren these were erected and daubed with lime on purpose to serve as guides in the dark, and also when a fall, like the present, confounded the deep swamps on either hand with the firmer path but, excepting a dirty dot pointing up here and there, all traces of their existence had vanished and my companion found it necessary to warn me frequently to steer to the right or left, when I imagined I was following, correctly, the windings of the road. We exchanged little conversation, and he halted at the entrance of Thrushcross Park, saying, I could make no error there. Our adieux were limited to a hasty bow, and then I pushed forward, trusting to my own resources; for the porters lodge is untenanted as yet. The distance from the gate to the grange is two miles; I believe I managed to make it four, what with losing myself among the trees, and sinking up to the neck in snow a predicament which only those who have experienced it can appreciate. At any rate, whatever were my wanderings, the clock chimed twelve as I entered the house; and that gave exactly an hour for every mile of the usual way from Wuthering Heights. My human fixture and her satellites rushed to welcome me; exclaiming, tumultuously, they had completely given me up everybody conjectured that I perished last night; and they were wondering how they must set about the search for my remains. I bid them be quiet, now that they saw me returned, and, benumbed to my very heart, I dragged upstairs; whence, after putting on dry clothes, and pacing to and fro thirty or forty minutes, to restore the animal heat, I adjourned to my study, feeble as a kitten almost too much so to enjoy the cheerful fire and smoking coffee which the servant had prepared for my refreshment. IV What vain weathercocks we are! I, who had determined to hold myself independent of all social intercourse, and thanked my stars that, at length, I had lighted on a spot where it was next to impracticableI, weak wretch, after maintaining till dusk a struggle with low spirits and solitude, was finally compelled to strike my colours; and under pretence of gaining information concerning the necessities of my establishment, I desired Mrs. Dean, when she brought in supper, to sit down while I ate it; hoping sincerely she would prove a regular gossip, and either rouse me to animation or lull me to sleep by her talk. You have lived here a considerable time, I commenced; did you not say sixteen years? Eighteen, sir I came when the mistress was married, to wait on her; after she died, the master retained me for his housekeeper. Indeed. There ensued a pause. She was not a gossip, I feared; unless about her own affairs, and those could hardly interest me. However, having studied for an interval, with a fist on either knee, and a cloud of meditation over her ruddy countenance, she ejaculatedAh, times are greatly changed since then! Yes, I remarked, youve seen a good many alterations, I suppose? I have and troubles too, she said. Oh, Ill turn the talk on my landlords family! I thought to myself. A good subject to start! And that pretty girlwidow, I should like to know her history whether she be a native of the country, or, as is more probable, an exotic that the surly indigenae will not recognise for kin. With this intention I asked Mrs. Dean why Heathcliff let Thrushcross Grange, and preferred living in a situation and residence so much inferior. Is he not rich enough to keep the estate in good order? I inquired. Rich, sir! she returned. He has nobody knows what money, and every year it increases. Yes, yes, hes rich enough to live in a finer house than this but hes very nearclosehanded; and, if he had meant to flit to Thrushcross Grange, as soon as he heard of a good tenant he could not have borne to miss the chance of getting a few hundreds more. It is strange people should be so greedy, when they are alone in the world! He had a son, it seems? Yes, he had onehe is dead. And that young lady, Mrs. Heathcliff, is his widow? Yes. Where did she come from originally? Why, sir, she is my late masters daughter Catherine Linton was her maiden name. I nursed her, poor thing! I did wish Mr. Heathcliff would remove here, and then we might have been together again. What! Catherine Linton? I exclaimed, astonished. But a minutes reflection convinced me it was not my ghostly Catherine. Then, I continued, my predecessors name was Linton? It was. And who is that Earnshaw Hareton Earnshaw, who lives with Mr. Heathcliff? Are they relations? No; he is the late Mrs. Lintons nephew. The young ladys cousin, then? Yes; and her husband was her cousin also one on the mothers, the other on the fathers side Heathcliff married Mr. Lintons sister. I see the house at Wuthering Heights has Earnshaw carved over the front door. Are they an old family? Very old, sir; and Hareton is the last of them, as our Miss Cathy is of usI mean, of the Lintons. Have you been to Wuthering Heights? I beg pardon for asking; but I should like to hear how she is! Mrs. Heathcliff? she looked very well, and very handsome; yet, I think, not very happy. Oh dear, I dont wonder! And how did you like the master? A rough fellow, rather, Mrs. Dean. Is not that his character? Rough as a sawedge, and hard as whinstone! The less you meddle with him the better. He must have had some ups and downs in life to make him such a churl. Do you know anything of his history? Its a cuckoos, sirI know all about it except where he was born, and who were his parents, and how he got his money at first. And Hareton has been cast out like an unfledged dunnock! The unfortunate lad is the only one in all this parish that does not guess how he has been cheated. Well, Mrs. Dean, it will be a charitable deed to tell me something of my neighbours I feel I shall not rest if I go to bed; so be good enough to sit and chat an hour. Oh, certainly, sir! Ill just fetch a little sewing, and then Ill sit as long as you please. But youve caught cold I saw you shivering, and you must have some gruel to drive it out. The worthy woman bustled off, and I crouched nearer the fire; my head felt hot, and the rest of me chill moreover, I was excited, almost to a pitch of foolishness, through my nerves and brain. This caused me to feel, not uncomfortable, but rather fearful (as I am still) of serious effects from the incidents of today and yesterday. She returned presently, bringing a smoking basin and a basket of work; and, having placed the former on the hob, drew in her seat, evidently pleased to find me so companionable. Before I came to live here, she commencedwaiting no farther invitation to her storyI was almost always at Wuthering Heights; because my mother had nursed Mr. Hindley Earnshaw, that was Haretons father, and I got used to playing with the children I ran errands too, and helped to make hay, and hung about the farm ready for anything that anybody would set me to. One fine summer morningit was the beginning of harvest, I rememberMr. Earnshaw, the old master, came downstairs, dressed for a journey; and, after he had told Joseph what was to be done during the day, he turned to Hindley, and Cathy, and mefor I sat eating my porridge with themand he said, speaking to his son, Now, my bonny man, Im going to Liverpool today, what shall I bring you? You may choose what you like only let it be little, for I shall walk there and back sixty miles each way, that is a long spell! Hindley named a fiddle, and then he asked Miss Cathy; she was hardly six years old, but she could ride any horse in the stable, and she chose a whip. He did not forget me; for he had a kind heart, though he was rather severe sometimes. He promised to bring me a pocketful of apples and pears, and then he kissed his children, said goodbye, and set off. It seemed a long while to us allthe three days of his absenceand often did little Cathy ask when he would be home. Mrs. Earnshaw expected him by suppertime on the third evening, and she put the meal off hour after hour; there were no signs of his coming, however, and at last the children got tired of running down to the gate to look. Then it grew dark; she would have had them to bed, but they begged sadly to be allowed to stay up; and, just about eleven oclock, the doorlatch was raised quietly, and in stepped the master. He threw himself into a chair, laughing and groaning, and bid them all stand off, for he was nearly killedhe would not have such another walk for the three kingdoms. And at the end of it to be flighted to death! he said, opening his greatcoat, which he held bundled up in his arms. See here, wife! I was never so beaten with anything in my life but you must een take it as a gift of God; though its as dark almost as if it came from the devil. We crowded round, and over Miss Cathys head I had a peep at a dirty, ragged, blackhaired child; big enough both to walk and talk indeed, its face looked older than Catherines; yet when it was set on its feet, it only stared round, and repeated over and over again some gibberish that nobody could understand. I was frightened, and Mrs.

Earnshaw was ready to fling it out of doors she did fly up, asking how he could fashion to bring that gipsy brat into the house, when they had their own bairns to feed and fend for? What he meant to do with it, and whether he were mad? The master tried to explain the matter; but he was really half dead with fatigue, and all that I could make out, amongst her scolding, was a tale of his seeing it starving, and houseless, and as good as dumb, in the streets of Liverpool, where he picked it up and inquired for its owner. Not a soul knew to whom it belonged, he said; and his money and time being both limited, he thought it better to take it home with him at once, than run into vain expenses there because he was determined he would not leave it as he found it. Well, the conclusion was, that my mistress grumbled herself calm; and Mr. Earnshaw told me to wash it, and give it clean things, and let it sleep with the children. Hindley and Cathy contented themselves with looking and listening till peace was restored then, both began searching their fathers pockets for the presents he had promised them. The former was a boy of fourteen, but when he drew out what had been a fiddle, crushed to morsels in the greatcoat, he blubbered aloud; and Cathy, when she learned the master had lost her whip in attending on the stranger, showed her humour by grinning and spitting at the stupid little thing; earning for her pains a sound blow from her father, to teach her cleaner manners. They entirely refused to have it in bed with them, or even in their room; and I had no more sense, so I put it on the landing of the stairs, hoping it might be gone on the morrow. By chance, or else attracted by hearing his voice, it crept to Mr. Earnshaws door, and there he found it on quitting his chamber. Inquiries were made as to how it got there; I was obliged to confess, and in recompense for my cowardice and inhumanity was sent out of the house. This was Heathcliffs first introduction to the family. On coming back a few days afterwards (for I did not consider my banishment perpetual), I found they had christened him Heathcliff it was the name of a son who died in childhood, and it has served him ever since, both for Christian and surname. Miss Cathy and he were now very thick; but Hindley hated him and to say the truth I did the same; and we plagued and went on with him shamefully for I wasnt reasonable enough to feel my injustice, and the mistress never put in a word on his behalf when she saw him wronged. He seemed a sullen, patient child; hardened, perhaps, to illtreatment he would stand Hindleys blows without winking or shedding a tear, and my pinches moved him only to draw in a breath and open his eyes, as if he had hurt himself by accident, and nobody was to blame. This endurance made old Earnshaw furious, when he discovered his son persecuting the poor fatherless child, as he called him. He took to Heathcliff strangely, believing all he said (for that matter, he said precious little, and generally the truth), and petting him up far above Cathy, who was too mischievous and wayward for a favourite. So, from the very beginning, he bred bad feeling in the house; and at Mrs. Earnshaws death, which happened in less than two years after, the young master had learned to regard his father as an oppressor rather than a friend, and Heathcliff as a usurper of his parents affections and his privileges; and he grew bitter with brooding over these injuries. I sympathised a while; but when the children fell ill of the measles, and I had to tend them, and take on me the cares of a woman at once, I changed my idea. Heathcliff was dangerously sick; and while he lay at the worst he would have me constantly by his pillow I suppose he felt I did a good deal for him, and he hadnt wit to guess that I was compelled to do it. However, I will say this, he was the quietest child that ever nurse watched over. The difference between him and the others forced me to be less partial. Cathy and her brother harassed me terribly he was as uncomplaining as a lamb; though hardness, not gentleness, made him give little trouble. He got through, and the doctor affirmed it was in a great measure owing to me, and praised me for my care. I was vain of his commendations, and softened towards the being by whose means I earned them, and thus Hindley lost his last ally still I couldnt dote on Heathcliff, and I wondered often what my master saw to admire so much in the sullen boy; who never, to my recollection, repaid his indulgence by any sign of gratitude. He was not insolent to his benefactor, he was simply insensible; though knowing perfectly the hold he had on his heart, and conscious he had only to speak and all the house would be obliged to bend to his wishes. As an instance, I remember Mr. Earnshaw once bought a couple of colts at the parish fair, and gave the lads each one. Heathcliff took the handsomest, but it soon fell lame, and when he discovered it, he said to Hindley You must exchange horses with me I dont like mine; and if you wont I shall tell your father of the three thrashings youve given me this week, and show him my arm, which is black to the shoulder. Hindley put out his tongue, and cuffed him over the ears. Youd better do it at once, he persisted, escaping to the porch (they were in the stable) you will have to and if I speak of these blows, youll get them again with interest. Off, dog! cried Hindley, threatening him with an iron weight used for weighing potatoes and hay. Throw it, he replied, standing still, and then Ill tell how you boasted that you would turn me out of doors as soon as he died, and see whether he will not turn you out directly. Hindley threw it, hitting him on the breast, and down he fell, but staggered up immediately, breathless and white; and, had not I prevented it, he would have gone just so to the master, and got full revenge by letting his condition plead for him, intimating who had caused it. Take my colt, Gipsy, then! said young Earnshaw. And I pray that he may break your neck take him, and be damned, you beggarly interloper! and wheedle my father out of all he has only afterwards show him what you are, imp of Satan.And take that, I hope hell kick out your brains! Heathcliff had gone to loose the beast, and shift it to his own stall; he was passing behind it, when Hindley finished his speech by knocking him under its feet, and without stopping to examine whether his hopes were fulfilled, ran away as fast as he could. I was surprised to witness how coolly the child gathered himself up, and went on with his intention; exchanging saddles and all, and then sitting down on a bundle of hay to overcome the qualm which the violent blow occasioned, before he entered the house. I persuaded him easily to let me lay the blame of his bruises on the horse he minded little what tale was told since he had what he wanted. He complained so seldom, indeed, of such stirs as these, that I really thought him not vindictive I was deceived completely, as you will hear. V In the course of time Mr. Earnshaw began to fail. He had been active and healthy, yet his strength left him suddenly; and when he was confined to the chimneycorner he grew grievously irritable. A nothing vexed him; and suspected slights of his authority nearly threw him into fits. This was especially to be remarked if anyone attempted to impose upon, or domineer over, his favourite he was painfully jealous lest a word should be spoken amiss to him; seeming to have got into his head the notion that, because he liked Heathcliff, all hated, and longed to do him an illturn. It was a disadvantage to the lad; for the kinder among us did not wish to fret the master, so we humoured his partiality; and that humouring was rich nourishment to the childs pride and black tempers. Still it became in a manner necessary; twice, or thrice, Hindleys manifestation of scorn, while his father was near, roused the old man to a fury he seized his stick to strike him, and shook with rage that he could not do it. At last, our curate (we had a curate then who made the living answer by teaching the little Lintons and Earnshaws, and farming his bit of land himself) advised that the young man should be sent to college; and Mr. Earnshaw agreed, though with a heavy spirit, for he saidHindley was nought, and would never thrive as where he wandered. I hoped heartily we should have peace now. It hurt me to think the master should be made uncomfortable by his own good deed. I fancied the discontent of age and disease arose from his family disagreements; as he would have it that it did really, you know, sir, it was in his sinking frame. We might have got on tolerably, notwithstanding, but for two peopleMiss Cathy, and Joseph, the servant you saw him, I daresay, up yonder. He was, and is yet most likely, the wearisomest selfrighteous Pharisee that ever ransacked a Bible to rake the promises to himself and fling the curses to his neighbours. By his knack of sermonising and pious discoursing, he contrived to make a great impression on Mr. Earnshaw; and the more feeble the master became, the more influence he gained. He was relentless in worrying him about his souls concerns, and about ruling his children rigidly. He encouraged him to regard Hindley as a reprobate; and, night after night, he regularly grumbled out a long string of tales against Heathcliff and Catherine always minding to flatter Earnshaws weakness by heaping the heaviest blame on the latter. Certainly she had ways with her such as I never saw a child take up before; and she put all of us past our patience fifty times and oftener in a day from the hour she came downstairs till the hour she went to bed, we had not a minutes security that she wouldnt be in mischief. Her spirits were always at highwater mark, her tongue always goingsinging, laughing, and plaguing everybody who would not do the same. A wild, wicked slip she wasbut she had the bonniest eye, the sweetest smile, and lightest foot in the parish and, after all, I believe she meant no harm; for when once she made you cry in good earnest, it seldom happened that she would not keep you company, and oblige you to be quiet that you might comfort her. She was much too fond of Heathcliff. The greatest punishment we could invent for her was to keep her separate from him yet she got chided more than any of us on his account. In play, she liked exceedingly to act the little mistress; using her hands freely, and commanding her companions she did so to me, but I would not bear slapping and ordering; and so I let her know. Now, Mr. Earnshaw did not understand jokes from his children he had always been strict and grave with them; and Catherine, on her part, had no idea why her father should be crosser and less patient in his ailing condition than he was in his prime. His peevish reproofs wakened in her a naughty delight to provoke him she was never so happy as when we were all scolding her at once, and she defying us with her bold, saucy look, and her ready words; turning Josephs religious curses into ridicule, baiting me, and doing just what her father hated mostshowing how her pretended insolence, which he thought real, had more power over Heathcliff than his kindness how the boy would do her bidding in anything, and his only when it suited his own inclination. After behaving as badly as possible all day, she sometimes came fondling to make it up at night. Nay, Cathy, the old man would say, I cannot love thee, thourt worse than thy brother. Go, say thy prayers, child, and ask Gods pardon. I doubt thy mother and I must rue that we ever reared thee! That made her cry, at first; and then being repulsed continually hardened her, and she laughed if I told her to say she was sorry for her faults, and beg to be forgiven. But the hour came, at last, that ended Mr. Earnshaws troubles on earth. He died quietly in his chair one October evening, seated by the fireside. A high wind blustered round the house, and roared in the chimney it sounded wild and stormy, yet it was not cold, and we were all togetherI, a little removed from the hearth, busy at my knitting, and Joseph reading his Bible near the table (for the servants generally sat in the house then, after their work was done). Miss Cathy had been sick, and that made her still; she leant against her fathers knee, and Heathcliff was lying on the floor with his head in her lap. I remember the master, before he fell into a doze, stroking her bonny hairit pleased him rarely to see her gentleand saying, Why canst thou not always be a good lass, Cathy? And she turned her face up to his, and laughed, and answered, Why cannot you always be a good man, father? But as soon as she saw him vexed again, she kissed his hand, and said she would sing him to sleep. She began singing very low, till his fingers dropped from hers, and his head sank on his breast. Then I told her to hush, and not stir, for fear she should wake him. We all kept as mute as mice a full halfhour, and should have done so longer, only Joseph, having finished his chapter, got up and said that he must rouse the master for prayers and bed. He stepped forward, and called him by name, and touched his shoulder; but he would not move so he took the candle and looked at him. I thought there was something wrong as he set down the light; and seizing the children each by an arm, whispered them to frame upstairs, and make little dinthey might pray alone that eveninghe had summut to do. I shall bid father good night first, said Catherine, putting her arms round his neck, before we could hinder her. The poor thing discovered her loss directlyshe screamed outOh, hes dead, Heathcliff! hes dead! And they both set up a heartbreaking cry. I joined my wail to theirs, loud and bitter; but Joseph asked what we could be thinking of to roar in that way over a saint in heaven. He told me to put on my cloak and run to Gimmerton for the doctor and the parson. I could not guess the use that either would be of, then. However, I went, through wind and rain, and brought one, the doctor, back with me; the other said he would come in the morning. Leaving Joseph to explain matters, I ran to the childrens room their door was ajar, I saw they had never lain down, though it was past midnight; but they were calmer, and did not need me to console them. The little souls were comforting each other with better thoughts than I could have hit on no parson in the world ever pictured heaven so beautifully as they did, in their innocent talk; and, while I sobbed and listened, I could not help wishing we were all there safe together. VI Mr. Hindley came home to the funeral; anda thing that amazed us, and set the neighbours gossiping right and lefthe brought a wife with him. What she was, and where she was born, he never informed us probably, she had neither money nor name to recommend her, or he would scarcely have kept the union from his father. She was not one that would have disturbed the house much on her own account. Every object she saw, the moment she crossed the threshold, appeared to delight her; and every circumstance that took place about her except the preparing for the burial, and the presence of the mourners. I thought she was half silly, from her behaviour while that went on she ran into her chamber, and made me come with her, though I should have been dressing the children and there she sat shivering and clasping her hands, and asking repeatedlyAre they gone yet? Then she began describing with hysterical emotion the effect it produced on her to see black; and started, and trembled, and, at last, fell aweepingand when I asked what was the matter, answered, she didnt know; but she felt so afraid of dying! I imagined her as little likely to die as myself. She was rather thin, but young, and freshcomplexioned, and her eyes sparkled as bright as diamonds. I did remark, to be sure, that mounting the stairs made her breathe very quick; that the least sudden noise set her all in a quiver, and that she coughed troublesomely sometimes but I knew nothing of what these symptoms portended, and had no impulse to sympathise with her. We dont in general take to foreigners here, Mr. Lockwood, unless they take to us first. Young Earnshaw was altered considerably in the three years of his absence. He had grown sparer, and lost his colour, and spoke and dressed quite differently; and, on the very day of his return, he told Joseph and me we must thenceforth quarter ourselves in the backkitchen, and leave the house for him. Indeed, he would have carpeted and papered a small spare room for a parlour; but his wife expressed such pleasure at the white floor and huge glowing fireplace, at the pewter dishes and delfcase, and dogkennel, and the wide space there was to move about in where they usually sat, that he thought it unnecessary to her comfort, and so dropped the intention. She expressed pleasure, too, at finding a sister among her new acquaintance; and she prattled to Catherine, and kissed her, and ran about with her, and gave her quantities of presents, at the beginning. Her affection tired very soon, however, and when she grew peevish, Hindley became tyrannical. A few words from her, evincing a dislike to Heathcliff, were enough to rouse in him all his old hatred of the boy. He drove him from their company to the servants, deprived him of the instructions of the curate, and insisted that he should labour out of doors instead; compelling him to do so as hard as any other lad on the farm. Heathcliff bore his degradation pretty well at first, because Cathy taught him what she learnt, and worked or played with him in the fields. They both promised fair to grow up as rude as savages; the young master being entirely negligent how they behaved, and what they did, so they kept clear of him. He would not even have seen after their going to church on Sundays, only Joseph and the curate reprimanded his carelessness when they absented themselves; and that reminded him to order Heathcliff a flogging, and Catherine a fast from dinner or supper. But it was one of their chief amusements to run away to the moors in the morning and remain there all day, and the after punishment grew a mere thing to laugh at. The curate might set as many chapters as he pleased for Catherine to get by heart, and Joseph might thrash Heathcliff till his arm ached; they forgot everything the minute they were together again at least the minute they had contrived some naughty plan of revenge; and many a time Ive cried to myself to watch them growing more reckless daily, and I not daring to speak a syllable, for fear of losing the small power I still retained over the unfriended creatures. One Sunday evening, it chanced that they were banished from the sittingroom, for making a noise, or a light offence of the kind; and when I went to call them to supper, I could discover them nowhere. We searched the house, above and below, and the yard and stables; they were invisible and, at last, Hindley in a passion told us to bolt the doors, and swore nobody should let them in that night. The household went to bed; and I, too, anxious to lie down, opened my lattice and put my head out to hearken, though it rained determined to admit them in spite of the prohibition, should they return. In a while, I distinguished steps coming up the road, and the light of a lantern glimmered through the gate. I threw a shawl over my head and ran to prevent them from waking Mr. Earnshaw by knocking. There was Heathcliff, by himself it gave me a start to see him alone. Where is Miss Catherine? I cried hurriedly. No accident, I hope? At Thrushcross Grange, he answered; and I would have been there too, but they had not the manners to ask me to stay. Well, you will catch it! I said youll never be content till youre sent about your business. What in the world led you wandering to Thrushcross Grange? Let me get off my wet clothes, and Ill tell you all about it, Nelly, he replied. I bid him beware of rousing the master, and while he undressed and I waited to put out the candle, he continuedCathy and I escaped from the washhouse to have a ramble at liberty, and getting a glimpse of the Grange lights, we thought we would just go and see whether the Lintons passed their Sunday evenings standing shivering in corners, while their father and mother sat eating and drinking, and singing and laughing, and burning their eyes out before the fire. Do you think they do? Or reading sermons, and being catechised by their manservant, and set to learn a column of Scripture names, if they dont answer properly? Probably not, I responded. They are good children, no doubt, and dont deserve the treatment you receive, for your bad conduct. Dont cant, Nelly, he said nonsense! We ran from the top of the Heights to the park, without stoppingCatherine completely beaten in the race, because she was barefoot. Youll have to seek for her shoes in the bog tomorrow. We crept through a broken hedge, groped our way up the path, and planted ourselves on a flowerplot under the drawingroom window. The light came from thence; they had not put up the shutters, and the curtains were only half closed. Both of us were able to look in by standing on the basement, and clinging to the ledge, and we sawah! it was beautifula splendid place carpeted with crimson, and crimsoncovered chairs and tables, and a pure white ceiling bordered by gold, a shower of glassdrops hanging in silver chains from the centre, and shimmering with little soft tapers. Old Mr. and Mrs. Linton were not there; Edgar and his sisters had it entirely to themselves. Shouldnt they have been happy? We should have thought ourselves in heaven! And now, guess what your good children were doing? IsabellaI believe she is eleven, a year younger than Cathylay screaming at the farther end of the room, shrieking as if witches were running redhot needles into her. Edgar stood on the hearth weeping silently, and in the middle of the table sat a little dog, shaking its paw and yelping; which, from their mutual accusations, we understood they had nearly pulled in two between them. The idiots! That was their pleasure! to quarrel who should hold a heap of warm hair, and each begin to cry because both, after struggling to get it, refused to take it. We laughed outright at the petted things; we did despise them! When would you catch me wishing to have what Catherine wanted? or find us by ourselves, seeking entertainment in yelling, and sobbing, and rolling on the ground, divided by the whole room? Id not exchange, for a thousand lives, my condition here, for Edgar Lintons at Thrushcross Grangenot if I might have the privilege of flinging Joseph off the highest gable, and painting the housefront with Hindleys blood! Hush, hush! I interrupted. Still you have not told me, Heathcliff, how Catherine is left behind? I told you we laughed, he answered. The Lintons heard us, and with one accord they shot like arrows to the door; there was silence, and then a cry, Oh, mamma, mamma! Oh, papa! Oh, mamma, come here. Oh, papa, oh! They really did howl out something in that way. We made frightful noises to terrify them still more, and then we dropped off the ledge, because somebody was drawing the bars, and we felt we had better flee. I had Cathy by the hand, and was urging her on, when all at once she fell down. Run, Heathcliff, run! she whispered. They have let the bulldog loose, and he holds me! The devil had seized her ankle, Nelly I heard his abominable snorting. She did not yell outno! she would have scorned to do it, if she had been spitted on the horns of a mad cow. I did, though I vociferated curses enough to annihilate any fiend in Christendom; and I got a stone and thrust it between his jaws, and tried with all my might to cram it down his throat. A beast of a servant came up with a lantern, at last, shoutingKeep fast, Skulker, keep fast! He changed his note, however, when he saw Skulkers game. The dog was throttled off; his huge, purple tongue hanging half a foot out of his mouth, and his pendent lips streaming with bloody slaver. The man took Cathy up; she was sick not from fear, Im certain, but from pain. He carried her in; I followed, grumbling execrations and vengeance. What prey, Robert? hallooed Linton from the entrance. Skulker has caught a little girl, sir, he replied; and theres a lad here, he added, making a clutch at me, who looks an outandouter! Very like the robbers were for putting them through the window to open the doors to the gang after all were asleep, that they might murder us at their ease. Hold your tongue, you foulmouthed thief, you! you shall go to the gallows for this. Mr. Linton, sir, dont lay by your gun. No, no, Robert, said the old fool. The rascals knew that yesterday was my rentday they thought to have me cleverly. Come in; Ill furnish them a reception. There, John, fasten the chain. Give Skulker some water, Jenny. To beard a magistrate in his stronghold, and on the Sabbath, too! Where will their insolence stop? Oh, my dear Mary, look here! Dont be afraid, it is but a boyyet the villain scowls so plainly in his face; would it not be a kindness to the country to hang him at once, before he shows his nature in acts as well as features? He pulled me under the chandelier, and Mrs. Linton placed her spectacles on her nose and raised her hands in horror. The cowardly children crept nearer also, Isabella lispingFrightful thing! Put him in the cellar, papa. Hes exactly like the son of the fortuneteller that stole my tame pheasant. Isnt he, Edgar? While they examined me, Cathy came round; she heard the last speech, and laughed. Edgar Linton, after an inquisitive stare, collected sufficient wit to recognise her. They see us at church, you know, though we seldom meet them elsewhere. Thats Miss Earnshaw? he whispered to his mother, and look how Skulker has bitten herhow her foot bleeds! Miss Earnshaw? Nonsense! cried the dame; Miss Earnshaw scouring the country with a gipsy! And yet, my dear, the child is in mourningsurely it isand she may be lamed for life! What culpable carelessness in her brother! exclaimed Mr. Linton, turning from me to Catherine. Ive understood from Shielders (that was the curate, sir) that he lets her grow up in absolute heathenism. But who is this? Where did she pick up this companion? Oho! I declare he is that strange acquisition my late neighbour made, in his journey to Liverpoola little Lascar, or an American or Spanish castaway. A wicked boy, at all events, remarked the old lady, and quite unfit for a decent house! Did you notice his language, Linton? Im shocked that my children should have heard it. I recommenced cursingdont be angry, Nellyand so Robert was ordered to take me off. I refused to go without Cathy; he dragged me into the garden, pushed the lantern into my hand, assured me that Mr. Earnshaw should be informed of my behaviour, and, bidding me march directly, secured the door again. The curtains were still looped up at one corner, and I resumed my station as spy; because, if Catherine had wished to return, I intended shattering their great glass panes to a million of fragments, unless they let her out. She sat on the sofa quietly. Mrs. Linton took off the grey cloak of the dairymaid which we had borrowed for our excursion, shaking her head and expostulating with her, I suppose she was a young lady, and they made a distinction between her treatment and mine. Then the womanservant brought a basin of warm water, and washed her feet; and Mr. Linton mixed a tumbler of negus, and Isabella emptied a plateful of cakes into her lap, and Edgar stood gaping at a distance. Afterwards, they dried and combed her beautiful hair, and gave her a pair of enormous slippers, and wheeled her to the fire; and I left her, as merry as she could be, dividing her food between the little dog and Skulker, whose nose she pinched as he ate; and kindling a spark of spirit in the vacant blue eyes of the Lintonsa dim reflection from her own enchanting face. I saw they were full of stupid admiration; she is so immeasurably superior to themto everybody on earth, is she not, Nelly? There will more come of this business than you reckon on, I answered, covering him up and extinguishing the light. You are incurable, Heathcliff; and Mr. Hindley will have to proceed to extremities, see if he wont. My words came truer than I desired. The luckless adventure made Earnshaw furious. And then Mr. Linton, to mend matters, paid us a visit himself on the morrow, and read the young master such a lecture on the road he guided his family, that he was stirred to look about him, in earnest. Heathcliff received no flogging, but he was told that the first word he spoke to Miss Catherine should ensure a dismissal; and Mrs. Earnshaw undertook to keep her sisterinlaw in due restraint when she returned home; employing art, not force with force she would have found it impossible. VII Cathy stayed at Thrushcross Grange five weeks till Christmas. By that time her ankle was thoroughly cured, and her manners much improved. The mistress visited her often in the interval, and commenced her plan of reform by trying to raise her selfrespect with fine clothes and flattery, which she took readily; so that, instead of a wild, hatless little savage jumping into the house, and rushing to squeeze us all breathless, there lighted from a handsome black pony a very dignified person, with brown ringlets falling from the cover of a feathered beaver, and a long cloth habit, which she was obliged to hold up with both hands that she might sail in. Hindley lifted her from her horse, exclaiming delightedly, Why, Cathy, you are quite a beauty! I should scarcely have known you you look like a lady now. Isabella Linton is not to be compared with her, is she, Frances? Isabella has not her natural advantages, replied his wife but she must mind and not grow wild again here. Ellen, help Miss Catherine off with her thingsStay, dear, you will disarrange your curlslet me untie your hat. I removed the habit, and there shone forth beneath a grand plaid silk frock, white trousers, and burnished shoes; and, while her eyes sparkled joyfully when the dogs came bounding up to welcome her, she dared hardly touch them lest they should fawn upon her splendid garments. She kissed me gently I was all flour making the Christmas cake, and it would not have done to give me a hug; and then she looked round for Heathcliff. Mr. and Mrs. Earnshaw watched anxiously their meeting; thinking it would enable them to judge, in some measure, what grounds they had for hoping to succeed in separating the two friends. Heathcliff was hard to discover, at first. If he were careless, and uncared for, before Catherines absence, he had been ten times more so since. Nobody but I even did him the kindness to call him a dirty boy, and bid him wash himself, once a week; and children of his age seldom have a natural pleasure in soap and water. Therefore, not to mention his clothes, which had seen three months service in mire and dust, and his thick uncombed hair, the surface of his face and hands was dismally beclouded. He might well skulk behind the settle, on beholding such a bright, graceful damsel enter the house, instead of a roughheaded counterpart of himself, as he expected. Is Heathcliff not here? she demanded, pulling off her gloves, and displaying fingers wonderfully whitened with doing nothing and staying indoors. Heathcliff, you may come forward, cried Mr. Hindley, enjoying his discomfiture, and gratified to see what a forbidding young blackguard he would be compelled to present himself. You may come and wish Miss Catherine welcome, like the other servants.

Cathy, catching a glimpse of her friend in his concealment, flew to embrace him; she bestowed seven or eight kisses on his cheek within the second, and then stopped, and drawing back, burst into a laugh, exclaiming, Why, how very black and cross you look! and howhow funny and grim! But thats because Im used to Edgar and Isabella Linton. Well, Heathcliff, have you forgotten me? She had some reason to put the question, for shame and pride threw double gloom over his countenance, and kept him immovable. Shake hands, Heathcliff, said Mr. Earnshaw, condescendingly; once in a way that is permitted. I shall not, replied the boy, finding his tongue at last; I shall not stand to be laughed at. I shall not bear it! And he would have broken from the circle, but Miss Cathy seized him again. I did not mean to laugh at you, she said; I could not hinder myself Heathcliff, shake hands at least! What are you sulky for? It was only that you looked odd. If you wash your face and brush your hair, it will be all right but you are so dirty! She gazed concernedly at the dusky fingers she held in her own, and also at her dress; which she feared had gained no embellishment from its contact with his. You neednt have touched me! he answered, following her eye and snatching away his hand. I shall be as dirty as I please and I like to be dirty, and I will be dirty. With that he dashed headforemost out of the room, amid the merriment of the master and mistress, and to the serious disturbance of Catherine; who could not comprehend how her remarks should have produced such an exhibition of bad temper. After playing ladysmaid to the newcomer, and putting my cakes in the oven, and making the house and kitchen cheerful with great fires, befitting Christmaseve, I prepared to sit down and amuse myself by singing carols, all alone; regardless of Josephs affirmations that he considered the merry tunes I chose as next door to songs. He had retired to private prayer in his chamber, and Mr. and Mrs. Earnshaw were engaging Missys attention by sundry gay trifles bought for her to present to the little Lintons, as an acknowledgment of their kindness. They had invited them to spend the morrow at Wuthering Heights, and the invitation had been accepted, on one condition Mrs. Linton begged that her darlings might be kept carefully apart from that naughty swearing boy. Under these circumstances I remained solitary. I smelt the rich scent of the heating spices; and admired the shining kitchen utensils, the polished clock, decked in holly, the silver mugs ranged on a tray ready to be filled with mulled ale for supper; and above all, the speckless purity of my particular carethe scoured and wellswept floor. I gave due inward applause to every object, and then I remembered how old Earnshaw used to come in when all was tidied, and call me a cant lass, and slip a shilling into my hand as a Christmasbox; and from that I went on to think of his fondness for Heathcliff, and his dread lest he should suffer neglect after death had removed him and that naturally led me to consider the poor lads situation now, and from singing I changed my mind to crying. It struck me soon, however, there would be more sense in endeavouring to repair some of his wrongs than shedding tears over them I got up and walked into the court to seek him. He was not far; I found him smoothing the glossy coat of the new pony in the stable, and feeding the other beasts, according to custom. Make haste, Heathcliff! I said, the kitchen is so comfortable; and Joseph is upstairs make haste, and let me dress you smart before Miss Cathy comes out, and then you can sit together, with the whole hearth to yourselves, and have a long chatter till bedtime. He proceeded with his task, and never turned his head towards me. Comeare you coming? I continued. Theres a little cake for each of you, nearly enough; and youll need halfanhours donning. I waited five minutes, but getting no answer left him. Catherine supped with her brother and sisterinlaw Joseph and I joined at an unsociable meal, seasoned with reproofs on one side and sauciness on the other. His cake and cheese remained on the table all night for the fairies. He managed to continue work till nine oclock, and then marched dumb and dour to his chamber. Cathy sat up late, having a world of things to order for the reception of her new friends she came into the kitchen once to speak to her old one; but he was gone, and she only stayed to ask what was the matter with him, and then went back. In the morning he rose early; and, as it was a holiday, carried his illhumour on to the moors; not reappearing till the family were departed for church. Fasting and reflection seemed to have brought him to a better spirit. He hung about me for a while, and having screwed up his courage, exclaimed abruptlyNelly, make me decent, Im going to be good. High time, Heathcliff, I said; you have grieved Catherine shes sorry she ever came home, I daresay! It looks as if you envied her, because she is more thought of than you. The notion of envying Catherine was incomprehensible to him, but the notion of grieving her he understood clearly enough. Did she say she was grieved? he inquired, looking very serious. She cried when I told her you were off again this morning. Well, I cried last night, he returned, and I had more reason to cry than she. Yes you had the reason of going to bed with a proud heart and an empty stomach, said I. Proud people breed sad sorrows for themselves. But, if you be ashamed of your touchiness, you must ask pardon, mind, when she comes in. You must go up and offer to kiss her, and sayyou know best what to say; only do it heartily, and not as if you thought her converted into a stranger by her grand dress. And now, though I have dinner to get ready, Ill steal time to arrange you so that Edgar Linton shall look quite a doll beside you and that he does. You are younger, and yet, Ill be bound, you are taller and twice as broad across the shoulders; you could knock him down in a twinkling; dont you feel that you could? Heathcliffs face brightened a moment; then it was overcast afresh, and he sighed. But, Nelly, if I knocked him down twenty times, that wouldnt make him less handsome or me more so. I wish I had light hair and a fair skin, and was dressed and behaved as well, and had a chance of being as rich as he will be! And cried for mamma at every turn, I added, and trembled if a country lad heaved his fist against you, and sat at home all day for a shower of rain. Oh, Heathcliff, you are showing a poor spirit! Come to the glass, and Ill let you see what you should wish. Do you mark those two lines between your eyes; and those thick brows, that, instead of rising arched, sink in the middle; and that couple of black fiends, so deeply buried, who never open their windows boldly, but lurk glinting under them, like devils spies? Wish and learn to smooth away the surly wrinkles, to raise your lids frankly, and change the fiends to confident, innocent angels, suspecting and doubting nothing, and always seeing friends where they are not sure of foes. Dont get the expression of a vicious cur that appears to know the kicks it gets are its dessert, and yet hates all the world, as well as the kicker, for what it suffers. In other words, I must wish for Edgar Lintons great blue eyes and even forehead, he replied. I doand that wont help me to them. A good heart will help you to a bonny face, my lad, I continued, if you were a regular black; and a bad one will turn the bonniest into something worse than ugly. And now that weve done washing, and combing, and sulkingtell me whether you dont think yourself rather handsome? Ill tell you, I do. Youre fit for a prince in disguise. Who knows but your father was Emperor of China, and your mother an Indian queen, each of them able to buy up, with one weeks income, Wuthering Heights and Thrushcross Grange together? And you were kidnapped by wicked sailors and brought to England. Were I in your place, I would frame high notions of my birth; and the thoughts of what I was should give me courage and dignity to support the oppressions of a little farmer! So I chattered on; and Heathcliff gradually lost his frown and began to look quite pleasant, when all at once our conversation was interrupted by a rumbling sound moving up the road and entering the court. He ran to the window and I to the door, just in time to behold the two Lintons descend from the family carriage, smothered in cloaks and furs, and the Earnshaws dismount from their horses they often rode to church in winter. Catherine took a hand of each of the children, and brought them into the house and set them before the fire, which quickly put colour into their white faces. I urged my companion to hasten now and show his amiable humour, and he willingly obeyed; but ill luck would have it that, as he opened the door leading from the kitchen on one side, Hindley opened it on the other. They met, and the master, irritated at seeing him clean and cheerful, or, perhaps, eager to keep his promise to Mrs. Linton, shoved him back with a sudden thrust, and angrily bade Joseph keep the fellow out of the roomsend him into the garret till dinner is over. Hell be cramming his fingers in the tarts and stealing the fruit, if left alone with them a minute. Nay, sir, I could not avoid answering, hell touch nothing, not he and I suppose he must have his share of the dainties as well as we. He shall have his share of my hand, if I catch him downstairs till dark, cried Hindley. Begone, you vagabond! What! you are attempting the coxcomb, are you? Wait till I get hold of those elegant lockssee if I wont pull them a bit longer! They are long enough already, observed Master Linton, peeping from the doorway; I wonder they dont make his head ache. Its like a colts mane over his eyes! He ventured this remark without any intention to insult; but Heathcliffs violent nature was not prepared to endure the appearance of impertinence from one whom he seemed to hate, even then, as a rival. He seized a tureen of hot apple sauce (the first thing that came under his grip) and dashed it full against the speakers face and neck; who instantly commenced a lament that brought Isabella and Catherine hurrying to the place. Mr. Earnshaw snatched up the culprit directly and conveyed him to his chamber; where, doubtless, he administered a rough remedy to cool the fit of passion, for he appeared red and breathless. I got the dishcloth, and rather spitefully scrubbed Edgars nose and mouth, affirming it served him right for meddling. His sister began weeping to go home, and Cathy stood by confounded, blushing for all. You should not have spoken to him! she expostulated with Master Linton. He was in a bad temper, and now youve spoilt your visit; and hell be flogged I hate him to be flogged! I cant eat my dinner. Why did you speak to him, Edgar? I didnt, sobbed the youth, escaping from my hands, and finishing the remainder of the purification with his cambric pockethandkerchief. I promised mamma that I wouldnt say one word to him, and I didnt. Well, dont cry, replied Catherine, contemptuously; youre not killed. Dont make more mischief; my brother is coming be quiet! Hush, Isabella! Has anybody hurt you? There, there, childrento your seats! cried Hindley, bustling in. That brute of a lad has warmed me nicely. Next time, Master Edgar, take the law into your own fistsit will give you an appetite! The little party recovered its equanimity at sight of the fragrant feast. They were hungry after their ride, and easily consoled, since no real harm had befallen them. Mr. Earnshaw carved bountiful platefuls, and the mistress made them merry with lively talk. I waited behind her chair, and was pained to behold Catherine, with dry eyes and an indifferent air, commence cutting up the wing of a goose before her. An unfeeling child, I thought to myself; how lightly she dismisses her old playmates troubles. I could not have imagined her to be so selfish. She lifted a mouthful to her lips then she set it down again her cheeks flushed, and the tears gushed over them. She slipped her fork to the floor, and hastily dived under the cloth to conceal her emotion. I did not call her unfeeling long; for I perceived she was in purgatory throughout the day, and wearying to find an opportunity of getting by herself, or paying a visit to Heathcliff, who had been locked up by the master as I discovered, on endeavouring to introduce to him a private mess of victuals. In the evening we had a dance. Cathy begged that he might be liberated then, as Isabella Linton had no partner her entreaties were vain, and I was appointed to supply the deficiency. We got rid of all gloom in the excitement of the exercise, and our pleasure was increased by the arrival of the Gimmerton band, mustering fifteen strong a trumpet, a trombone, clarinets, bassoons, French horns, and a bass viol, besides singers. They go the rounds of all the respectable houses, and receive contributions every Christmas, and we esteemed it a firstrate treat to hear them. After the usual carols had been sung, we set them to songs and glees. Mrs. Earnshaw loved the music, and so they gave us plenty. Catherine loved it too but she said it sounded sweetest at the top of the steps, and she went up in the dark I followed. They shut the house door below, never noting our absence, it was so full of people. She made no stay at the stairshead, but mounted farther, to the garret where Heathcliff was confined, and called him. He stubbornly declined answering for a while she persevered, and finally persuaded him to hold communion with her through the boards. I let the poor things converse unmolested, till I supposed the songs were going to cease, and the singers to get some refreshment then I clambered up the ladder to warn her. Instead of finding her outside, I heard her voice within. The little monkey had crept by the skylight of one garret, along the roof, into the skylight of the other, and it was with the utmost difficulty I could coax her out again. When she did come, Heathcliff came with her, and she insisted that I should take him into the kitchen, as my fellowservant had gone to a neighbours, to be removed from the sound of our devils psalmody, as it pleased him to call it. I told them I intended by no means to encourage their tricks but as the prisoner had never broken his fast since yesterdays dinner, I would wink at his cheating Mr. Hindley that once. He went down I set him a stool by the fire, and offered him a quantity of good things but he was sick and could eat little, and my attempts to entertain him were thrown away. He leant his two elbows on his knees, and his chin on his hands and remained rapt in dumb meditation. On my inquiring the subject of his thoughts, he answered gravelyIm trying to settle how I shall pay Hindley back. I dont care how long I wait, if I can only do it at last. I hope he will not die before I do! For shame, Heathcliff! said I. It is for God to punish wicked people; we should learn to forgive. No, God wont have the satisfaction that I shall, he returned. I only wish I knew the best way! Let me alone, and Ill plan it out while Im thinking of that I dont feel pain. But, Mr. Lockwood, I forget these tales cannot divert you. Im annoyed how I should dream of chattering on at such a rate; and your gruel cold, and you nodding for bed! I could have told Heathcliffs history, all that you need hear, in half a dozen words. Thus interrupting herself, the housekeeper rose, and proceeded to lay aside her sewing; but I felt incapable of moving from the hearth, and I was very far from nodding. Sit still, Mrs. Dean, I cried; do sit still another halfhour. Youve done just right to tell the story leisurely. That is the method I like; and you must finish it in the same style. I am interested in every character you have mentioned, more or less. The clock is on the stroke of eleven, sir. No matterIm not accustomed to go to bed in the long hours. One or two is early enough for a person who lies till ten. You shouldnt lie till ten. Theres the very prime of the morning gone long before that time. A person who has not done onehalf his days work by ten oclock, runs a chance of leaving the other half undone. Nevertheless, Mrs. Dean, resume your chair; because tomorrow I intend lengthening the night till afternoon. I prognosticate for myself an obstinate cold, at least. I hope not, sir. Well, you must allow me to leap over some three years; during that space Mrs. Earnshaw No, no, Ill allow nothing of the sort! Are you acquainted with the mood of mind in which, if you were seated alone, and the cat licking its kitten on the rug before you, you would watch the operation so intently that pusss neglect of one ear would put you seriously out of temper? A terribly lazy mood, I should say. On the contrary, a tiresomely active one. It is mine, at present; and, therefore, continue minutely. I perceive that people in these regions acquire over people in towns the value that a spider in a dungeon does over a spider in a cottage, to their various occupants; and yet the deepened attraction is not entirely owing to the situation of the lookeron. They do live more in earnest, more in themselves, and less in surface, change, and frivolous external things. I could fancy a love for life here almost possible; and I was a fixed unbeliever in any love of a years standing. One state resembles setting a hungry man down to a single dish, on which he may concentrate his entire appetite and do it justice; the other, introducing him to a table laid out by French cooks he can perhaps extract as much enjoyment from the whole; but each part is a mere atom in his regard and remembrance. Oh! here we are the same as anywhere else, when you get to know us, observed Mrs. Dean, somewhat puzzled at my speech. Excuse me, I responded; you, my good friend, are a striking evidence against that assertion. Excepting a few provincialisms of slight consequence, you have no marks of the manners which I am habituated to consider as peculiar to your class. I am sure you have thought a great deal more than the generality of servants think. You have been compelled to cultivate your reflective faculties for want of occasions for frittering your life away in silly trifles. Mrs. Dean laughed. I certainly esteem myself a steady, reasonable kind of body, she said; not exactly from living among the hills and seeing one set of faces, and one series of actions, from years end to years end; but I have undergone sharp discipline, which has taught me wisdom; and then, I have read more than you would fancy, Mr. Lockwood. You could not open a book in this library that I have not looked into, and got something out of also unless it be that range of Greek and Latin, and that of French; and those I know one from another it is as much as you can expect of a poor mans daughter. However, if I am to follow my story in true gossips fashion, I had better go on; and instead of leaping three years, I will be content to pass to the next summerthe summer of 1778, that is nearly twentythree years ago. VIII On the morning of a fine June day my first bonny little nursling, and the last of the ancient Earnshaw stock, was born. We were busy with the hay in a faraway field, when the girl that usually brought our breakfasts came running an hour too soon across the meadow and up the lane, calling me as she ran. Oh, such a grand bairn! she panted out. The finest lad that ever breathed! But the doctor says missis must go he says shes been in a consumption these many months. I heard him tell Mr. Hindley and now she has nothing to keep her, and shell be dead before winter. You must come home directly. Youre to nurse it, Nelly to feed it with sugar and milk, and take care of it day and night. I wish I were you, because it will be all yours when there is no missis! But is she very ill? I asked, flinging down my rake and tying my bonnet. I guess she is; yet she looks bravely, replied the girl, and she talks as if she thought of living to see it grow a man. Shes out of her head for joy, its such a beauty! If I were her Im certain I should not die I should get better at the bare sight of it, in spite of Kenneth. I was fairly mad at him. Dame Archer brought the cherub down to master, in the house, and his face just began to light up, when the old croaker steps forward, and says heEarnshaw, its a blessing your wife has been spared to leave you this son. When she came, I felt convinced we shouldnt keep her long; and now, I must tell you, the winter will probably finish her. Dont take on, and fret about it too much it cant be helped. And besides, you should have known better than to choose such a rush of a lass! And what did the master answer? I inquired. I think he swore but I didnt mind him, I was straining to see the bairn, and she began again to describe it rapturously. I, as zealous as herself, hurried eagerly home to admire, on my part; though I was very sad for Hindleys sake. He had room in his heart only for two idolshis wife and himself he doted on both, and adored one, and I couldnt conceive how he would bear the loss. When we got to Wuthering Heights, there he stood at the front door; and, as I passed in, I asked, how was the baby? Nearly ready to run about, Nell! he replied, putting on a cheerful smile. And the mistress? I ventured to inquire; the doctor says shes Damn the doctor! he interrupted, reddening. Frances is quite right shell be perfectly well by this time next week. Are you going upstairs? will you tell her that Ill come, if shell promise not to talk. I left her because she would not hold her tongue; and she musttell her Mr. Kenneth says she must be quiet. I delivered this message to Mrs. Earnshaw; she seemed in flighty spirits, and replied merrily, I hardly spoke a word, Ellen, and there he has gone out twice, crying. Well, say I promise I wont speak but that does not bind me not to laugh at him! Poor soul! Till within a week of her death that gay heart never failed her; and her husband persisted doggedly, nay, furiously, in affirming her health improved every day. When Kenneth warned him that his medicines were useless at that stage of the malady, and he neednt put him to further expense by attending her, he retorted, I know you need notshes wellshe does not want any more attendance from you! She never was in a consumption. It was a fever; and it is gone her pulse is as slow as mine now, and her cheek as cool. He told his wife the same story, and she seemed to believe him; but one night, while leaning on his shoulder, in the act of saying she thought she should be able to get up tomorrow, a fit of coughing took hera very slight onehe raised her in his arms; she put her two hands about his neck, her face changed, and she was dead. As the girl had anticipated, the child Hareton fell wholly into my hands. Mr. Earnshaw, provided he saw him healthy and never heard him cry, was contented, as far as regarded him. For himself, he grew desperate his sorrow was of that kind that will not lament. He neither wept nor prayed; he cursed and defied execrated God and man, and gave himself up to reckless dissipation. The servants could not bear his tyrannical and evil conduct long Joseph and I were the only two that would stay. I had not the heart to leave my charge; and besides, you know, I had been his fostersister, and excused his behaviour more readily than a stranger would. Joseph remained to hector over tenants and labourers; and because it was his vocation to be where he had plenty of wickedness to reprove. The masters bad ways and bad companions formed a pretty example for Catherine and Heathcliff. His treatment of the latter was enough to make a fiend of a saint. And, truly, it appeared as if the lad were possessed of something diabolical at that period. He delighted to witness Hindley degrading himself past redemption; and became daily more notable for savage sullenness and ferocity. I could not half tell what an infernal house we had. The curate dropped calling, and nobody decent came near us, at last; unless Edgar Lintons visits to Miss Cathy might be an exception. At fifteen she was the queen of the countryside; she had no peer; and she did turn out a haughty, headstrong creature! I own I did not like her, after infancy was past; and I vexed her frequently by trying to bring down her arrogance she never took an aversion to me, though. She had a wondrous constancy to old attachments even Heathcliff kept his hold on her affections unalterably; and young Linton, with all his superiority, found it difficult to make an equally deep impression. He was my late master that is his portrait over the fireplace. It used to hang on one side, and his wifes on the other; but hers has been removed, or else you might see something of what she was. Can you make that out? Mrs. Dean raised the candle, and I discerned a softfeatured face, exceedingly resembling the young lady at the Heights, but more pensive and amiable in expression. It formed a sweet picture. The long light hair curled slightly on the temples; the eyes were large and serious; the figure almost too graceful. I did not marvel how Catherine Earnshaw could forget her first friend for such an individual. I marvelled much how he, with a mind to correspond with his person, could fancy my idea of Catherine Earnshaw. A very agreeable portrait, I observed to the housekeeper. Is it like? Yes, she answered; but he looked better when he was animated; that is his everyday countenance he wanted spirit in general. Catherine had kept up her acquaintance with the Lintons since her fiveweeks residence among them; and as she had no temptation to show her rough side in their company, and had the sense to be ashamed of being rude where she experienced such invariable courtesy, she imposed unwittingly on the old lady and gentleman by her ingenious cordiality; gained the admiration of Isabella, and the heart and soul of her brother acquisitions that flattered her from the firstfor she was full of ambitionand led her to adopt a double character without exactly intending to deceive anyone. In the place where she heard Heathcliff termed a vulgar young ruffian, and worse than a brute, she took care not to act like him; but at home she had small inclination to practise politeness that would only be laughed at, and restrain an unruly nature when it would bring her neither credit nor praise. Mr. Edgar seldom mustered courage to visit Wuthering Heights openly. He had a terror of Earnshaws reputation, and shrunk from encountering him; and yet he was always received with our best attempts at civility the master himself avoided offending him, knowing why he came; and if he could not be gracious, kept out of the way. I rather think his appearance there was distasteful to Catherine; she was not artful, never played the coquette, and had evidently an objection to her two friends meeting at all; for when Heathcliff expressed contempt of Linton in his presence, she could not half coincide, as she did in his absence; and when Linton evinced disgust and antipathy to Heathcliff, she dared not treat his sentiments with indifference, as if depreciation of her playmate were of scarcely any consequence to her. Ive had many a laugh at her perplexities and untold troubles, which she vainly strove to hide from my mockery. That sounds illnatured but she was so proud it became really impossible to pity her distresses, till she should be chastened into more humility. She did bring herself, finally, to confess, and to confide in me there was not a soul else that she might fashion into an adviser. Mr. Hindley had gone from home one afternoon, and Heathcliff presumed to give himself a holiday on the strength of it. He had reached the age of sixteen then, I think, and without having bad features, or being deficient in intellect, he contrived to convey an impression of inward and outward repulsiveness that his present aspect retains no traces of. In the first place, he had by that time lost the benefit of his early education continual hard work, begun soon and concluded late, had extinguished any curiosity he once possessed in pursuit of knowledge, and any love for books or learning. His childhoods sense of superiority, instilled into him by the favours of old Mr. Earnshaw, was faded away. He struggled long to keep up an equality with Catherine in her studies, and yielded with poignant though silent regret but he yielded completely; and there was no prevailing on him to take a step in the way of moving upward, when he found he must, necessarily, sink beneath his former level. Then personal appearance sympathised with mental deterioration he acquired a slouching gait and ignoble look; his naturally reserved disposition was exaggerated into an almost idiotic excess of unsociable moroseness; and he took a grim pleasure, apparently, in exciting the aversion rather than the esteem of his few acquaintances. Catherine and he were constant companions still at his seasons of respite from labour; but he had ceased to express his fondness for her in words, and recoiled with angry suspicion from her girlish caresses, as if conscious there could be no gratification in lavishing such marks of affection on him. On the beforenamed occasion he came into the house to announce his intention of doing nothing, while I was assisting Miss Cathy to arrange her dress she had not reckoned on his taking it into his head to be idle; and imagining she would have the whole place to herself, she managed, by some means, to inform Mr. Edgar of her brothers absence, and was then preparing to receive him. Cathy, are you busy this afternoon? asked Heathcliff. Are you going anywhere? No, it is raining, she answered. Why have you that silk frock on, then? he said. Nobody coming here, I hope? Not that I know of, stammered Miss but you should be in the field now, Heathcliff. It is an hour past dinnertime I thought you were gone. Hindley does not often free us from his accursed presence, observed the boy. Ill not work any more today Ill stay with you. Oh, but Joseph will tell, she suggested; youd better go! Joseph is loading lime on the further side of Penistone Crags; it will take him till dark, and hell never know. So, saying, he lounged to the fire, and sat down. Catherine reflected an instant, with knitted browsshe found it needful to smooth the way for an intrusion. Isabella and Edgar Linton talked of calling this afternoon, she said, at the conclusion of a minutes silence. As it rains, I hardly expect them; but they may come, and if they do, you run the risk of being scolded for no good. Order Ellen to say you are engaged, Cathy, he persisted; dont turn me out for those pitiful, silly friends of yours! Im on the point, sometimes, of complaining that theybut Ill not That they what? cried Catherine, gazing at him with a troubled countenance. Oh, Nelly! she added petulantly, jerking her head away from my hands, youve combed my hair quite out of curl! Thats enough; let me alone. What are you on the point of complaining about, Heathcliff? Nothingonly look at the almanac on that wall; he pointed to a framed sheet hanging near the window, and continued, The crosses are for the evenings you have spent with the Lintons, the dots for those spent with me. Do you see? Ive marked every day. Yesvery foolish as if I took notice! replied Catherine, in a peevish tone. And where is the sense of that? To show that I do take notice, said Heathcliff. And should I always be sitting with you? she demanded, growing more irritated. What good do I get? What do you talk about? You might be dumb, or a baby, for anything you say to amuse me, or for anything you do, either! You never told me before that I talked too little, or that you disliked my company, Cathy! exclaimed Heathcliff, in much agitation.

Its no company at all, when people know nothing and say nothing, she muttered. Her companion rose up, but he hadnt time to express his feelings further, for a horses feet were heard on the flags, and having knocked gently, young Linton entered, his face brilliant with delight at the unexpected summons he had received. Doubtless Catherine marked the difference between her friends, as one came in and the other went out. The contrast resembled what you see in exchanging a bleak, hilly, coal country for a beautiful fertile valley; and his voice and greeting were as opposite as his aspect. He had a sweet, low manner of speaking, and pronounced his words as you do thats less gruff than we talk here, and softer. Im not come too soon, am I? he said, casting a look at me I had begun to wipe the plate, and tidy some drawers at the far end in the dresser. No, answered Catherine. What are you doing there, Nelly? My work, Miss, I replied. (Mr. Hindley had given me directions to make a third party in any private visits Linton chose to pay.) She stepped behind me and whispered crossly, Take yourself and your dusters off; when company are in the house, servants dont commence scouring and cleaning in the room where they are! Its a good opportunity, now that master is away, I answered aloud he hates me to be fidgeting over these things in his presence. Im sure Mr. Edgar will excuse me. I hate you to be fidgeting in my presence, exclaimed the young lady imperiously, not allowing her guest time to speak she had failed to recover her equanimity since the little dispute with Heathcliff. Im sorry for it, Miss Catherine, was my response; and I proceeded assiduously with my occupation. She, supposing Edgar could not see her, snatched the cloth from my hand, and pinched me, with a prolonged wrench, very spitefully on the arm. Ive said I did not love her, and rather relished mortifying her vanity now and then besides, she hurt me extremely; so I started up from my knees, and screamed out, Oh, Miss, thats a nasty trick! You have no right to nip me, and Im not going to bear it. I didnt touch you, you lying creature! cried she, her fingers tingling to repeat the act, and her ears red with rage. She never had power to conceal her passion, it always set her whole complexion in a blaze. Whats that, then? I retorted, showing a decided purple witness to refute her. She stamped her foot, wavered a moment, and then, irresistibly impelled by the naughty spirit within her, slapped me on the cheek a stinging blow that filled both eyes with water. Catherine, love! Catherine! interposed Linton, greatly shocked at the double fault of falsehood and violence which his idol had committed. Leave the room, Ellen! she repeated, trembling all over. Little Hareton, who followed me everywhere, and was sitting near me on the floor, at seeing my tears commenced crying himself, and sobbed out complaints against wicked aunt Cathy, which drew her fury on to his unlucky head she seized his shoulders, and shook him till the poor child waxed livid, and Edgar thoughtlessly laid hold of her hands to deliver him. In an instant one was wrung free, and the astonished young man felt it applied over his own ear in a way that could not be mistaken for jest. He drew back in consternation. I lifted Hareton in my arms, and walked off to the kitchen with him, leaving the door of communication open, for I was curious to watch how they would settle their disagreement. The insulted visitor moved to the spot where he had laid his hat, pale and with a quivering lip. Thats right! I said to myself. Take warning and begone! Its a kindness to let you have a glimpse of her genuine disposition. Where are you going? demanded Catherine, advancing to the door. He swerved aside, and attempted to pass. You must not go! she exclaimed, energetically. I must and shall! he replied in a subdued voice. No, she persisted, grasping the handle; not yet, Edgar Linton sit down; you shall not leave me in that temper. I should be miserable all night, and I wont be miserable for you! Can I stay after you have struck me? asked Linton. Catherine was mute. Youve made me afraid and ashamed of you, he continued; Ill not come here again! Her eyes began to glisten and her lids to twinkle. And you told a deliberate untruth! he said. I didnt! she cried, recovering her speech; I did nothing deliberately. Well, go, if you pleaseget away! And now Ill cryIll cry myself sick! She dropped down on her knees by a chair, and set to weeping in serious earnest. Edgar persevered in his resolution as far as the court; there he lingered. I resolved to encourage him. Miss is dreadfully wayward, sir, I called out. As bad as any marred child youd better be riding home, or else she will be sick, only to grieve us. The soft thing looked askance through the window he possessed the power to depart as much as a cat possesses the power to leave a mouse half killed, or a bird half eaten. Ah, I thought, there will be no saving him hes doomed, and flies to his fate! And so it was he turned abruptly, hastened into the house again, shut the door behind him; and when I went in a while after to inform them that Earnshaw had come home rabid drunk, ready to pull the whole place about our ears (his ordinary frame of mind in that condition), I saw the quarrel had merely effected a closer intimacyhad broken the outworks of youthful timidity, and enabled them to forsake the disguise of friendship, and confess themselves lovers. Intelligence of Mr. Hindleys arrival drove Linton speedily to his horse, and Catherine to her chamber. I went to hide little Hareton, and to take the shot out of the masters fowlingpiece, which he was fond of playing with in his insane excitement, to the hazard of the lives of any who provoked, or even attracted his notice too much; and I had hit upon the plan of removing it, that he might do less mischief if he did go the length of firing the gun. IX He entered, vociferating oaths dreadful to hear; and caught me in the act of stowing his son away in the kitchen cupboard. Hareton was impressed with a wholesome terror of encountering either his wild beasts fondness or his madmans rage; for in one he ran a chance of being squeezed and kissed to death, and in the other of being flung into the fire, or dashed against the wall; and the poor thing remained perfectly quiet wherever I chose to put him. There, Ive found it out at last! cried Hindley, pulling me back by the skin of my neck, like a dog. By heaven and hell, youve sworn between you to murder that child! I know how it is, now, that he is always out of my way. But, with the help of Satan, I shall make you swallow the carvingknife, Nelly! You neednt laugh; for Ive just crammed Kenneth, headdownmost, in the Blackhorse marsh; and two is the same as oneand I want to kill some of you I shall have no rest till I do! But I dont like the carvingknife, Mr. Hindley, I answered; it has been cutting red herrings. Id rather be shot, if you please. Youd rather be damned! he said; and so you shall. No law in England can hinder a man from keeping his house decent, and mines abominable! Open your mouth. He held the knife in his hand, and pushed its point between my teeth but, for my part, I was never much afraid of his vagaries. I spat out, and affirmed it tasted detestablyI would not take it on any account. Oh! said he, releasing me, I see that hideous little villain is not Hareton I beg your pardon, Nell. If it be, he deserves flaying alive for not running to welcome me, and for screaming as if I were a goblin. Unnatural cub, come hither! Ill teach thee to impose on a goodhearted, deluded father. Now, dont you think the lad would be handsomer cropped? It makes a dog fiercer, and I love something fierceget me a scissorssomething fierce and trim! Besides, its infernal affectationdevilish conceit it is, to cherish our earswere asses enough without them. Hush, child, hush! Well then, it is my darling! wisht, dry thy eyestheres a joy; kiss me. What! it wont? Kiss me, Hareton! Damn thee, kiss me! By God, as if I would rear such a monster! As sure as Im living, Ill break the brats neck. Poor Hareton was squalling and kicking in his fathers arms with all his might, and redoubled his yells when he carried him upstairs and lifted him over the banister. I cried out that he would frighten the child into fits, and ran to rescue him. As I reached them, Hindley leant forward on the rails to listen to a noise below; almost forgetting what he had in his hands. Who is that? he asked, hearing someone approaching the stairsfoot. I leant forward also, for the purpose of signing to Heathcliff, whose step I recognised, not to come further; and, at the instant when my eye quitted Hareton, he gave a sudden spring, delivered himself from the careless grasp that held him, and fell. There was scarcely time to experience a thrill of horror before we saw that the little wretch was safe. Heathcliff arrived underneath just at the critical moment; by a natural impulse he arrested his descent, and setting him on his feet, looked up to discover the author of the accident. A miser who has parted with a lucky lottery ticket for five shillings, and finds next day he has lost in the bargain five thousand pounds, could not show a blanker countenance than he did on beholding the figure of Mr. Earnshaw above. It expressed, plainer than words could do, the intensest anguish at having made himself the instrument of thwarting his own revenge. Had it been dark, I daresay he would have tried to remedy the mistake by smashing Haretons skull on the steps; but, we witnessed his salvation; and I was presently below with my precious charge pressed to my heart. Hindley descended more leisurely, sobered and abashed. It is your fault, Ellen, he said; you should have kept him out of sight you should have taken him from me! Is he injured anywhere? Injured! I cried angrily; if he is not killed, hell be an idiot! Oh! I wonder his mother does not rise from her grave to see how you use him. Youre worse than a heathentreating your own flesh and blood in that manner! He attempted to touch the child, who, on finding himself with me, sobbed off his terror directly. At the first finger his father laid on him, however, he shrieked again louder than before, and struggled as if he would go into convulsions. You shall not meddle with him! I continued. He hates youthey all hate youthats the truth! A happy family you have; and a pretty state youre come to! I shall come to a prettier, yet, Nelly, laughed the misguided man, recovering his hardness. At present, convey yourself and him away. And hark you, Heathcliff! clear you too quite from my reach and hearing. I wouldnt murder you tonight; unless, perhaps, I set the house on fire but thats as my fancy goes. While saying this he took a pint bottle of brandy from the dresser, and poured some into a tumbler. Nay, dont! I entreated. Mr. Hindley, do take warning. Have mercy on this unfortunate boy, if you care nothing for yourself! Anyone will do better for him than I shall, he answered. Have mercy on your own soul! I said, endeavouring to snatch the glass from his hand. Not I! On the contrary, I shall have great pleasure in sending it to perdition to punish its Maker, exclaimed the blasphemer. Heres to its hearty damnation! He drank the spirits and impatiently bade us go; terminating his command with a sequel of horrid imprecations too bad to repeat or remember. Its a pity he cannot kill himself with drink, observed Heathcliff, muttering an echo of curses back when the door was shut. Hes doing his very utmost; but his constitution defies him. Mr. Kenneth says he would wager his mare that hell outlive any man on this side Gimmerton, and go to the grave a hoary sinner; unless some happy chance out of the common course befall him. I went into the kitchen, and sat down to lull my little lamb to sleep. Heathcliff, as I thought, walked through to the barn. It turned out afterwards that he only got as far as the other side the settle, when he flung himself on a bench by the wall, removed from the fire and remained silent. I was rocking Hareton on my knee, and humming a song that began It was far in the night, and the bairnies grat, The mither beneath the mools heard that, when Miss Cathy, who had listened to the hubbub from her room, put her head in, and whisperedAre you alone, Nelly? Yes, Miss, I replied. She entered and approached the hearth. I, supposing she was going to say something, looked up. The expression of her face seemed disturbed and anxious. Her lips were half asunder, as if she meant to speak, and she drew a breath; but it escaped in a sigh instead of a sentence. I resumed my song; not having forgotten her recent behaviour. Wheres Heathcliff? she said, interrupting me. About his work in the stable, was my answer. He did not contradict me; perhaps he had fallen into a doze. There followed another long pause, during which I perceived a drop or two trickle from Catherines cheek to the flags. Is she sorry for her shameful conduct?I asked myself. That will be a novelty but she may come to the pointas she willI shant help her! No, she felt small trouble regarding any subject, save her own concerns. Oh, dear! she cried at last. Im very unhappy! A pity, observed I. Youre hard to please; so many friends and so few cares, and cant make yourself content! Nelly, will you keep a secret for me? she pursued, kneeling down by me, and lifting her winsome eyes to my face with that sort of look which turns off bad temper, even when one has all the right in the world to indulge it. Is it worth keeping? I inquired, less sulkily. Yes, and it worries me, and I must let it out! I want to know what I should do. Today, Edgar Linton has asked me to marry him, and Ive given him an answer. Now, before I tell you whether it was a consent or denial, you tell me which it ought to have been. Really, Miss Catherine, how can I know? I replied. To be sure, considering the exhibition you performed in his presence this afternoon, I might say it would be wise to refuse him since he asked you after that, he must either be hopelessly stupid or a venturesome fool. If you talk so, I wont tell you any more, she returned, peevishly rising to her feet. I accepted him, Nelly. Be quick, and say whether I was wrong! You accepted him! Then what good is it discussing the matter? You have pledged your word, and cannot retract. But say whether I should have done sodo! she exclaimed in an irritated tone; chafing her hands together, and frowning. There are many things to be considered before that question can be answered properly, I said, sententiously. First and foremost, do you love Mr. Edgar? Who can help it? Of course I do, she answered. Then I put her through the following catechism for a girl of twentytwo it was not injudicious. Why do you love him, Miss Cathy? Nonsense, I dothats sufficient. By no means; you must say why? Well, because he is handsome, and pleasant to be with. Bad! was my commentary. And because he is young and cheerful. Bad, still. And because he loves me. Indifferent, coming there. And he will be rich, and I shall like to be the greatest woman of the neighbourhood, and I shall be proud of having such a husband. Worst of all. And now, say how you love him? As everybody lovesYoure silly, Nelly. Not at allAnswer. I love the ground under his feet, and the air over his head, and everything he touches, and every word he says. I love all his looks, and all his actions, and him entirely and altogether. There now! And why? Nay; you are making a jest of it it is exceedingly illnatured! Its no jest to me! said the young lady, scowling, and turning her face to the fire. Im very far from jesting, Miss Catherine, I replied. You love Mr. Edgar because he is handsome, and young, and cheerful, and rich, and loves you. The last, however, goes for nothing you would love him without that, probably; and with it you wouldnt, unless he possessed the four former attractions. No, to be sure not I should only pity himhate him, perhaps, if he were ugly, and a clown. But there are several other handsome, rich young men in the world handsomer, possibly, and richer than he is. What should hinder you from loving them? If there be any, they are out of my way Ive seen none like Edgar. You may see some; and he wont always be handsome, and young, and may not always be rich. He is now; and I have only to do with the present. I wish you would speak rationally. Well, that settles it if you have only to do with the present, marry Mr. Linton. I dont want your permission for thatI shall marry him and yet you have not told me whether Im right. Perfectly right; if people be right to marry only for the present. And now, let us hear what you are unhappy about. Your brother will be pleased; the old lady and gentleman will not object, I think; you will escape from a disorderly, comfortless home into a wealthy, respectable one; and you love Edgar, and Edgar loves you. All seems smooth and easy where is the obstacle? Here! and here! replied Catherine, striking one hand on her forehead, and the other on her breast in whichever place the soul lives. In my soul and in my heart, Im convinced Im wrong! Thats very strange! I cannot make it out. Its my secret. But if you will not mock at me, Ill explain it I cant do it distinctly; but Ill give you a feeling of how I feel. She seated herself by me again her countenance grew sadder and graver, and her clasped hands trembled. Nelly, do you never dream queer dreams? she said, suddenly, after some minutes reflection. Yes, now and then, I answered. And so do I. Ive dreamt in my life dreams that have stayed with me ever after, and changed my ideas theyve gone through and through me, like wine through water, and altered the colour of my mind. And this is one Im going to tell itbut take care not to smile at any part of it. Oh! dont, Miss Catherine! I cried. Were dismal enough without conjuring up ghosts and visions to perplex us. Come, come, be merry and like yourself! Look at little Hareton! hes dreaming nothing dreary. How sweetly he smiles in his sleep! Yes; and how sweetly his father curses in his solitude! You remember him, I daresay, when he was just such another as that chubby thing nearly as young and innocent. However, Nelly, I shall oblige you to listen its not long; and Ive no power to be merry tonight. I wont hear it, I wont hear it! I repeated, hastily. I was superstitious about dreams then, and am still; and Catherine had an unusual gloom in her aspect, that made me dread something from which I might shape a prophecy, and foresee a fearful catastrophe. She was vexed, but she did not proceed. Apparently taking up another subject, she recommenced in a short time. If I were in heaven, Nelly, I should be extremely miserable. Because you are not fit to go there, I answered. All sinners would be miserable in heaven. But it is not for that. I dreamt once that I was there. I tell you I wont hearken to your dreams, Miss Catherine! Ill go to bed, I interrupted again. She laughed, and held me down; for I made a motion to leave my chair. This is nothing, cried she I was only going to say that heaven did not seem to be my home; and I broke my heart with weeping to come back to earth; and the angels were so angry that they flung me out into the middle of the heath on the top of Wuthering Heights; where I woke sobbing for joy. That will do to explain my secret, as well as the other. Ive no more business to marry Edgar Linton than I have to be in heaven; and if the wicked man in there had not brought Heathcliff so low, I shouldnt have thought of it. It would degrade me to marry Heathcliff now; so he shall never know how I love him and that, not because hes handsome, Nelly, but because hes more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same; and Lintons is as different as a moonbeam from lightning, or frost from fire. Ere this speech ended I became sensible of Heathcliffs presence. Having noticed a slight movement, I turned my head, and saw him rise from the bench, and steal out noiselessly. He had listened till he heard Catherine say it would degrade her to marry him, and then he stayed to hear no further. My companion, sitting on the ground, was prevented by the back of the settle from remarking his presence or departure; but I started, and bade her hush! Why? she asked, gazing nervously round. Joseph is here, I answered, catching opportunely the roll of his cartwheels up the road; and Heathcliff will come in with him. Im not sure whether he were not at the door this moment. Oh, he couldnt overhear me at the door! said she. Give me Hareton, while you get the supper, and when it is ready ask me to sup with you. I want to cheat my uncomfortable conscience, and be convinced that Heathcliff has no notion of these things. He has not, has he? He does not know what being in love is! I see no reason that he should not know, as well as you, I returned; and if you are his choice, hell be the most unfortunate creature that ever was born! As soon as you become Mrs. Linton, he loses friend, and love, and all! Have you considered how youll bear the separation, and how hell bear to be quite deserted in the world? Because, Miss Catherine He quite deserted! we separated! she exclaimed, with an accent of indignation. Who is to separate us, pray? Theyll meet the fate of Milo! Not as long as I live, Ellen for no mortal creature. Every Linton on the face of the earth might melt into nothing before I could consent to forsake Heathcliff. Oh, thats not what I intendthats not what I mean! I shouldnt be Mrs. Linton were such a price demanded! Hell be as much to me as he has been all his lifetime. Edgar must shake off his antipathy, and tolerate him, at least. He will, when he learns my true feelings towards him. Nelly, I see now you think me a selfish wretch; but did it never strike you that if Heathcliff and I married, we should be beggars? whereas, if I marry Linton I can aid Heathcliff to rise, and place him out of my brothers power. With your husbands money, Miss Catherine? I asked. Youll find him not so pliable as you calculate upon and, though Im hardly a judge, I think thats the worst motive youve given yet for being the wife of young Linton. It is not, retorted she; it is the best! The others were the satisfaction of my whims and for Edgars sake, too, to satisfy him. This is for the sake of one who comprehends in his person my feelings to Edgar and myself. I cannot express it; but surely you and everybody have a notion that there is or should be an existence of yours beyond you. What were the use of my creation, if I were entirely contained here? My great miseries in this world have been Heathcliffs miseries, and I watched and felt each from the beginning my great thought in living is himself. If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger I should not seem a part of it.My love for Linton is like the foliage in the woods time will change it, Im well aware, as winter changes the trees. My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath a source of little visible delight, but necessary. Nelly, I am Heathcliff! Hes always, always in my mind not as a pleasure, any more than I am always a pleasure to myself, but as my own being. So dont talk of our separation again it is impracticable; and She paused, and hid her face in the folds of my gown; but I jerked it forcibly away. I was out of patience with her folly! If I can make any sense of your nonsense, Miss, I said, it only goes to convince me that you are ignorant of the duties you undertake in marrying; or else that you are a wicked, unprincipled girl. But trouble me with no more secrets Ill not promise to keep them. Youll keep that? she asked, eagerly. No, Ill not promise, I repeated. She was about to insist, when the entrance of Joseph finished our conversation; and Catherine removed her seat to a corner, and nursed Hareton, while I made the supper. After it was cooked, my fellowservant and I began to quarrel who should carry some to Mr. Hindley; and we didnt settle it till all was nearly cold. Then we came to the agreement that we would let him ask, if he wanted any; for we feared particularly to go into his presence when he had been some time alone. And how isnt that nowt comed in fro th field, be this time? What is he about? girt idle seeght! demanded the old man, looking round for Heathcliff. Ill call him, I replied. Hes in the barn, Ive no doubt. I went and called, but got no answer. On returning, I whispered to Catherine that he had heard a good part of what she said, I was sure; and told how I saw him quit the kitchen just as she complained of her brothers conduct regarding him. She jumped up in a fine fright, flung Hareton on to the settle, and ran to seek for her friend herself; not taking leisure to consider why she was so flurried, or how her talk would have affected him. She was absent such a while that Joseph proposed we should wait no longer. He cunningly conjectured they were staying away in order to avoid hearing his protracted blessing. They were ill eneugh for ony fahl manners, he affirmed. And on their behalf he added that night a special prayer to the usual quarterofanhours supplication before meat, and would have tacked another to the end of the grace, had not his young mistress broken in upon him with a hurried command that he must run down the road, and, wherever Heathcliff had rambled, find and make him reenter directly! I want to speak to him, and I must, before I go upstairs, she said. And the gate is open he is somewhere out of hearing; for he would not reply, though I shouted at the top of the fold as loud as I could. Joseph objected at first; she was too much in earnest, however, to suffer contradiction; and at last he placed his hat on his head, and walked grumbling forth. Meantime, Catherine paced up and down the floor, exclaimingI wonder where he isI wonder where he can be! What did I say, Nelly? Ive forgotten. Was he vexed at my bad humour this afternoon? Dear! tell me what Ive said to grieve him? I do wish hed come. I do wish he would! What a noise for nothing! I cried, though rather uneasy myself. What a trifle scares you! Its surely no great cause of alarm that Heathcliff should take a moonlight saunter on the moors, or even lie too sulky to speak to us in the hayloft. Ill engage hes lurking there. See if I dont ferret him out! I departed to renew my search; its result was disappointment, and Josephs quest ended in the same. Yon lad gets war und war! observed he on reentering. Hes left th gate at t full swing, and Misss pony has trodden dahn two rigs o corn, and plottered through, raight oer into t meadow! Hahsomdiver, t maister ull play t devil tomorn, and hell do weel. Hes patience itsseln wi sich careless, offald craterspatience itsseln he is! Bud hell not be soa allusyahs see, all on ye! Yah munnt drive him out of his heead for nowt! Have you found Heathcliff, you ass? interrupted Catherine. Have you been looking for him, as I ordered? I sud more likker look for th horse, he replied. It ud be to more sense. Bud I can look for norther horse nur man of a neeght loike thisas black as t chimbley! und Heathcliffs noan t chap to coom at my whistlehappen hell be less hard o hearing wi ye! It was a very dark evening for summer the clouds appeared inclined to thunder, and I said we had better all sit down; the approaching rain would be certain to bring him home without further trouble. However, Catherine would not be persuaded into tranquillity. She kept wandering to and fro, from the gate to the door, in a state of agitation which permitted no repose; and at length took up a permanent situation on one side of the wall, near the road where, heedless of my expostulations and the growling thunder, and the great drops that began to plash around her, she remained, calling at intervals, and then listening, and then crying outright. She beat Hareton, or any child, at a good passionate fit of crying. About midnight, while we still sat up, the storm came rattling over the Heights in full fury. There was a violent wind, as well as thunder, and either one or the other split a tree off at the corner of the building a huge bough fell across the roof, and knocked down a portion of the east chimneystack, sending a clatter of stones and soot into the kitchenfire. We thought a bolt had fallen in the middle of us; and Joseph swung on to his knees, beseeching the Lord to remember the patriarchs Noah and Lot, and, as in former times, spare the righteous, though he smote the ungodly. I felt some sentiment that it must be a judgment on us also. The Jonah, in my mind, was Mr. Earnshaw; and I shook the handle of his den that I might ascertain if he were yet living. He replied audibly enough, in a fashion which made my companion vociferate, more clamorously than before, that a wide distinction might be drawn between saints like himself and sinners like his master. But the uproar passed away in twenty minutes, leaving us all unharmed; excepting Cathy, who got thoroughly drenched for her obstinacy in refusing to take shelter, and standing bonnetless and shawlless to catch as much water as she could with her hair and clothes. She came in and lay down on the settle, all soaked as she was, turning her face to the back, and putting her hands before it. Well, Miss! I exclaimed, touching her shoulder; you are not bent on getting your death, are you? Do you know what oclock it is? Halfpast twelve. Come, come to bed! theres no use waiting any longer on that foolish boy hell be gone to Gimmerton, and hell stay there now. He guesses we shouldnt wait for him till this late hour at least, he guesses that only Mr. Hindley would be up; and hed rather avoid having the door opened by the master. Nay, nay, hes noan at Gimmerton, said Joseph. Is niver wonder but hes at t bothom of a boghoile. This visitation wornt for nowt, and I wod hev ye to look out, Missyah muh be t next. Thank Hivin for all! All warks togither for gooid to them as is chozzen, and piked out fro th rubbidge! Yah knaw whet t Scripture ses. And he began quoting several texts, referring us to chapters and verses where we might find them. I, having vainly begged the wilful girl to rise and remove her wet things, left him preaching and her shivering, and betook myself to bed with little Hareton, who slept as fast as if everyone had been sleeping round him. I heard Joseph read on a while afterwards; then I distinguished his slow step on the ladder, and then I dropped asleep. Coming down somewhat later than usual, I saw, by the sunbeams piercing the chinks of the shutters, Miss Catherine still seated near the fireplace. The housedoor was ajar, too; light entered from its unclosed windows; Hindley had come out, and stood on the kitchen hearth, haggard and drowsy. What ails you, Cathy? he was saying when I entered you look as dismal as a drowned whelp. Why are you so damp and pale, child? Ive been wet, she answered reluctantly, and Im cold, thats all. Oh, she is naughty! I cried, perceiving the master to be tolerably sober. She got steeped in the shower of yesterday evening, and there she has sat the night through, and I couldnt prevail on her to stir. Mr. Earnshaw stared at us in surprise. The night through, he repeated. What kept her up? not fear of the thunder, surely? That was over hours since. Neither of us wished to mention Heathcliffs absence, as long as we could conceal it; so I replied, I didnt know how she took it into her head to sit up; and she said nothing. The morning was fresh and cool; I threw back the lattice, and presently the room filled with sweet scents from the garden; but Catherine called peevishly to me, Ellen, shut the window.

Im starving! And her teeth chattered as she shrank closer to the almost extinguished embers. Shes ill, said Hindley, taking her wrist; I suppose thats the reason she would not go to bed. Damn it! I dont want to be troubled with more sickness here. What took you into the rain? Running after t lads, as usuald! croaked Joseph, catching an opportunity from our hesitation to thrust in his evil tongue. If I war yah, maister, Id just slam t boards i their faces all on em, gentle and simple! Never a day ut yahre off, but yon cat o Linton comes sneaking hither; and Miss Nelly, shoos a fine lass! shoo sits watching for ye i t kitchen; and as yahre in at one door, hes out at tother; and, then, wer grand lady goes acourting of her side! Its bonny behaviour, lurking amang t fields, after twelve o t night, wi that fahl, flaysome divil of a gipsy, Heathcliff! They think Im blind; but Im noan nowt ut t soart!I seed young Linton boath coming and going, and I seed yah (directing his discourse to me), yah gooid fur nowt, slattenly witch! nip up and bolt into th house, t minute yah heard t maisters horsefit clatter up t road. Silence, eavesdropper! cried Catherine; none of your insolence before me! Edgar Linton came yesterday by chance, Hindley; and it was I who told him to be off because I knew you would not like to have met him as you were. You lie, Cathy, no doubt, answered her brother, and you are a confounded simpleton! But never mind Linton at present tell me, were you not with Heathcliff last night? Speak the truth, now. You need not be afraid of harming him though I hate him as much as ever, he did me a good turn a short time since that will make my conscience tender of breaking his neck. To prevent it, I shall send him about his business this very morning; and after hes gone, Id advise you all to look sharp I shall only have the more humour for you. I never saw Heathcliff last night, answered Catherine, beginning to sob bitterly and if you do turn him out of doors, Ill go with him. But, perhaps, youll never have an opportunity perhaps, hes gone. Here she burst into uncontrollable grief, and the remainder of her words were inarticulate. Hindley lavished on her a torrent of scornful abuse, and bade her get to her room immediately, or she shouldnt cry for nothing! I obliged her to obey; and I shall never forget what a scene she acted when we reached her chamber it terrified me. I thought she was going mad, and I begged Joseph to run for the doctor. It proved the commencement of delirium Mr. Kenneth, as soon as he saw her, pronounced her dangerously ill; she had a fever. He bled her, and he told me to let her live on whey and watergruel, and take care she did not throw herself downstairs or out of the window; and then he left for he had enough to do in the parish, where two or three miles was the ordinary distance between cottage and cottage. Though I cannot say I made a gentle nurse, and Joseph and the master were no better, and though our patient was as wearisome and headstrong as a patient could be, she weathered it through. Old Mrs. Linton paid us several visits, to be sure, and set things to rights, and scolded and ordered us all; and when Catherine was convalescent, she insisted on conveying her to Thrushcross Grange for which deliverance we were very grateful. But the poor dame had reason to repent of her kindness she and her husband both took the fever, and died within a few days of each other. Our young lady returned to us saucier and more passionate, and haughtier than ever. Heathcliff had never been heard of since the evening of the thunderstorm; and, one day, I had the misfortune, when she had provoked me exceedingly, to lay the blame of his disappearance on her where indeed it belonged, as she well knew. From that period, for several months, she ceased to hold any communication with me, save in the relation of a mere servant. Joseph fell under a ban also he would speak his mind, and lecture her all the same as if she were a little girl; and she esteemed herself a woman, and our mistress, and thought that her recent illness gave her a claim to be treated with consideration. Then the doctor had said that she would not bear crossing much; she ought to have her own way; and it was nothing less than murder in her eyes for anyone to presume to stand up and contradict her. From Mr. Earnshaw and his companions she kept aloof; and tutored by Kenneth, and serious threats of a fit that often attended her rages, her brother allowed her whatever she pleased to demand, and generally avoided aggravating her fiery temper. He was rather too indulgent in humouring her caprices; not from affection, but from pride he wished earnestly to see her bring honour to the family by an alliance with the Lintons, and as long as she let him alone she might trample on us like slaves, for aught he cared! Edgar Linton, as multitudes have been before and will be after him, was infatuated and believed himself the happiest man alive on the day he led her to Gimmerton Chapel, three years subsequent to his fathers death. Much against my inclination, I was persuaded to leave Wuthering Heights and accompany her here. Little Hareton was nearly five years old, and I had just begun to teach him his letters. We made a sad parting; but Catherines tears were more powerful than ours. When I refused to go, and when she found her entreaties did not move me, she went lamenting to her husband and brother. The former offered me munificent wages; the latter ordered me to pack up he wanted no women in the house, he said, now that there was no mistress; and as to Hareton, the curate should take him in hand, byandby. And so I had but one choice left to do as I was ordered. I told the master he got rid of all decent people only to run to ruin a little faster; I kissed Hareton, said goodbye; and since then he has been a stranger and its very queer to think it, but Ive no doubt he has completely forgotten all about Ellen Dean, and that he was ever more than all the world to her and she to him! At this point of the housekeepers story she chanced to glance towards the timepiece over the chimney; and was in amazement on seeing the minutehand measure halfpast one. She would not hear of staying a second longer in truth, I felt rather disposed to defer the sequel of her narrative myself. And now that she is vanished to her rest, and I have meditated for another hour or two, I shall summon courage to go also, in spite of aching laziness of head and limbs. X A charming introduction to a hermits life! Four weeks torture, tossing, and sickness! Oh, these bleak winds and bitter northern skies, and impassable roads, and dilatory country surgeons! And oh, this dearth of the human physiognomy! and, worse than all, the terrible intimation of Kenneth that I need not expect to be out of doors till spring! Mr. Heathcliff has just honoured me with a call. About seven days ago he sent me a brace of grousethe last of the season. Scoundrel! He is not altogether guiltless in this illness of mine; and that I had a great mind to tell him. But, alas! how could I offend a man who was charitable enough to sit at my bedside a good hour, and talk on some other subject than pills and draughts, blisters and leeches? This is quite an easy interval. I am too weak to read; yet I feel as if I could enjoy something interesting. Why not have up Mrs. Dean to finish her tale? I can recollect its chief incidents, as far as she had gone. Yes I remember her hero had run off, and never been heard of for three years; and the heroine was married. Ill ring shell be delighted to find me capable of talking cheerfully. Mrs. Dean came. It wants twenty minutes, sir, to taking the medicine, she commenced. Away, away with it! I replied; I desire to have The doctor says you must drop the powders. With all my heart! Dont interrupt me. Come and take your seat here. Keep your fingers from that bitter phalanx of vials. Draw your knitting out of your pocketthat will donow continue the history of Mr. Heathcliff, from where you left off, to the present day. Did he finish his education on the Continent, and come back a gentleman? or did he get a sizars place at college, or escape to America, and earn honours by drawing blood from his fostercountry? or make a fortune more promptly on the English highways? He may have done a little in all these vocations, Mr. Lockwood; but I couldnt give my word for any. I stated before that I didnt know how he gained his money; neither am I aware of the means he took to raise his mind from the savage ignorance into which it was sunk but, with your leave, Ill proceed in my own fashion, if you think it will amuse and not weary you. Are you feeling better this morning? Much. Thats good news. I got Miss Catherine and myself to Thrushcross Grange; and, to my agreeable disappointment, she behaved infinitely better than I dared to expect. She seemed almost overfond of Mr. Linton; and even to his sister she showed plenty of affection. They were both very attentive to her comfort, certainly. It was not the thorn bending to the honeysuckles, but the honeysuckles embracing the thorn. There were no mutual concessions one stood erect, and the others yielded and who can be illnatured and badtempered when they encounter neither opposition nor indifference? I observed that Mr. Edgar had a deeprooted fear of ruffling her humour. He concealed it from her; but if ever he heard me answer sharply, or saw any other servant grow cloudy at some imperious order of hers, he would show his trouble by a frown of displeasure that never darkened on his own account. He many a time spoke sternly to me about my pertness; and averred that the stab of a knife could not inflict a worse pang than he suffered at seeing his lady vexed. Not to grieve a kind master, I learned to be less touchy; and, for the space of half a year, the gunpowder lay as harmless as sand, because no fire came near to explode it. Catherine had seasons of gloom and silence now and then they were respected with sympathising silence by her husband, who ascribed them to an alteration in her constitution, produced by her perilous illness; as she was never subject to depression of spirits before. The return of sunshine was welcomed by answering sunshine from him. I believe I may assert that they were really in possession of deep and growing happiness. It ended. Well, we must be for ourselves in the long run; the mild and generous are only more justly selfish than the domineering; and it ended when circumstances caused each to feel that the ones interest was not the chief consideration in the others thoughts. On a mellow evening in September, I was coming from the garden with a heavy basket of apples which I had been gathering. It had got dusk, and the moon looked over the high wall of the court, causing undefined shadows to lurk in the corners of the numerous projecting portions of the building. I set my burden on the housesteps by the kitchendoor, and lingered to rest, and drew in a few more breaths of the soft, sweet air; my eyes were on the moon, and my back to the entrance, when I heard a voice behind me sayNelly, is that you? It was a deep voice, and foreign in tone; yet there was something in the manner of pronouncing my name which made it sound familiar. I turned about to discover who spoke, fearfully; for the doors were shut, and I had seen nobody on approaching the steps. Something stirred in the porch; and, moving nearer, I distinguished a tall man dressed in dark clothes, with dark face and hair. He leant against the side, and held his fingers on the latch as if intending to open for himself. Who can it be? I thought. Mr. Earnshaw? Oh, no! The voice has no resemblance to his. I have waited here an hour, he resumed, while I continued staring; and the whole of that time all round has been as still as death. I dared not enter. You do not know me? Look, Im not a stranger! A ray fell on his features; the cheeks were sallow, and half covered with black whiskers; the brows lowering, the eyes deepset and singular. I remembered the eyes. What! I cried, uncertain whether to regard him as a worldly visitor, and I raised my hands in amazement. What! you come back? Is it really you? Is it? Yes, Heathcliff, he replied, glancing from me up to the windows, which reflected a score of glittering moons, but showed no lights from within. Are they at home? where is she? Nelly, you are not glad! you neednt be so disturbed. Is she here? Speak! I want to have one word with heryour mistress. Go, and say some person from Gimmerton desires to see her. How will she take it? I exclaimed. What will she do? The surprise bewilders meit will put her out of her head! And you are Heathcliff! But altered! Nay, theres no comprehending it. Have you been for a soldier? Go and carry my message, he interrupted, impatiently. Im in hell till you do! He lifted the latch, and I entered; but when I got to the parlour where Mr. and Mrs. Linton were, I could not persuade myself to proceed. At length I resolved on making an excuse to ask if they would have the candles lighted, and I opened the door. They sat together in a window whose lattice lay back against the wall, and displayed, beyond the garden trees, and the wild green park, the valley of Gimmerton, with a long line of mist winding nearly to its top (for very soon after you pass the chapel, as you may have noticed, the sough that runs from the marshes joins a beck which follows the bend of the glen). Wuthering Heights rose above this silvery vapour; but our old house was invisible; it rather dips down on the other side. Both the room and its occupants, and the scene they gazed on, looked wondrously peaceful. I shrank reluctantly from performing my errand; and was actually going away leaving it unsaid, after having put my question about the candles, when a sense of my folly compelled me to return, and mutter, A person from Gimmerton wishes to see you maam. What does he want? asked Mrs. Linton. I did not question him, I answered. Well, close the curtains, Nelly, she said; and bring up tea. Ill be back again directly. She quitted the apartment; Mr. Edgar inquired, carelessly, who it was. Someone mistress does not expect, I replied. That Heathcliffyou recollect him, sirwho used to live at Mr. Earnshaws. What! The gipsythe ploughboy? he cried. Why did you not say so to Catherine? Hush! you must not call him by those names, master, I said. Shed be sadly grieved to hear you. She was nearly heartbroken when he ran off. I guess his return will make a jubilee to her. Mr. Linton walked to a window on the other side of the room that overlooked the court. He unfastened it, and leant out. I suppose they were below, for he exclaimed quickly Dont stand there, love! Bring the person in, if it be anyone particular. Ere long, I heard the click of the latch, and Catherine flew upstairs, breathless and wild; too excited to show gladness indeed, by her face, you would rather have surmised an awful calamity. Oh, Edgar, Edgar! she panted, flinging her arms round his neck. Oh, Edgar darling! Heathcliffs come backhe is! And she tightened her embrace to a squeeze. Well, well, cried her husband, crossly, dont strangle me for that! He never struck me as such a marvellous treasure. There is no need to be frantic! I know you didnt like him, she answered, repressing a little the intensity of her delight. Yet, for my sake, you must be friends now. Shall I tell him to come up? Here, he said, into the parlour? Where else? she asked. He looked vexed, and suggested the kitchen as a more suitable place for him. Mrs. Linton eyed him with a droll expressionhalf angry, half laughing at his fastidiousness. No, she added, after a while; I cannot sit in the kitchen. Set two tables here, Ellen one for your master and Miss Isabella, being gentry; the other for Heathcliff and myself, being of the lower orders. Will that please you, dear? Or must I have a fire lighted elsewhere? If so, give directions. Ill run down and secure my guest. Im afraid the joy is too great to be real! She was about to dart off again; but Edgar arrested her. You bid him step up, he said, addressing me; and, Catherine, try to be glad, without being absurd. The whole household need not witness the sight of your welcoming a runaway servant as a brother. I descended, and found Heathcliff waiting under the porch, evidently anticipating an invitation to enter. He followed my guidance without waste of words, and I ushered him into the presence of the master and mistress, whose flushed cheeks betrayed signs of warm talking. But the ladys glowed with another feeling when her friend appeared at the door she sprang forward, took both his hands, and led him to Linton; and then she seized Lintons reluctant fingers and crushed them into his. Now, fully revealed by the fire and candlelight, I was amazed, more than ever, to behold the transformation of Heathcliff. He had grown a tall, athletic, wellformed man; beside whom my master seemed quite slender and youthlike. His upright carriage suggested the idea of his having been in the army. His countenance was much older in expression and decision of feature than Mr. Lintons; it looked intelligent, and retained no marks of former degradation. A halfcivilised ferocity lurked yet in the depressed brows and eyes full of black fire, but it was subdued; and his manner was even dignified quite divested of roughness, though stern for grace. My masters surprise equalled or exceeded mine he remained for a minute at a loss how to address the ploughboy, as he had called him. Heathcliff dropped his slight hand, and stood looking at him coolly till he chose to speak. Sit down, sir, he said, at length. Mrs. Linton, recalling old times, would have me give you a cordial reception; and, of course, I am gratified when anything occurs to please her. And I also, answered Heathcliff, especially if it be anything in which I have a part. I shall stay an hour or two willingly. He took a seat opposite Catherine, who kept her gaze fixed on him as if she feared he would vanish were she to remove it. He did not raise his to her often a quick glance now and then sufficed; but it flashed back, each time more confidently, the undisguised delight he drank from hers. They were too much absorbed in their mutual joy to suffer embarrassment. Not so Mr. Edgar he grew pale with pure annoyance a feeling that reached its climax when his lady rose, and stepping across the rug, seized Heathcliffs hands again, and laughed like one beside herself. I shall think it a dream tomorrow! she cried. I shall not be able to believe that I have seen, and touched, and spoken to you once more. And yet, cruel Heathcliff! you dont deserve this welcome. To be absent and silent for three years, and never to think of me! A little more than you have thought of me, he murmured. I heard of your marriage, Cathy, not long since; and, while waiting in the yard below, I meditated this planjust to have one glimpse of your face, a stare of surprise, perhaps, and pretended pleasure; afterwards settle my score with Hindley; and then prevent the law by doing execution on myself. Your welcome has put these ideas out of my mind; but beware of meeting me with another aspect next time! Nay, youll not drive me off again. You were really sorry for me, were you? Well, there was cause. Ive fought through a bitter life since I last heard your voice; and you must forgive me, for I struggled only for you! Catherine, unless we are to have cold tea, please to come to the table, interrupted Linton, striving to preserve his ordinary tone, and a due measure of politeness. Mr. Heathcliff will have a long walk, wherever he may lodge tonight; and Im thirsty. She took her post before the urn; and Miss Isabella came, summoned by the bell; then, having handed their chairs forward, I left the room. The meal hardly endured ten minutes. Catherines cup was never filled she could neither eat nor drink. Edgar had made a slop in his saucer, and scarcely swallowed a mouthful. Their guest did not protract his stay that evening above an hour longer. I asked, as he departed, if he went to Gimmerton? No, to Wuthering Heights, he answered Mr. Earnshaw invited me, when I called this morning. Mr. Earnshaw invited him! and he called on Mr. Earnshaw! I pondered this sentence painfully, after he was gone. Is he turning out a bit of a hypocrite, and coming into the country to work mischief under a cloak? I mused I had a presentiment in the bottom of my heart that he had better have remained away. About the middle of the night, I was wakened from my first nap by Mrs. Linton gliding into my chamber, taking a seat on my bedside, and pulling me by the hair to rouse me. I cannot rest, Ellen, she said, by way of apology. And I want some living creature to keep me company in my happiness! Edgar is sulky, because Im glad of a thing that does not interest him he refuses to open his mouth, except to utter pettish, silly speeches; and he affirmed I was cruel and selfish for wishing to talk when he was so sick and sleepy. He always contrives to be sick at the least cross! I gave a few sentences of commendation to Heathcliff, and he, either for a headache or a pang of envy, began to cry so I got up and left him. What use is it praising Heathcliff to him? I answered. As lads they had an aversion to each other, and Heathcliff would hate just as much to hear him praised its human nature. Let Mr. Linton alone about him, unless you would like an open quarrel between them. But does it not show great weakness? pursued she. Im not envious I never feel hurt at the brightness of Isabellas yellow hair and the whiteness of her skin, at her dainty elegance, and the fondness all the family exhibit for her. Even you, Nelly, if we have a dispute sometimes, you back Isabella at once; and I yield like a foolish mother I call her a darling, and flatter her into a good temper. It pleases her brother to see us cordial, and that pleases me. But they are very much alike they are spoiled children, and fancy the world was made for their accommodation; and though I humour both, I think a smart chastisement might improve them all the same. Youre mistaken, Mrs. Linton, said I. They humour you I know what there would be to do if they did not. You can well afford to indulge their passing whims as long as their business is to anticipate all your desires. You may, however, fall out, at last, over something of equal consequence to both sides; and then those you term weak are very capable of being as obstinate as you. And then we shall fight to the death, shant we, Nelly? she returned, laughing. No! I tell you, I have such faith in Lintons love, that I believe I might kill him, and he wouldnt wish to retaliate. I advised her to value him the more for his affection. I do, she answered, but he neednt resort to whining for trifles. It is childish and, instead of melting into tears because I said that Heathcliff was now worthy of anyones regard, and it would honour the first gentleman in the country to be his friend, he ought to have said it for me, and been delighted from sympathy. He must get accustomed to him, and he may as well like him considering how Heathcliff has reason to object to him, Im sure he behaved excellently! What do you think of his going to Wuthering Heights? I inquired. He is reformed in every respect, apparently quite a Christian offering the right hand of fellowship to his enemies all around! He explained it, she replied. I wonder as much as you. He said he called to gather information concerning me from you, supposing you resided there still; and Joseph told Hindley, who came out and fell to questioning him of what he had been doing, and how he had been living; and finally, desired him to walk in. There were some persons sitting at cards; Heathcliff joined them; my brother lost some money to him, and, finding him plentifully supplied, he requested that he would come again in the evening to which he consented. Hindley is too reckless to select his acquaintance prudently he doesnt trouble himself to reflect on the causes he might have for mistrusting one whom he has basely injured. But Heathcliff affirms his principal reason for resuming a connection with his ancient persecutor is a wish to install himself in quarters at walking distance from the Grange, and an attachment to the house where we lived together; and likewise a hope that I shall have more opportunities of seeing him there than I could have if he settled in Gimmerton. He means to offer liberal payment for permission to lodge at the Heights; and doubtless my brothers covetousness will prompt him to accept the terms he was always greedy; though what he grasps with one hand he flings away with the other. Its a nice place for a young man to fix his dwelling in! said I. Have you no fear of the consequences, Mrs. Linton? None for my friend, she replied his strong head will keep him from danger; a little for Hindley but he cant be made morally worse than he is; and I stand between him and bodily harm. The event of this evening has reconciled me to God and humanity! I had risen in angry rebellion against Providence. Oh, Ive endured very, very bitter misery, Nelly! If that creature knew how bitter, hed be ashamed to cloud its removal with idle petulance. It was kindness for him which induced me to bear it alone had I expressed the agony I frequently felt, he would have been taught to long for its alleviation as ardently as I. However, its over, and Ill take no revenge on his folly; I can afford to suffer anything hereafter! Should the meanest thing alive slap me on the cheek, Id not only turn the other, but Id ask pardon for provoking it; and, as a proof, Ill go make my peace with Edgar instantly. Good night! Im an angel! In this selfcomplacent conviction she departed; and the success of her fulfilled resolution was obvious on the morrow Mr. Linton had not only abjured his peevishness (though his spirits seemed still subdued by Catherines exuberance of vivacity), but he ventured no objection to her taking Isabella with her to Wuthering Heights in the afternoon; and she rewarded him with such a summer of sweetness and affection in return as made the house a paradise for several days; both master and servants profiting from the perpetual sunshine. HeathcliffMr. Heathcliff I should say in futureused the liberty of visiting at Thrushcross Grange cautiously, at first he seemed estimating how far its owner would bear his intrusion. Catherine, also, deemed it judicious to moderate her expressions of pleasure in receiving him; and he gradually established his right to be expected. He retained a great deal of the reserve for which his boyhood was remarkable; and that served to repress all startling demonstrations of feeling. My masters uneasiness experienced a lull, and further circumstances diverted it into another channel for a space. His new source of trouble sprang from the not anticipated misfortune of Isabella Linton evincing a sudden and irresistible attraction towards the tolerated guest. She was at that time a charming young lady of eighteen; infantile in manners, though possessed of keen wit, keen feelings, and a keen temper, too, if irritated. Her brother, who loved her tenderly, was appalled at this fantastic preference. Leaving aside the degradation of an alliance with a nameless man, and the possible fact that his property, in default of heirs male, might pass into such a ones power, he had sense to comprehend Heathcliffs disposition to know that, though his exterior was altered, his mind was unchangeable and unchanged. And he dreaded that mind it revolted him he shrank forebodingly from the idea of committing Isabella to its keeping. He would have recoiled still more had he been aware that her attachment rose unsolicited, and was bestowed where it awakened no reciprocation of sentiment; for the minute he discovered its existence he laid the blame on Heathcliffs deliberate designing. We had all remarked, during some time, that Miss Linton fretted and pined over something. She grew cross and wearisome; snapping at and teasing Catherine continually, at the imminent risk of exhausting her limited patience. We excused her, to a certain extent, on the plea of illhealth she was dwindling and fading before our eyes. But one day, when she had been peculiarly wayward, rejecting her breakfast, complaining that the servants did not do what she told them; that the mistress would allow her to be nothing in the house, and Edgar neglected her; that she had caught a cold with the doors being left open, and we let the parlour fire go out on purpose to vex her, with a hundred yet more frivolous accusations, Mrs. Linton peremptorily insisted that she should get to bed; and, having scolded her heartily, threatened to send for the doctor. Mention of Kenneth caused her to exclaim, instantly, that her health was perfect, and it was only Catherines harshness which made her unhappy. How can you say I am harsh, you naughty fondling? cried the mistress, amazed at the unreasonable assertion. You are surely losing your reason. When have I been harsh, tell me? Yesterday, sobbed Isabella, and now! Yesterday! said her sisterinlaw. On what occasion? In our walk along the moor you told me to ramble where I pleased, while you sauntered on with Mr. Heathcliff! And thats your notion of harshness? said Catherine, laughing. It was no hint that your company was superfluous? We didnt care whether you kept with us or not; I merely thought Heathcliffs talk would have nothing entertaining for your ears. Oh, no, wept the young lady; you wished me away, because you knew I liked to be there! Is she sane? asked Mrs. Linton, appealing to me. Ill repeat our conversation, word for word, Isabella; and you point out any charm it could have had for you. I dont mind the conversation, she answered I wanted to be with Well? said Catherine, perceiving her hesitate to complete the sentence. With him and I wont be always sent off! she continued, kindling up. You are a dog in the manger, Cathy, and desire no one to be loved but yourself! You are an impertinent little monkey! exclaimed Mrs. Linton, in surprise. But Ill not believe this idiocy! It is impossible that you can covet the admiration of Heathcliffthat you consider him an agreeable person! I hope I have misunderstood you, Isabella? No, you have not, said the infatuated girl. I love him more than ever you loved Edgar, and he might love me, if you would let him! I wouldnt be you for a kingdom, then! Catherine declared, emphatically and she seemed to speak sincerely. Nelly, help me to convince her of her madness. Tell her what Heathcliff is an unreclaimed creature, without refinement, without cultivation; an arid wilderness of furze and whinstone. Id as soon put that little canary into the park on a winters day, as recommend you to bestow your heart on him! It is deplorable ignorance of his character, child, and nothing else, which makes that dream enter your head. Pray, dont imagine that he conceals depths of benevolence and affection beneath a stern exterior! Hes not a rough diamonda pearlcontaining oyster of a rustic hes a fierce, pitiless, wolfish man. I never say to him, Let this or that enemy alone, because it would be ungenerous or cruel to harm them; I say, Let them alone, because I should hate them to be wronged and hed crush you like a sparrows egg, Isabella, if he found you a troublesome charge. I know he couldnt love a Linton; and yet hed be quite capable of marrying your fortune and expectations avarice is growing with him a besetting sin. Theres my picture and Im his friendso much so, that had he thought seriously to catch you, I should, perhaps, have held my tongue, and let you fall into his trap. Miss Linton regarded her sisterinlaw with indignation. For shame! for shame! she repeated, angrily.

You are worse than twenty foes, you poisonous friend! Ah! you wont believe me, then? said Catherine. You think I speak from wicked selfishness? Im certain you do, retorted Isabella; and I shudder at you! Good! cried the other. Try for yourself, if that be your spirit I have done, and yield the argument to your saucy insolence. And I must suffer for her egotism! she sobbed, as Mrs. Linton left the room. All, all is against me she has blighted my single consolation. But she uttered falsehoods, didnt she? Mr. Heathcliff is not a fiend he has an honourable soul, and a true one, or how could he remember her? Banish him from your thoughts, Miss, I said. Hes a bird of bad omen no mate for you. Mrs. Linton spoke strongly, and yet I cant contradict her. She is better acquainted with his heart than I, or anyone besides; and she never would represent him as worse than he is. Honest people dont hide their deeds. How has he been living? how has he got rich? why is he staying at Wuthering Heights, the house of a man whom he abhors? They say Mr. Earnshaw is worse and worse since he came. They sit up all night together continually, and Hindley has been borrowing money on his land, and does nothing but play and drink I heard only a week agoit was Joseph who told meI met him at Gimmerton. Nelly, he said, wes hae a crowners quest enow, at ahr folks. One on em s amost getten his finger cut off wi hauding t other fro stickin hisseln loike a cawlf. Thats maister, yeah knaw, at s soa up o going tuh t grand sizes. Hes noan feared o t bench o judges, norther Paul, nur Peter, nur John, nur Matthew, nor noan on em, not he! He fair likeshe langs to set his brazened face agean em! And yon bonny lad Heathcliff, yah mind, hes a rare un. He can girn a laugh as well s onybody at a raight divils jest. Does he niver say nowt of his fine living amang us, when he goes to t Grange? This is t way on tup at sundown dice, brandy, cloised shutters, und canlelight till next day at noon then, tfooil gangs banning und raving to his chamer, makking dacent fowks dig thur fingers i thur lugs fur varry shame; un the knave, why he can caint his brass, un ate, un sleep, un off to his neighbours to gossip wi t wife. I course, he tells Dame Catherine how her fathurs goold runs into his pocket, and her fathurs son gallops down t broad road, while he flees afore to oppen t pikes! Now, Miss Linton, Joseph is an old rascal, but no liar; and, if his account of Heathcliffs conduct be true, you would never think of desiring such a husband, would you? You are leagued with the rest, Ellen! she replied. Ill not listen to your slanders. What malevolence you must have to wish to convince me that there is no happiness in the world! Whether she would have got over this fancy if left to herself, or persevered in nursing it perpetually, I cannot say she had little time to reflect. The day after, there was a justicemeeting at the next town; my master was obliged to attend; and Mr. Heathcliff, aware of his absence, called rather earlier than usual. Catherine and Isabella were sitting in the library, on hostile terms, but silent the latter alarmed at her recent indiscretion, and the disclosure she had made of her secret feelings in a transient fit of passion; the former, on mature consideration, really offended with her companion; and, if she laughed again at her pertness, inclined to make it no laughing matter to her. She did laugh as she saw Heathcliff pass the window. I was sweeping the hearth, and I noticed a mischievous smile on her lips. Isabella, absorbed in her meditations, or a book, remained till the door opened; and it was too late to attempt an escape, which she would gladly have done had it been practicable. Come in, thats right! exclaimed the mistress, gaily, pulling a chair to the fire. Here are two people sadly in need of a third to thaw the ice between them; and you are the very one we should both of us choose. Heathcliff, Im proud to show you, at last, somebody that dotes on you more than myself. I expect you to feel flattered. Nay, its not Nelly; dont look at her! My poor little sisterinlaw is breaking her heart by mere contemplation of your physical and moral beauty. It lies in your own power to be Edgars brother! No, no, Isabella, you shant run off, she continued, arresting, with feigned playfulness, the confounded girl, who had risen indignantly. We were quarrelling like cats about you, Heathcliff; and I was fairly beaten in protestations of devotion and admiration and, moreover, I was informed that if I would but have the manners to stand aside, my rival, as she will have herself to be, would shoot a shaft into your soul that would fix you forever, and send my image into eternal oblivion! Catherine! said Isabella, calling up her dignity, and disdaining to struggle from the tight grasp that held her, Id thank you to adhere to the truth and not slander me, even in joke! Mr. Heathcliff, be kind enough to bid this friend of yours release me she forgets that you and I are not intimate acquaintances; and what amuses her is painful to me beyond expression. As the guest answered nothing, but took his seat, and looked thoroughly indifferent what sentiments she cherished concerning him, she turned and whispered an earnest appeal for liberty to her tormentor. By no means! cried Mrs. Linton in answer. I wont be named a dog in the manger again. You shall stay now then! Heathcliff, why dont you evince satisfaction at my pleasant news? Isabella swears that the love Edgar has for me is nothing to that she entertains for you. Im sure she made some speech of the kind; did she not, Ellen? And she has fasted ever since the day before yesterdays walk, from sorrow and rage that I despatched her out of your society under the idea of its being unacceptable. I think you belie her, said Heathcliff, twisting his chair to face them. She wishes to be out of my society now, at any rate! And he stared hard at the object of discourse, as one might do at a strange repulsive animal a centipede from the Indies, for instance, which curiosity leads one to examine in spite of the aversion it raises. The poor thing couldnt bear that; she grew white and red in rapid succession, and, while tears beaded her lashes, bent the strength of her small fingers to loosen the firm clutch of Catherine; and perceiving that as fast as she raised one finger off her arm another closed down, and she could not remove the whole together, she began to make use of her nails; and their sharpness presently ornamented the detainers with crescents of red. Theres a tigress! exclaimed Mrs. Linton, setting her free, and shaking her hand with pain. Begone, for Gods sake, and hide your vixen face! How foolish to reveal those talons to him. Cant you fancy the conclusions hell draw? Look, Heathcliff! they are instruments that will do executionyou must beware of your eyes. Id wrench them off her fingers, if they ever menaced me, he answered, brutally, when the door had closed after her. But what did you mean by teasing the creature in that manner, Cathy? You were not speaking the truth, were you? I assure you I was, she returned. She has been dying for your sake several weeks, and raving about you this morning, and pouring forth a deluge of abuse, because I represented your failings in a plain light, for the purpose of mitigating her adoration. But dont notice it further I wished to punish her sauciness, thats all. I like her too well, my dear Heathcliff, to let you absolutely seize and devour her up. And I like her too ill to attempt it, said he, except in a very ghoulish fashion. Youd hear of odd things if I lived alone with that mawkish, waxen face the most ordinary would be painting on its white the colours of the rainbow, and turning the blue eyes black, every day or two they detestably resemble Lintons. Delectably! observed Catherine. They are doves eyesangels! Shes her brothers heir, is she not? he asked, after a brief silence. I should be sorry to think so, returned his companion. Half a dozen nephews shall erase her title, please heaven! Abstract your mind from the subject at present you are too prone to covet your neighbours goods; remember this neighbours goods are mine. If they were mine, they would be none the less that, said Heathcliff; but though Isabella Linton may be silly, she is scarcely mad; and, in short, well dismiss the matter, as you advise. From their tongues they did dismiss it; and Catherine, probably, from her thoughts. The other, I felt certain, recalled it often in the course of the evening. I saw him smile to himselfgrin ratherand lapse into ominous musing whenever Mrs. Linton had occasion to be absent from the apartment. I determined to watch his movements. My heart invariably cleaved to the masters, in preference to Catherines side with reason I imagined, for he was kind, and trustful, and honourable; and sheshe could not be called opposite, yet she seemed to allow herself such wide latitude, that I had little faith in her principles, and still less sympathy for her feelings. I wanted something to happen which might have the effect of freeing both Wuthering Heights and the Grange of Mr. Heathcliff quietly; leaving us as we had been prior to his advent. His visits were a continual nightmare to me; and, I suspected, to my master also. His abode at the Heights was an oppression past explaining. I felt that God had forsaken the stray sheep there to its own wicked wanderings, and an evil beast prowled between it and the fold, waiting his time to spring and destroy. XI Sometimes, while meditating on these things in solitude, Ive got up in a sudden terror, and put on my bonnet to go see how all was at the farm. Ive persuaded my conscience that it was a duty to warn him how people talked regarding his ways; and then Ive recollected his confirmed bad habits, and, hopeless of benefiting him, have flinched from reentering the dismal house, doubting if I could bear to be taken at my word. One time I passed the old gate, going out of my way, on a journey to Gimmerton. It was about the period that my narrative has reached a bright frosty afternoon; the ground bare, and the road hard and dry. I came to a stone where the highway branches off on to the moor at your left hand; a rough sandpillar, with the letters W.H. cut on its north side, on the east, G., and on the southwest, T.G. It serves as a guidepost to the Grange, the Heights, and village. The sun shone yellow on its grey head, reminding me of summer; and I cannot say why, but all at once a gush of childs sensations flowed into my heart. Hindley and I held it a favourite spot twenty years before. I gazed long at the weatherworn block; and, stooping down, perceived a hole near the bottom still full of snailshells and pebbles, which we were fond of storing there with more perishable things; and, as fresh as reality, it appeared that I beheld my early playmate seated on the withered turf his dark, square head bent forward, and his little hand scooping out the earth with a piece of slate. Poor Hindley! I exclaimed, involuntarily. I started my bodily eye was cheated into a momentary belief that the child lifted its face and stared straight into mine! It vanished in a twinkling; but immediately I felt an irresistible yearning to be at the Heights. Superstition urged me to comply with this impulse supposing he should be dead! I thoughtor should die soon!supposing it were a sign of death! The nearer I got to the house the more agitated I grew; and on catching sight of it I trembled in every limb. The apparition had outstripped me it stood looking through the gate. That was my first idea on observing an elflocked, browneyed boy setting his ruddy countenance against the bars. Further reflection suggested this must be Hareton, my Hareton, not altered greatly since I left him, ten months since. God bless thee, darling! I cried, forgetting instantaneously my foolish fears. Hareton, its Nelly! Nelly, thy nurse. He retreated out of arms length, and picked up a large flint. I am come to see thy father, Hareton, I added, guessing from the action that Nelly, if she lived in his memory at all, was not recognised as one with me. He raised his missile to hurl it; I commenced a soothing speech, but could not stay his hand the stone struck my bonnet; and then ensued, from the stammering lips of the little fellow, a string of curses, which, whether he comprehended them or not, were delivered with practised emphasis, and distorted his baby features into a shocking expression of malignity. You may be certain this grieved more than angered me. Fit to cry, I took an orange from my pocket, and offered it to propitiate him. He hesitated, and then snatched it from my hold; as if he fancied I only intended to tempt and disappoint him. I showed another, keeping it out of his reach. Who has taught you those fine words, my bairn? I inquired. The curate? Damn the curate, and thee! Gie me that, he replied. Tell us where you got your lessons, and you shall have it, said I. Whos your master? Devil daddy, was his answer. And what do you learn from daddy? I continued. He jumped at the fruit; I raised it higher. What does he teach you? I asked. Naught, said he, but to keep out of his gait. Daddy cannot bide me, because I swear at him. Ah! and the devil teaches you to swear at daddy? I observed. Aynay, he drawled. Who, then? Heathcliff. I asked if he liked Mr. Heathcliff. Ay! he answered again. Desiring to have his reasons for liking him, I could only gather the sentencesI knownt he pays dad back what he gies to mehe curses daddy for cursing me. He says I mun do as I will. And the curate does not teach you to read and write, then? I pursued. No, I was told the curate should have his teeth dashed down his throat, if he stepped over the thresholdHeathcliff had promised that! I put the orange in his hand, and bade him tell his father that a woman called Nelly Dean was waiting to speak with him, by the garden gate. He went up the walk, and entered the house; but, instead of Hindley, Heathcliff appeared on the doorstones; and I turned directly and ran down the road as hard as ever I could race, making no halt till I gained the guidepost, and feeling as scared as if I had raised a goblin. This is not much connected with Miss Isabellas affair except that it urged me to resolve further on mounting vigilant guard, and doing my utmost to check the spread of such bad influence at the Grange even though I should wake a domestic storm, by thwarting Mrs. Lintons pleasure. The next time Heathcliff came my young lady chanced to be feeding some pigeons in the court. She had never spoken a word to her sisterinlaw for three days; but she had likewise dropped her fretful complaining, and we found it a great comfort. Heathcliff had not the habit of bestowing a single unnecessary civility on Miss Linton, I knew. Now, as soon as he beheld her, his first precaution was to take a sweeping survey of the housefront. I was standing by the kitchenwindow, but I drew out of sight. He then stepped across the pavement to her, and said something she seemed embarrassed, and desirous of getting away; to prevent it, he laid his hand on her arm. She averted her face he apparently put some question which she had no mind to answer. There was another rapid glance at the house, and supposing himself unseen, the scoundrel had the impudence to embrace her. Judas! Traitor! I ejaculated. You are a hypocrite, too, are you? A deliberate deceiver. Who is, Nelly? said Catherines voice at my elbow I had been overintent on watching the pair outside to mark her entrance. Your worthless friend! I answered, warmly the sneaking rascal yonder. Ah, he has caught a glimpse of ushe is coming in! I wonder will he have the heart to find a plausible excuse for making love to Miss, when he told you he hated her? Mrs. Linton saw Isabella tear herself free, and run into the garden; and a minute after, Heathcliff opened the door. I couldnt withhold giving some loose to my indignation; but Catherine angrily insisted on silence, and threatened to order me out of the kitchen, if I dared to be so presumptuous as to put in my insolent tongue. To hear you, people might think you were the mistress! she cried. You want setting down in your right place! Heathcliff, what are you about, raising this stir? I said you must let Isabella alone!I beg you will, unless you are tired of being received here, and wish Linton to draw the bolts against you! God forbid that he should try! answered the black villain. I detested him just then. God keep him meek and patient! Every day I grow madder after sending him to heaven! Hush! said Catherine, shutting the inner door! Dont vex me. Why have you disregarded my request? Did she come across you on purpose? What is it to you? he growled. I have a right to kiss her, if she chooses; and you have no right to object. I am not your husband you neednt be jealous of me! Im not jealous of you, replied the mistress; Im jealous for you. Clear your face you shant scowl at me! If you like Isabella, you shall marry her. But do you like her? Tell the truth, Heathcliff! There, you wont answer. Im certain you dont. And would Mr. Linton approve of his sister marrying that man? I inquired. Mr. Linton should approve, returned my lady, decisively. He might spare himself the trouble, said Heathcliff I could do as well without his approbation. And as to you, Catherine, I have a mind to speak a few words now, while we are at it. I want you to be aware that I know you have treated me infernallyinfernally! Do you hear? And if you flatter yourself that I dont perceive it, you are a fool; and if you think I can be consoled by sweet words, you are an idiot and if you fancy Ill suffer unrevenged, Ill convince you of the contrary, in a very little while! Meantime, thank you for telling me your sisterinlaws secret I swear Ill make the most of it. And stand you aside! What new phase of his character is this? exclaimed Mrs. Linton, in amazement. Ive treated you infernallyand youll take your revenge! How will you take it, ungrateful brute? How have I treated you infernally? I seek no revenge on you, replied Heathcliff, less vehemently. Thats not the plan. The tyrant grinds down his slaves and they dont turn against him; they crush those beneath them. You are welcome to torture me to death for your amusement, only allow me to amuse myself a little in the same style, and refrain from insult as much as you are able. Having levelled my palace, dont erect a hovel and complacently admire your own charity in giving me that for a home. If I imagined you really wished me to marry Isabel, Id cut my throat! Oh, the evil is that I am not jealous, is it? cried Catherine. Well, I wont repeat my offer of a wife it is as bad as offering Satan a lost soul. Your bliss lies, like his, in inflicting misery. You prove it. Edgar is restored from the illtemper he gave way to at your coming; I begin to be secure and tranquil; and you, restless to know us at peace, appear resolved on exciting a quarrel. Quarrel with Edgar, if you please, Heathcliff, and deceive his sister youll hit on exactly the most efficient method of revenging yourself on me. The conversation ceased. Mrs. Linton sat down by the fire, flushed and gloomy. The spirit which served her was growing intractable she could neither lay nor control it. He stood on the hearth with folded arms, brooding on his evil thoughts; and in this position I left them to seek the master, who was wondering what kept Catherine below so long. Ellen, said he, when I entered, have you seen your mistress? Yes; shes in the kitchen, sir, I answered. Shes sadly put out by Mr. Heathcliffs behaviour and, indeed, I do think its time to arrange his visits on another footing. Theres harm in being too soft, and now its come to this. And I related the scene in the court, and, as near as I dared, the whole subsequent dispute. I fancied it could not be very prejudicial to Mrs. Linton; unless she made it so afterwards, by assuming the defensive for her guest. Edgar Linton had difficulty in hearing me to the close. His first words revealed that he did not clear his wife of blame. This is insufferable! he exclaimed. It is disgraceful that she should own him for a friend, and force his company on me! Call me two men out of the hall, Ellen. Catherine shall linger no longer to argue with the low ruffianI have humoured her enough. He descended, and bidding the servants wait in the passage, went, followed by me, to the kitchen. Its occupants had recommenced their angry discussion Mrs. Linton, at least, was scolding with renewed vigour; Heathcliff had moved to the window, and hung his head, somewhat cowed by her violent rating apparently. He saw the master first, and made a hasty motion that she should be silent; which she obeyed, abruptly, on discovering the reason of his intimation. How is this? said Linton, addressing her; what notion of propriety must you have to remain here, after the language which has been held to you by that blackguard? I suppose, because it is his ordinary talk you think nothing of it you are habituated to his baseness, and, perhaps, imagine I can get used to it too! Have you been listening at the door, Edgar? asked the mistress, in a tone particularly calculated to provoke her husband, implying both carelessness and contempt of his irritation. Heathcliff, who had raised his eyes at the former speech, gave a sneering laugh at the latter; on purpose, it seemed, to draw Mr. Lintons attention to him. He succeeded; but Edgar did not mean to entertain him with any high flights of passion. Ive been so far forbearing with you, sir, he said quietly; not that I was ignorant of your miserable, degraded character, but I felt you were only partly responsible for that; and Catherine wishing to keep up your acquaintance, I acquiescedfoolishly. Your presence is a moral poison that would contaminate the most virtuous for that cause, and to prevent worse consequences, I shall deny you hereafter admission into this house, and give notice now that I require your instant departure. Three minutes delay will render it involuntary and ignominious. Heathcliff measured the height and breadth of the speaker with an eye full of derision. Cathy, this lamb of yours threatens like a bull! he said. It is in danger of splitting its skull against my knuckles. By God! Mr. Linton, Im mortally sorry that you are not worth knocking down! My master glanced towards the passage, and signed me to fetch the men he had no intention of hazarding a personal encounter. I obeyed the hint; but Mrs. Linton, suspecting something, followed; and when I attempted to call them, she pulled me back, slammed the door to, and locked it. Fair means! she said, in answer to her husbands look of angry surprise. If you have not courage to attack him, make an apology, or allow yourself to be beaten. It will correct you of feigning more valour than you possess. No, Ill swallow the key before you shall get it! Im delightfully rewarded for my kindness to each! After constant indulgence of ones weak nature, and the others bad one, I earn for thanks two samples of blind ingratitude, stupid to absurdity! Edgar, I was defending you and yours; and I wish Heathcliff may flog you sick, for daring to think an evil thought of me! It did not need the medium of a flogging to produce that effect on the master. He tried to wrest the key from Catherines grasp, and for safety she flung it into the hottest part of the fire; whereupon Mr. Edgar was taken with a nervous trembling, and his countenance grew deadly pale. For his life he could not avert that excess of emotion mingled anguish and humiliation overcame him completely. He leant on the back of a chair, and covered his face. Oh, heavens! In old days this would win you knighthood! exclaimed Mrs. Linton. We are vanquished! we are vanquished! Heathcliff would as soon lift a finger at you as the king would march his army against a colony of mice. Cheer up! you shant be hurt! Your type is not a lamb, its a sucking leveret. I wish you joy of the milkblooded coward, Cathy! said her friend. I compliment you on your taste. And that is the slavering, shivering thing you preferred to me! I would not strike him with my fist, but Id kick him with my foot, and experience considerable satisfaction. Is he weeping, or is he going to faint for fear? The fellow approached and gave the chair on which Linton rested a push. Hed better have kept his distance my master quickly sprang erect, and struck him full on the throat a blow that would have levelled a slighter man. It took his breath for a minute; and while he choked, Mr. Linton walked out by the back door into the yard, and from thence to the front entrance. There! youve done with coming here, cried Catherine. Get away, now; hell return with a brace of pistols and halfadozen assistants. If he did overhear us, of course hed never forgive you. Youve played me an ill turn, Heathcliff! But gomake haste! Id rather see Edgar at bay than you. Do you suppose Im going with that blow burning in my gullet? he thundered. By hell, no! Ill crush his ribs in like a rotten hazelnut before I cross the threshold! If I dont floor him now, I shall murder him some time; so, as you value his existence, let me get at him! He is not coming, I interposed, framing a bit of a lie. Theres the coachman and the two gardeners; youll surely not wait to be thrust into the road by them! Each has a bludgeon; and master will, very likely, be watching from the parlourwindows to see that they fulfil his orders. The gardeners and coachman were there but Linton was with them. They had already entered the court. Heathcliff, on the second thoughts, resolved to avoid a struggle against three underlings he seized the poker, smashed the lock from the inner door, and made his escape as they tramped in. Mrs. Linton, who was very much excited, bade me accompany her upstairs. She did not know my share in contributing to the disturbance, and I was anxious to keep her in ignorance. Im nearly distracted, Nelly! she exclaimed, throwing herself on the sofa. A thousand smiths hammers are beating in my head! Tell Isabella to shun me; this uproar is owing to her; and should she or anyone else aggravate my anger at present, I shall get wild. And, Nelly, say to Edgar, if you see him again tonight, that Im in danger of being seriously ill. I wish it may prove true. He has startled and distressed me shockingly! I want to frighten him. Besides, he might come and begin a string of abuse or complainings; Im certain I should recriminate, and God knows where we should end! Will you do so, my good Nelly? You are aware that I am no way blamable in this matter. What possessed him to turn listener? Heathcliffs talk was outrageous, after you left us; but I could soon have diverted him from Isabella, and the rest meant nothing. Now all is dashed wrong; by the fools craving to hear evil of self, that haunts some people like a demon! Had Edgar never gathered our conversation, he would never have been the worse for it. Really, when he opened on me in that unreasonable tone of displeasure after I had scolded Heathcliff till I was hoarse for him, I did not care hardly what they did to each other; especially as I felt that, however the scene closed, we should all be driven asunder for nobody knows how long! Well, if I cannot keep Heathcliff for my friendif Edgar will be mean and jealous, Ill try to break their hearts by breaking my own. That will be a prompt way of finishing all, when I am pushed to extremity! But its a deed to be reserved for a forlorn hope; Id not take Linton by surprise with it. To this point he has been discreet in dreading to provoke me; you must represent the peril of quitting that policy, and remind him of my passionate temper, verging, when kindled, on frenzy. I wish you could dismiss that apathy out of that countenance, and look rather more anxious about me. The stolidity with which I received these instructions was, no doubt, rather exasperating for they were delivered in perfect sincerity; but I believed a person who could plan the turning of her fits of passion to account, beforehand, might, by exerting her will, manage to control herself tolerably, even while under their influence; and I did not wish to frighten her husband, as she said, and multiply his annoyances for the purpose of serving her selfishness. Therefore I said nothing when I met the master coming towards the parlour; but I took the liberty of turning back to listen whether they would resume their quarrel together. He began to speak first. Remain where you are, Catherine, he said; without any anger in his voice, but with much sorrowful despondency. I shall not stay. I am neither come to wrangle nor be reconciled; but I wish just to learn whether, after this evenings events, you intend to continue your intimacy with Oh, for mercys sake, interrupted the mistress, stamping her foot, for mercys sake, let us hear no more of it now! Your cold blood cannot be worked into a fever your veins are full of icewater; but mine are boiling, and the sight of such chillness makes them dance. To get rid of me, answer my question, persevered Mr. Linton. You must answer it; and that violence does not alarm me. I have found that you can be as stoical as anyone, when you please. Will you give up Heathcliff hereafter, or will you give up me? It is impossible for you to be my friend and his at the same time; and I absolutely require to know which you choose. I require to be let alone! exclaimed Catherine, furiously. I demand it! Dont you see I can scarcely stand? Edgar, youyou leave me! She rang the bell till it broke with a twang; I entered leisurely. It was enough to try the temper of a saint, such senseless, wicked rages! There she lay dashing her head against the arm of the sofa, and grinding her teeth, so that you might fancy she would crash them to splinters! Mr. Linton stood looking at her in sudden compunction and fear. He told me to fetch some water. She had no breath for speaking. I brought a glass full; and as she would not drink, I sprinkled it on her face. In a few seconds she stretched herself out stiff, and turned up her eyes, while her cheeks, at once blanched and livid, assumed the aspect of death. Linton looked terrified. There is nothing in the world the matter, I whispered. I did not want him to yield, though I could not help being afraid in my heart. She has blood on her lips! he said, shuddering. Never mind! I answered, tartly. And I told him how she had resolved, previous to his coming, on exhibiting a fit of frenzy. I incautiously gave the account aloud, and she heard me; for she started upher hair flying over her shoulders, her eyes flashing, the muscles of her neck and arms standing out preternaturally. I made up my mind for broken bones, at least; but she only glared about her for an instant, and then rushed from the room. The master directed me to follow; I did, to her chamberdoor she hindered me from going further by securing it against me. As she never offered to descend to breakfast next morning, I went to ask whether she would have some carried up. No! she replied, peremptorily. The same question was repeated at dinner and tea; and again on the morrow after, and received the same answer. Mr. Linton, on his part, spent his time in the library, and did not inquire concerning his wifes occupations. Isabella and he had had an hours interview, during which he tried to elicit from her some sentiment of proper horror for Heathcliffs advances but he could make nothing of her evasive replies, and was obliged to close the examination unsatisfactorily; adding, however, a solemn warning, that if she were so insane as to encourage that worthless suitor, it would dissolve all bonds of relationship between herself and him.

XII While Miss Linton moped about the park and garden, always silent, and almost always in tears; and her brother shut himself up among books that he never openedwearying, I guessed, with a continual vague expectation that Catherine, repenting her conduct, would come of her own accord to ask pardon, and seek a reconciliationand she fasted pertinaciously, under the idea, probably, that at every meal Edgar was ready to choke for her absence, and pride alone held him from running to cast himself at her feet; I went about my household duties, convinced that the Grange had but one sensible soul in its walls, and that lodged in my body. I wasted no condolences on Miss, nor any expostulations on my mistress; nor did I pay much attention to the sighs of my master, who yearned to hear his ladys name, since he might not hear her voice. I determined they should come about as they pleased for me; and though it was a tiresomely slow process, I began to rejoice at length in a faint dawn of its progress as I thought at first. Mrs. Linton, on the third day, unbarred her door, and having finished the water in her pitcher and decanter, desired a renewed supply, and a basin of gruel, for she believed she was dying. That I set down as a speech meant for Edgars ears; I believed no such thing, so I kept it to myself and brought her some tea and dry toast. She ate and drank eagerly, and sank back on her pillow again, clenching her hands and groaning. Oh, I will die, she exclaimed, since no one cares anything about me. I wish I had not taken that. Then a good while after I heard her murmur, No, Ill not diehed be gladhe does not love me at allhe would never miss me! Did you want anything, maam? I inquired, still preserving my external composure, in spite of her ghastly countenance and strange, exaggerated manner. What is that apathetic being doing? she demanded, pushing the thick entangled locks from her wasted face. Has he fallen into a lethargy, or is he dead? Neither, replied I; if you mean Mr. Linton. Hes tolerably well, I think, though his studies occupy him rather more than they ought he is continually among his books, since he has no other society. I should not have spoken so if I had known her true condition, but I could not get rid of the notion that she acted a part of her disorder. Among his books! she cried, confounded. And I dying! I on the brink of the grave! My God! does he know how Im altered? continued she, staring at her reflection in a mirror hanging against the opposite wall. Is that Catherine Linton? He imagines me in a petin play, perhaps. Cannot you inform him that it is frightful earnest? Nelly, if it be not too late, as soon as I learn how he feels, Ill choose between these two either to starve at oncethat would be no punishment unless he had a heartor to recover, and leave the country. Are you speaking the truth about him now? Take care. Is he actually so utterly indifferent for my life? Why, maam, I answered, the master has no idea of your being deranged; and of course he does not fear that you will let yourself die of hunger. You think not? Cannot you tell him I will? she returned. Persuade him! speak of your own mind say you are certain I will! No, you forget, Mrs. Linton, I suggested, that you have eaten some food with a relish this evening, and tomorrow you will perceive its good effects. If I were only sure it would kill him, she interrupted, Id kill myself directly! These three awful nights Ive never closed my lidsand oh, Ive been tormented! Ive been haunted, Nelly! But I begin to fancy you dont like me. How strange! I thought, though everybody hated and despised each other, they could not avoid loving me. And they have all turned to enemies in a few hours they have, Im positive; the people here. How dreary to meet death, surrounded by their cold faces! Isabella, terrified and repelled, afraid to enter the room, it would be so dreadful to watch Catherine go. And Edgar standing solemnly by to see it over; then offering prayers of thanks to God for restoring peace to his house, and going back to his books! What in the name of all that feels has he to do with books, when I am dying? She could not bear the notion which I had put into her head of Mr. Lintons philosophical resignation. Tossing about, she increased her feverish bewilderment to madness, and tore the pillow with her teeth; then raising herself up all burning, desired that I would open the window. We were in the middle of winter, the wind blew strong from the northeast, and I objected. Both the expressions flitting over her face, and the changes of her moods, began to alarm me terribly; and brought to my recollection her former illness, and the doctors injunction that she should not be crossed. A minute previously she was violent; now, supported on one arm, and not noticing my refusal to obey her, she seemed to find childish diversion in pulling the feathers from the rents she had just made, and ranging them on the sheet according to their different species her mind had strayed to other associations. Thats a turkeys, she murmured to herself; and this is a wild ducks; and this is a pigeons. Ah, they put pigeons feathers in the pillowsno wonder I couldnt die! Let me take care to throw it on the floor when I lie down. And here is a moorcocks; and thisI should know it among a thousandits a lapwings. Bonny bird; wheeling over our heads in the middle of the moor. It wanted to get to its nest, for the clouds had touched the swells, and it felt rain coming. This feather was picked up from the heath, the bird was not shot we saw its nest in the winter, full of little skeletons. Heathcliff set a trap over it, and the old ones dared not come. I made him promise hed never shoot a lapwing after that, and he didnt. Yes, here are more! Did he shoot my lapwings, Nelly? Are they red, any of them? Let me look. Give over with that babywork! I interrupted, dragging the pillow away, and turning the holes towards the mattress, for she was removing its contents by handfuls. Lie down and shut your eyes; youre wandering. Theres a mess! The down is flying about like snow. I went here and there collecting it. I see in you, Nelly, she continued dreamily, an aged woman you have grey hair and bent shoulders. This bed is the fairy cave under Penistone crags, and you are gathering elfbolts to hurt our heifers; pretending, while I am near, that they are only locks of wool. Thats what youll come to fifty years hence I know you are not so now. Im not wandering youre mistaken, or else I should believe you really were that withered hag, and I should think I was under Penistone Crags; and Im conscious its night, and there are two candles on the table making the black press shine like jet. The black press? where is that? I asked. You are talking in your sleep! Its against the wall, as it always is, she replied. It does appear oddI see a face in it! Theres no press in the room, and never was, said I, resuming my seat, and looping up the curtain that I might watch her. Dont you see that face? she inquired, gazing earnestly at the mirror. And say what I could, I was incapable of making her comprehend it to be her own; so I rose and covered it with a shawl. Its behind there still! she pursued, anxiously. And it stirred. Who is it? I hope it will not come out when you are gone! Oh! Nelly, the room is haunted! Im afraid of being alone! I took her hand in mine, and bid her be composed; for a succession of shudders convulsed her frame, and she would keep straining her gaze towards the glass. Theres nobody here! I insisted. It was yourself, Mrs. Linton you knew it a while since. Myself! she gasped, and the clock is striking twelve! Its true, then! thats dreadful! Her fingers clutched the clothes, and gathered them over her eyes. I attempted to steal to the door with an intention of calling her husband; but I was summoned back by a piercing shriekthe shawl had dropped from the frame. Why, what is the matter? cried I. Who is coward now? Wake up! That is the glassthe mirror, Mrs. Linton; and you see yourself in it, and there am I too by your side. Trembling and bewildered, she held me fast, but the horror gradually passed from her countenance; its paleness gave place to a glow of shame. Oh, dear! I thought I was at home, she sighed. I thought I was lying in my chamber at Wuthering Heights. Because Im weak, my brain got confused, and I screamed unconsciously. Dont say anything; but stay with me. I dread sleeping my dreams appal me. A sound sleep would do you good, maam, I answered and I hope this suffering will prevent your trying starving again. Oh, if I were but in my own bed in the old house! she went on bitterly, wringing her hands. And that wind sounding in the firs by the lattice. Do let me feel itit comes straight down the moordo let me have one breath! To pacify her I held the casement ajar a few seconds. A cold blast rushed through; I closed it, and returned to my post. She lay still now, her face bathed in tears. Exhaustion of body had entirely subdued her spirit our fiery Catherine was no better than a wailing child. How long is it since I shut myself in here? she asked, suddenly reviving. It was Monday evening, I replied, and this is Thursday night, or rather Friday morning, at present. What! of the same week? she exclaimed. Only that brief time? Long enough to live on nothing but cold water and illtemper, observed I. Well, it seems a weary number of hours, she muttered doubtfully it must be more. I remember being in the parlour after they had quarrelled, and Edgar being cruelly provoking, and me running into this room desperate. As soon as ever I had barred the door, utter blackness overwhelmed me, and I fell on the floor. I couldnt explain to Edgar how certain I felt of having a fit, or going raging mad, if he persisted in teasing me! I had no command of tongue, or brain, and he did not guess my agony, perhaps it barely left me sense to try to escape from him and his voice. Before I recovered sufficiently to see and hear, it began to be dawn, and, Nelly, Ill tell you what I thought, and what has kept recurring and recurring till I feared for my reason. I thought as I lay there, with my head against that table leg, and my eyes dimly discerning the grey square of the window, that I was enclosed in the oakpanelled bed at home; and my heart ached with some great grief which, just waking, I could not recollect. I pondered, and worried myself to discover what it could be, and, most strangely, the whole last seven years of my life grew a blank! I did not recall that they had been at all. I was a child; my father was just buried, and my misery arose from the separation that Hindley had ordered between me and Heathcliff. I was laid alone, for the first time; and, rousing from a dismal doze after a night of weeping, I lifted my hand to push the panels aside it struck the tabletop! I swept it along the carpet, and then memory burst in my late anguish was swallowed in a paroxysm of despair. I cannot say why I felt so wildly wretched it must have been temporary derangement; for there is scarcely cause. But, supposing at twelve years old I had been wrenched from the Heights, and every early association, and my all in all, as Heathcliff was at that time, and been converted at a stroke into Mrs. Linton, the lady of Thrushcross Grange, and the wife of a stranger an exile, and outcast, thenceforth, from what had been my world. You may fancy a glimpse of the abyss where I grovelled! Shake your head as you will, Nelly, you have helped to unsettle me! You should have spoken to Edgar, indeed you should, and compelled him to leave me quiet! Oh, Im burning! I wish I were out of doors! I wish I were a girl again, half savage and hardy, and free; and laughing at injuries, not maddening under them! Why am I so changed? why does my blood rush into a hell of tumult at a few words? Im sure I should be myself were I once among the heather on those hills. Open the window again wide fasten it open! Quick, why dont you move? Because I wont give you your death of cold, I answered. You wont give me a chance of life, you mean, she said, sullenly. However, Im not helpless yet; Ill open it myself. And sliding from the bed before I could hinder her, she crossed the room, walking very uncertainly, threw it back, and bent out, careless of the frosty air that cut about her shoulders as keen as a knife. I entreated, and finally attempted to force her to retire. But I soon found her delirious strength much surpassed mine (she was delirious, I became convinced by her subsequent actions and ravings). There was no moon, and everything beneath lay in misty darkness not a light gleamed from any house, far or near all had been extinguished long ago and those at Wuthering Heights were never visiblestill she asserted she caught their shining. Look! she cried eagerly, thats my room with the candle in it, and the trees swaying before it; and the other candle is in Josephs garret. Joseph sits up late, doesnt he? Hes waiting till I come home that he may lock the gate. Well, hell wait a while yet. Its a rough journey, and a sad heart to travel it; and we must pass by Gimmerton Kirk to go that journey! Weve braved its ghosts often together, and dared each other to stand among the graves and ask them to come. But, Heathcliff, if I dare you now, will you venture? If you do, Ill keep you. Ill not lie there by myself they may bury me twelve feet deep, and throw the church down over me, but I wont rest till you are with me. I never will! She paused, and resumed with a strange smile. Hes consideringhed rather Id come to him! Find a way, then! not through that kirkyard. You are slow! Be content, you always followed me! Perceiving it vain to argue against her insanity, I was planning how I could reach something to wrap about her, without quitting my hold of herself (for I could not trust her alone by the gaping lattice), when, to my consternation, I heard the rattle of the doorhandle, and Mr. Linton entered. He had only then come from the library; and, in passing through the lobby, had noticed our talking and been attracted by curiosity, or fear, to examine what it signified, at that late hour. Oh, sir! I cried, checking the exclamation risen to his lips at the sight which met him, and the bleak atmosphere of the chamber. My poor mistress is ill, and she quite masters me I cannot manage her at all; pray, come and persuade her to go to bed. Forget your anger, for shes hard to guide any way but her own. Catherine ill? he said, hastening to us. Shut the window, Ellen! Catherine! why He was silent. The haggardness of Mrs. Lintons appearance smote him speechless, and he could only glance from her to me in horrified astonishment. Shes been fretting here, I continued, and eating scarcely anything, and never complaining she would admit none of us till this evening, and so we couldnt inform you of her state, as we were not aware of it ourselves; but it is nothing. I felt I uttered my explanations awkwardly; the master frowned. It is nothing, is it, Ellen Dean? he said sternly. You shall account more clearly for keeping me ignorant of this! And he took his wife in his arms, and looked at her with anguish. At first she gave him no glance of recognition he was invisible to her abstracted gaze. The delirium was not fixed, however; having weaned her eyes from contemplating the outer darkness, by degrees she centred her attention on him, and discovered who it was that held her. Ah! you are come, are you, Edgar Linton? she said, with angry animation. You are one of those things that are ever found when least wanted, and when you are wanted, never! I suppose we shall have plenty of lamentations nowI see we shallbut they cant keep me from my narrow home out yonder my restingplace, where Im bound before spring is over! There it is not among the Lintons, mind, under the chapelroof, but in the open air, with a headstone; and you may please yourself whether you go to them or come to me! Catherine, what have you done? commenced the master. Am I nothing to you any more? Do you love that wretch Heath Hush! cried Mrs. Linton. Hush, this moment! You mention that name and I end the matter instantly by a spring from the window! What you touch at present you may have; but my soul will be on that hilltop before you lay hands on me again. I dont want you, Edgar Im past wanting you. Return to your books. Im glad you possess a consolation, for all you had in me is gone. Her mind wanders, sir, I interposed. She has been talking nonsense the whole evening; but let her have quiet, and proper attendance, and shell rally. Hereafter, we must be cautious how we vex her. I desire no further advice from you, answered Mr. Linton. You knew your mistresss nature, and you encouraged me to harass her. And not to give me one hint of how she has been these three days! It was heartless! Months of sickness could not cause such a change! I began to defend myself, thinking it too bad to be blamed for anothers wicked waywardness. I knew Mrs. Lintons nature to be headstrong and domineering, cried I but I didnt know that you wished to foster her fierce temper! I didnt know that, to humour her, I should wink at Mr. Heathcliff. I performed the duty of a faithful servant in telling you, and I have got a faithful servants wages! Well, it will teach me to be careful next time. Next time you may gather intelligence for yourself! The next time you bring a tale to me you shall quit my service, Ellen Dean, he replied. Youd rather hear nothing about it, I suppose, then, Mr. Linton? said I. Heathcliff has your permission to come acourting to Miss, and to drop in at every opportunity your absence offers, on purpose to poison the mistress against you? Confused as Catherine was, her wits were alert at applying our conversation. Ah! Nelly has played traitor, she exclaimed, passionately. Nelly is my hidden enemy. You witch! So you do seek elfbolts to hurt us! Let me go, and Ill make her rue! Ill make her howl a recantation! A maniacs fury kindled under her brows; she struggled desperately to disengage herself from Lintons arms. I felt no inclination to tarry the event; and, resolving to seek medical aid on my own responsibility, I quitted the chamber. In passing the garden to reach the road, at a place where a bridle hook is driven into the wall, I saw something white moved irregularly, evidently by another agent than the wind. Notwithstanding my hurry, I stayed to examine it, lest ever after I should have the conviction impressed on my imagination that it was a creature of the other world. My surprise and perplexity were great on discovering, by touch more than vision, Miss Isabellas springer, Fanny, suspended by a handkerchief, and nearly at its last gasp. I quickly released the animal, and lifted it into the garden. I had seen it follow its mistress upstairs when she went to bed; and wondered much how it could have got out there, and what mischievous person had treated it so. While untying the knot round the hook, it seemed to me that I repeatedly caught the beat of horses feet galloping at some distance; but there were such a number of things to occupy my reflections that I hardly gave the circumstance a thought though it was a strange sound, in that place, at two oclock in the morning. Mr. Kenneth was fortunately just issuing from his house to see a patient in the village as I came up the street; and my account of Catherine Lintons malady induced him to accompany me back immediately. He was a plain rough man; and he made no scruple to speak his doubts of her surviving this second attack; unless she were more submissive to his directions than she had shown herself before. Nelly Dean, said he, I cant help fancying theres an extra cause for this. What has there been to do at the Grange? Weve odd reports up here. A stout, hearty lass like Catherine does not fall ill for a trifle; and that sort of people should not either. Its hard work bringing them through fevers, and such things. How did it begin? The master will inform you, I answered; but you are acquainted with the Earnshaws violent dispositions, and Mrs. Linton caps them all. I may say this; it commenced in a quarrel. She was struck during a tempest of passion with a kind of fit. Thats her account, at least for she flew off in the height of it, and locked herself up. Afterwards, she refused to eat, and now she alternately raves and remains in a half dream; knowing those about her, but having her mind filled with all sorts of strange ideas and illusions. Mr. Linton will be sorry? observed Kenneth, interrogatively. Sorry? hell break his heart should anything happen! I replied. Dont alarm him more than necessary. Well, I told him to beware, said my companion; and he must bide the consequences of neglecting my warning! Hasnt he been intimate with Mr. Heathcliff lately? Heathcliff frequently visits at the Grange, answered I, though more on the strength of the mistress having known him when a boy, than because the master likes his company. At present hes discharged from the trouble of calling; owing to some presumptuous aspirations after Miss Linton which he manifested. I hardly think hell be taken in again. And does Miss Linton turn a cold shoulder on him? was the doctors next question. Im not in her confidence, returned I, reluctant to continue the subject. No, shes a sly one, he remarked, shaking his head. She keeps her own counsel! But shes a real little fool. I have it from good authority that last night (and a pretty night it was!) she and Heathcliff were walking in the plantation at the back of your house above two hours; and he pressed her not to go in again, but just mount his horse and away with him! My informant said she could only put him off by pledging her word of honour to be prepared on their first meeting after that when it was to be he didnt hear; but you urge Mr. Linton to look sharp! This news filled me with fresh fears; I outstripped Kenneth, and ran most of the way back. The little dog was yelping in the garden yet. I spared a minute to open the gate for it, but instead of going to the house door, it coursed up and down snuffing the grass, and would have escaped to the road, had I not seized it and conveyed it in with me. On ascending to Isabellas room, my suspicions were confirmed it was empty. Had I been a few hours sooner Mrs. Lintons illness might have arrested her rash step. But what could be done now? There was a bare possibility of overtaking them if pursued instantly. I could not pursue them, however; and I dared not rouse the family, and fill the place with confusion; still less unfold the business to my master, absorbed as he was in his present calamity, and having no heart to spare for a second grief! I saw nothing for it but to hold my tongue, and suffer matters to take their course; and Kenneth being arrived, I went with a badly composed countenance to announce him. Catherine lay in a troubled sleep her husband had succeeded in soothing the excess of frenzy; he now hung over her pillow, watching every shade and every change of her painfully expressive features. The doctor, on examining the case for himself, spoke hopefully to him of its having a favourable termination, if we could only preserve around her perfect and constant tranquillity. To me, he signified the threatening danger was not so much death, as permanent alienation of intellect. I did not close my eyes that night, nor did Mr. Linton indeed, we never went to bed; and the servants were all up long before the usual hour, moving through the house with stealthy tread, and exchanging whispers as they encountered each other in their vocations. Everyone was active but Miss Isabella; and they began to remark how sound she slept her brother, too, asked if she had risen, and seemed impatient for her presence, and hurt that she showed so little anxiety for her sisterinlaw. I trembled lest he should send me to call her; but I was spared the pain of being the first proclaimant of her flight. One of the maids, a thoughtless girl, who had been on an early errand to Gimmerton, came panting upstairs, openmouthed, and dashed into the chamber, crying Oh, dear, dear! What mun we have next? Master, master, our young lady Hold your noise! cried, I hastily, enraged at her clamorous manner. Speak lower, MaryWhat is the matter? said Mr. Linton. What ails your young lady? Shes gone, shes gone! Yon Heathcliffs run off wi her! gasped the girl. That is not true! exclaimed Linton, rising in agitation. It cannot be how has the idea entered your head? Ellen Dean, go and seek her. It is incredible it cannot be. As he spoke he took the servant to the door, and then repeated his demand to know her reasons for such an assertion. Why, I met on the road a lad that fetches milk here, she stammered, and he asked whether we werent in trouble at the Grange. I thought he meant for mississ sickness, so I answered, yes. Then says he, Theres somebody gone after em, I guess? I stared. He saw I knew nought about it, and he told how a gentleman and lady had stopped to have a horses shoe fastened at a blacksmiths shop, two miles out of Gimmerton, not very long after midnight! and how the blacksmiths lass had got up to spy who they were she knew them both directly. And she noticed the manHeathcliff it was, she felt certain nobdy could mistake him, besidesput a sovereign in her fathers hand for payment. The lady had a cloak about her face; but having desired a sup of water, while she drank it fell back, and she saw her very plain. Heathcliff held both bridles as they rode on, and they set their faces from the village, and went as fast as the rough roads would let them. The lass said nothing to her father, but she told it all over Gimmerton this morning. I ran and peeped, for forms sake, into Isabellas room; confirming, when I returned, the servants statement. Mr. Linton had resumed his seat by the bed; on my reentrance, he raised his eyes, read the meaning of my blank aspect, and dropped them without giving an order, or uttering a word. Are we to try any measures for overtaking and bringing her back, I inquired. How should we do? She went of her own accord, answered the master; she had a right to go if she pleased. Trouble me no more about her. Hereafter she is only my sister in name; not because I disown her, but because she has disowned me. And that was all he said on the subject he did not make single inquiry further, or mention her in any way, except directing me to send what property she had in the house to her fresh home, wherever it was, when I knew it. XIII For two months the fugitives remained absent; in those two months, Mrs. Linton encountered and conquered the worst shock of what was denominated a brain fever. No mother could have nursed an only child more devotedly than Edgar tended her. Day and night he was watching, and patiently enduring all the annoyances that irritable nerves and a shaken reason could inflict; and, though Kenneth remarked that what he saved from the grave would only recompense his care by forming the source of constant future anxietyin fact, that his health and strength were being sacrificed to preserve a mere ruin of humanityhe knew no limits in gratitude and joy when Catherines life was declared out of danger; and hour after hour he would sit beside her, tracing the gradual return to bodily health, and flattering his too sanguine hopes with the illusion that her mind would settle back to its right balance also, and she would soon be entirely her former self. The first time she left her chamber was at the commencement of the following March. Mr. Linton had put on her pillow, in the morning, a handful of golden crocuses; her eye, long stranger to any gleam of pleasure, caught them in waking, and shone delighted as she gathered them eagerly together. These are the earliest flowers at the Heights, she exclaimed. They remind me of soft thaw winds, and warm sunshine, and nearly melted snow. Edgar, is there not a south wind, and is not the snow almost gone? The snow is quite gone down here, darling, replied her husband; and I only see two white spots on the whole range of moors the sky is blue, and the larks are singing, and the becks and brooks are all brim full. Catherine, last spring at this time, I was longing to have you under this roof; now, I wish you were a mile or two up those hills the air blows so sweetly, I feel that it would cure you. I shall never be there but once more, said the invalid; and then youll leave me, and I shall remain forever. Next spring youll long again to have me under this roof, and youll look back and think you were happy today. Linton lavished on her the kindest caresses, and tried to cheer her by the fondest words; but, vaguely regarding the flowers, she let the tears collect on her lashes and stream down her cheeks unheeding. We knew she was really better, and, therefore, decided that long confinement to a single place produced much of this despondency, and it might be partially removed by a change of scene. The master told me to light a fire in the manyweeks deserted parlour, and to set an easychair in the sunshine by the window; and then he brought her down, and she sat a long while enjoying the genial heat, and, as we expected, revived by the objects round her which, though familiar, were free from the dreary associations investing her hated sick chamber. By evening she seemed greatly exhausted; yet no arguments could persuade her to return to that apartment, and I had to arrange the parlour sofa for her bed, till another room could be prepared. To obviate the fatigue of mounting and descending the stairs, we fitted up this, where you lie at presenton the same floor with the parlour; and she was soon strong enough to move from one to the other, leaning on Edgars arm. Ah, I thought myself, she might recover, so waited on as she was. And there was double cause to desire it, for on her existence depended that of another we cherished the hope that in a little while Mr. Lintons heart would be gladdened, and his lands secured from a strangers grip, by the birth of an heir. I should mention that Isabella sent to her brother, some six weeks from her departure, a short note, announcing her marriage with Heathcliff. It appeared dry and cold; but at the bottom was dotted in with pencil an obscure apology, and an entreaty for kind remembrance and reconciliation, if her proceeding had offended him asserting that she could not help it then, and being done, she had now no power to repeal it. Linton did not reply to this, I believe; and, in a fortnight more, I got a long letter, which I considered odd, coming from the pen of a bride just out of the honeymoon. Ill read it for I keep it yet. Any relic of the dead is precious, if they were valued living. Dear Ellen, it beginsI came last night to Wuthering Heights, and heard, for the first time, that Catherine has been, and is yet, very ill. I must not write to her, I suppose, and my brother is either too angry or too distressed to answer what I sent him. Still, I must write to somebody, and the only choice left me is you. Inform Edgar that Id give the world to see his face againthat my heart returned to Thrushcross Grange in twentyfour hours after I left it, and is there at this moment, full of warm feelings for him, and Catherine! I cant follow it though(these words are underlined)they need not expect me, and they may draw what conclusions they please; taking care, however, to lay nothing at the door of my weak will or deficient affection. The remainder of the letter is for yourself alone. I want to ask you two questions the first isHow did you contrive to preserve the common sympathies of human nature when you resided here? I cannot recognise any sentiment which those around share with me. The second question I have great interest in; it is thisIs Mr.

Heathcliff a man? If so, is he mad? And if not, is he a devil? I shant tell my reasons for making this inquiry; but I beseech you to explain, if you can, what I have married that is, when you call to see me; and you must call, Ellen, very soon. Dont write, but come, and bring me something from Edgar. Now, you shall hear how I have been received in my new home, as I am led to imagine the Heights will be. It is to amuse myself that I dwell on such subjects as the lack of external comforts they never occupy my thoughts, except at the moment when I miss them. I should laugh and dance for joy, if I found their absence was the total of my miseries, and the rest was an unnatural dream! The sun set behind the Grange as we turned on to the moors; by that, I judged it to be six oclock; and my companion halted half an hour, to inspect the park, and the gardens, and, probably, the place itself, as well as he could; so it was dark when we dismounted in the paved yard of the farmhouse, and your old fellowservant, Joseph, issued out to receive us by the light of a dip candle. He did it with a courtesy that redounded to his credit. His first act was to elevate his torch to a level with my face, squint malignantly, project his underlip, and turn away. Then he took the two horses, and led them into the stables; reappearing for the purpose of locking the outer gate, as if we lived in an ancient castle. Heathcliff stayed to speak to him, and I entered the kitchena dingy, untidy hole; I daresay you would not know it, it is so changed since it was in your charge. By the fire stood a ruffianly child, strong in limb and dirty in garb, with a look of Catherine in his eyes and about his mouth. This is Edgars legal nephew, I reflectedmine in a manner; I must shake hands, andyesI must kiss him. It is right to establish a good understanding at the beginning. I approached, and, attempting to take his chubby fist, saidHow do you do, my dear? He replied in a jargon I did not comprehend. Shall you and I be friends, Hareton? was my next essay at conversation. An oath, and a threat to set Throttler on me if I did not frame off rewarded my perseverance. Hey, Throttler, lad! whispered the little wretch, rousing a halfbred bulldog from its lair in a corner. Now, wilt thou be ganging? he asked authoritatively. Love for my life urged a compliance; I stepped over the threshold to wait till the others should enter. Mr. Heathcliff was nowhere visible; and Joseph, whom I followed to the stables, and requested to accompany me in, after staring and muttering to himself, screwed up his nose and repliedMim! mim! mim! Did iver Christian body hear aught like it? Mincing un munching! How can I tell whet ye say? I say, I wish you to come with me into the house! I cried, thinking him deaf, yet highly disgusted at his rudeness. None o me! I getten summut else to do, he answered, and continued his work; moving his lantern jaws meanwhile, and surveying my dress and countenance (the former a great deal too fine, but the latter, Im sure, as sad as he could desire) with sovereign contempt. I walked round the yard, and through a wicket, to another door, at which I took the liberty of knocking, in hopes some more civil servant might show himself. After a short suspense, it was opened by a tall, gaunt man, without neckerchief, and otherwise extremely slovenly; his features were lost in masses of shaggy hair that hung on his shoulders; and his eyes, too, were like a ghostly Catherines with all their beauty annihilated. Whats your business here? he demanded, grimly. Who are you? My name was Isabella Linton, I replied. Youve seen me before, sir. Im lately married to Mr. Heathcliff, and he has brought me hereI suppose, by your permission. Is he come back, then? asked the hermit, glaring like a hungry wolf. Yeswe came just now, I said; but he left me by the kitchen door; and when I would have gone in, your little boy played sentinel over the place, and frightened me off by the help of a bulldog. Its well the hellish villain has kept his word! growled my future host, searching the darkness beyond me in expectation of discovering Heathcliff; and then he indulged in a soliloquy of execrations, and threats of what he would have done had the fiend deceived him. I repented having tried this second entrance, and was almost inclined to slip away before he finished cursing, but ere I could execute that intention, he ordered me in, and shut and refastened the door. There was a great fire, and that was all the light in the huge apartment, whose floor had grown a uniform grey; and the once brilliant pewterdishes, which used to attract my gaze when I was a girl, partook of a similar obscurity, created by tarnish and dust. I inquired whether I might call the maid, and be conducted to a bedroom! Mr. Earnshaw vouchsafed no answer. He walked up and down, with his hands in his pockets, apparently quite forgetting my presence; and his abstraction was evidently so deep, and his whole aspect so misanthropical, that I shrank from disturbing him again. Youll not be surprised, Ellen, at my feeling particularly cheerless, seated in worse than solitude on that inhospitable hearth, and remembering that four miles distant lay my delightful home, containing the only people I loved on earth; and there might as well be the Atlantic to part us, instead of those four miles I could not overpass them! I questioned with myselfwhere must I turn for comfort? andmind you dont tell Edgar, or Catherineabove every sorrow beside, this rose preeminent despair at finding nobody who could or would be my ally against Heathcliff! I had sought shelter at Wuthering Heights, almost gladly, because I was secured by that arrangement from living alone with him; but he knew the people we were coming amongst, and he did not fear their intermeddling. I sat and thought a doleful time the clock struck eight, and nine, and still my companion paced to and fro, his head bent on his breast, and perfectly silent, unless a groan or a bitter ejaculation forced itself out at intervals. I listened to detect a womans voice in the house, and filled the interim with wild regrets and dismal anticipations, which, at last, spoke audibly in irrepressible sighing and weeping. I was not aware how openly I grieved, till Earnshaw halted opposite, in his measured walk, and gave me a stare of newlyawakened surprise. Taking advantage of his recovered attention, I exclaimedIm tired with my journey, and I want to go to bed! Where is the maidservant? Direct me to her, as she wont come to me! We have none, he answered; you must wait on yourself! Where must I sleep, then? I sobbed; I was beyond regarding selfrespect, weighed down by fatigue and wretchedness. Joseph will show you Heathcliffs chamber, said he; open that doorhes in there. I was going to obey, but he suddenly arrested me, and added in the strangest toneBe so good as to turn your lock, and draw your boltdont omit it! Well! I said. But why, Mr. Earnshaw? I did not relish the notion of deliberately fastening myself in with Heathcliff. Look here! he replied, pulling from his waistcoat a curiouslyconstructed pistol, having a doubleedged spring knife attached to the barrel. Thats a great tempter to a desperate man, is it not? I cannot resist going up with this every night, and trying his door. If once I find it open hes done for; I do it invariably, even though the minute before I have been recalling a hundred reasons that should make me refrain it is some devil that urges me to thwart my own schemes by killing him. You fight against that devil for love as long as you may; when the time comes, not all the angels in heaven shall save him! I surveyed the weapon inquisitively. A hideous notion struck me how powerful I should be possessing such an instrument! I took it from his hand, and touched the blade. He looked astonished at the expression my face assumed during a brief second it was not horror, it was covetousness. He snatched the pistol back, jealously; shut the knife, and returned it to its concealment. I dont care if you tell him, said he. Put him on his guard, and watch for him. You know the terms we are on, I see his danger does not shock you. What has Heathcliff done to you? I asked. In what has he wronged you, to warrant this appalling hatred? Wouldnt it be wiser to bid him quit the house? No! thundered Earnshaw; should he offer to leave me, hes a dead man persuade him to attempt it, and you are a murderess! Am I to lose all, without a chance of retrieval? Is Hareton to be a beggar? Oh, damnation! I will have it back; and Ill have his gold too; and then his blood; and hell shall have his soul! It will be ten times blacker with that guest than ever it was before! Youve acquainted me, Ellen, with your old masters habits. He is clearly on the verge of madness he was so last night at least. I shuddered to be near him, and thought on the servants illbred moroseness as comparatively agreeable. He now recommenced his moody walk, and I raised the latch, and escaped into the kitchen. Joseph was bending over the fire, peering into a large pan that swung above it; and a wooden bowl of oatmeal stood on the settle close by. The contents of the pan began to boil, and he turned to plunge his hand into the bowl; I conjectured that this preparation was probably for our supper, and, being hungry, I resolved it should be eatable; so, crying out sharply, Ill make the porridge! I removed the vessel out of his reach, and proceeded to take off my hat and ridinghabit. Mr. Earnshaw, I continued, directs me to wait on myself I will. Im not going to act the lady among you, for fear I should starve. Gooid Lord! he muttered, sitting down, and stroking his ribbed stockings from the knee to the ankle. If theres to be fresh ortheringsjust when I getten used to two maisters, if I mun hev a mistress set oer my heead, its like time to be flitting. I niver did think to see t day that I mud lave th owld placebut I doubt its nigh at hand! This lamentation drew no notice from me I went briskly to work, sighing to remember a period when it would have been all merry fun; but compelled speedily to drive off the remembrance. It racked me to recall past happiness and the greater peril there was of conjuring up its apparition, the quicker the thible ran round, and the faster the handfuls of meal fell into the water. Joseph beheld my style of cookery with growing indignation. Thear! he ejaculated. Hareton, thou willnt sup thy porridge toneeght; theyll be naught but lumps as big as my neive. Thear, agean! Id fling in bowl un all, if I wer ye! There, pale t guilp off, un then yell hae done wi t. Bang, bang. Its a mercy t bothom isnt deaved out! It was rather a rough mess, I own, when poured into the basins; four had been provided, and a gallon pitcher of new milk was brought from the dairy, which Hareton seized and commenced drinking and spilling from the expansive lip. I expostulated, and desired that he should have his in a mug; affirming that I could not taste the liquid treated so dirtily. The old cynic chose to be vastly offended at this nicety; assuring me, repeatedly, that the barn was every bit as good as I, and every bit as wollsome, and wondering how I could fashion to be so conceited. Meanwhile, the infant ruffian continued sucking; and glowered up at me defyingly, as he slavered into the jug. I shall have my supper in another room, I said. Have you no place you call a parlour? Parlour! he echoed, sneeringly, parlour! Nay, weve noa parlours. If yah dunnut loike wer company, theres maisters; un if yah dunnut loike maister, theres us. Then I shall go upstairs, I answered; show me a chamber. I put my basin on a tray, and went myself to fetch some more milk. With great grumblings, the fellow rose, and preceded me in my ascent we mounted to the garrets; he opened a door, now and then, to look into the apartments we passed. Heres a rahm, he said, at last, flinging back a cranky board on hinges. Its weel eneugh to ate a few porridge in. Theres a pack o corn i t corner, thear, meeterly clane; if yere feared o muckying yer grand silk cloes, spread yer hankerchir o t top ont. The rahm was a kind of lumberhole smelling strong of malt and grain; various sacks of which articles were piled around, leaving a wide, bare space in the middle. Why, man, I exclaimed, facing him angrily, this is not a place to sleep in. I wish to see my bedroom. Bedrume! he repeated, in a tone of mockery. Yahs see all t bedrumes thear isyons mine. He pointed into the second garret, only differing from the first in being more naked about the walls, and having a large, low, curtainless bed, with an indigocoloured quilt, at one end. What do I want with yours? I retorted. I suppose Mr. Heathcliff does not lodge at the top of the house, does he? Oh! its Maister Hathecliffs yere wanting? cried he, as if making a new discovery. Couldnt ye ha said soa, at onst? un then, I mud ha telled ye, baht all this wark, that thats just one ye cannut seehe allas keeps it locked, un nobdy iver mells ont but hisseln. Youve a nice house, Joseph, I could not refrain from observing, and pleasant inmates; and I think the concentrated essence of all the madness in the world took up its abode in my brain the day I linked my fate with theirs! However, that is not to the present purposethere are other rooms. For heavens sake be quick, and let me settle somewhere! He made no reply to this adjuration; only plodding doggedly down the wooden steps, and halting, before an apartment which, from that halt and the superior quality of its furniture, I conjectured to be the best one. There was a carpeta good one, but the pattern was obliterated by dust; a fireplace hung with cutpaper, dropping to pieces; a handsome oakbedstead with ample crimson curtains of rather expensive material and modern make; but they had evidently experienced rough usage the vallances hung in festoons, wrenched from their rings, and the iron rod supporting them was bent in an arc on one side, causing the drapery to trail upon the floor. The chairs were also damaged, many of them severely; and deep indentations deformed the panels of the walls. I was endeavouring to gather resolution for entering and taking possession, when my fool of a guide announcedThis here is t maisters. My supper by this time was cold, my appetite gone, and my patience exhausted. I insisted on being provided instantly with a place of refuge, and means of repose. Whear the divil? began the religious elder. The Lord bless us! The Lord forgie us! Whear the hell wold ye gang? ye marred, wearisome nowt! Yeve seen all but Haretons bit of a chamer. Theres not another hoile to lig down in i th hahse! I was so vexed, I flung my tray and its contents on the ground; and then seated myself at the stairshead, hid my face in my hands, and cried. Ech! ech! exclaimed Joseph. Weel done, Miss Cathy! weel done, Miss Cathy! Howsiver, t maister sall just tumle oer them brooken pots; un then wes hear summut; wes hear how its to be. Gooidfornaught madling! ye desarve pining fro this to Chrustmas, flinging t precious gifts oGod under fooit i yer flaysome rages! But Im mistaen if ye show yer sperrit lang. Will Hathecliff bide sich bonny ways, think ye? I nobbut wish he may catch ye i that plisky. I nobbut wish he may. And so he went on scolding to his den beneath, taking the candle with him; and I remained in the dark. The period of reflection succeeding this silly action compelled me to admit the necessity of smothering my pride and choking my wrath, and bestirring myself to remove its effects. An unexpected aid presently appeared in the shape of Throttler, whom I now recognised as a son of our old Skulker it had spent its whelphood at the Grange, and was given by my father to Mr. Hindley. I fancy it knew me it pushed its nose against mine by way of salute, and then hastened to devour the porridge; while I groped from step to step, collecting the shattered earthenware, and drying the spatters of milk from the banister with my pockethandkerchief. Our labours were scarcely over when I heard Earnshaws tread in the passage; my assistant tucked in his tail, and pressed to the wall; I stole into the nearest doorway. The dogs endeavour to avoid him was unsuccessful; as I guessed by a scutter downstairs, and a prolonged, piteous yelping. I had better luck he passed on, entered his chamber, and shut the door. Directly after Joseph came up with Hareton, to put him to bed. I had found shelter in Haretons room, and the old man, on seeing me, saidTheys rahm for boath ye un yer pride, now, I sud think i the hahse. Its empty; ye may hev it all to yerseln, un Him as allus maks a third, i sich ill company! Gladly did I take advantage of this intimation; and the minute I flung myself into a chair, by the fire, I nodded, and slept. My slumber was deep and sweet, though over far too soon. Mr. Heathcliff awoke me; he had just come in, and demanded, in his loving manner, what I was doing there? I told him the cause of my staying up so latethat he had the key of our room in his pocket. The adjective our gave mortal offence. He swore it was not, nor ever should be, mine; and hedbut Ill not repeat his language, nor describe his habitual conduct he is ingenious and unresting in seeking to gain my abhorrence! I sometimes wonder at him with an intensity that deadens my fear yet, I assure you, a tiger or a venomous serpent could not rouse terror in me equal to that which he wakens. He told me of Catherines illness, and accused my brother of causing it promising that I should be Edgars proxy in suffering, till he could get hold of him. I do hate himI am wretchedI have been a fool! Beware of uttering one breath of this to anyone at the Grange. I shall expect you every daydont disappoint me!Isabella. XIV As soon as I had perused this epistle I went to the master, and informed him that his sister had arrived at the Heights, and sent me a letter expressing her sorrow for Mrs. Lintons situation, and her ardent desire to see him; with a wish that he would transmit to her, as early as possible, some token of forgiveness by me. Forgiveness! said Linton. I have nothing to forgive her, Ellen. You may call at Wuthering Heights this afternoon, if you like, and say that I am not angry, but Im sorry to have lost her; especially as I can never think shell be happy. It is out of the question my going to see her, however we are eternally divided; and should she really wish to oblige me, let her persuade the villain she has married to leave the country. And you wont write her a little note, sir? I asked, imploringly. No, he answered. It is needless. My communication with Heathcliffs family shall be as sparing as his with mine. It shall not exist! Mr. Edgars coldness depressed me exceedingly; and all the way from the Grange I puzzled my brains how to put more heart into what he said, when I repeated it; and how to soften his refusal of even a few lines to console Isabella. I daresay she had been on the watch for me since morning I saw her looking through the lattice as I came up the garden causeway, and I nodded to her; but she drew back, as if afraid of being observed. I entered without knocking. There never was such a dreary, dismal scene as the formerly cheerful house presented! I must confess, that if I had been in the young ladys place, I would, at least, have swept the hearth, and wiped the tables with a duster. But she already partook of the pervading spirit of neglect which encompassed her. Her pretty face was wan and listless; her hair uncurled some locks hanging lankly down, and some carelessly twisted round her head. Probably she had not touched her dress since yester evening. Hindley was not there. Mr. Heathcliff sat at a table, turning over some papers in his pocketbook; but he rose when I appeared, asked me how I did, quite friendly, and offered me a chair. He was the only thing there that seemed decent; and I thought he never looked better. So much had circumstances altered their positions, that he would certainly have struck a stranger as a born and bred gentleman; and his wife as a thorough little slattern! She came forward eagerly to greet me, and held out one hand to take the expected letter. I shook my head. She wouldnt understand the hint, but followed me to a sideboard, where I went to lay my bonnet, and importuned me in a whisper to give her directly what I had brought. Heathcliff guessed the meaning of her manoeuvres, and saidIf you have got anything for Isabella (as no doubt you have, Nelly), give it to her. You neednt make a secret of it we have no secrets between us. Oh, I have nothing, I replied, thinking it best to speak the truth at once. My master bid me tell his sister that she must not expect either a letter or a visit from him at present. He sends his love, maam, and his wishes for your happiness, and his pardon for the grief you have occasioned; but he thinks that after this time his household and the household here should drop intercommunication, as nothing could come of keeping it up. Mrs. Heathcliffs lip quivered slightly, and she returned to her seat in the window. Her husband took his stand on the hearthstone, near me, and began to put questions concerning Catherine. I told him as much as I thought proper of her illness, and he extorted from me, by crossexamination, most of the facts connected with its origin. I blamed her, as she deserved, for bringing it all on herself; and ended by hoping that he would follow Mr. Lintons example and avoid future interference with his family, for good or evil. Mrs. Linton is now just recovering, I said; shell never be like she was, but her life is spared; and if you really have a regard for her, youll shun crossing her way again nay, youll move out of this country entirely; and that you may not regret it, Ill inform you Catherine Linton is as different now from your old friend Catherine Earnshaw, as that young lady is different from me. Her appearance is changed greatly, her character much more so; and the person who is compelled, of necessity, to be her companion, will only sustain his affection hereafter by the remembrance of what she once was, by common humanity, and a sense of duty! That is quite possible, remarked Heathcliff, forcing himself to seem calm quite possible that your master should have nothing but common humanity and a sense of duty to fall back upon. But do you imagine that I shall leave Catherine to his duty and humanity? and can you compare my feelings respecting Catherine to his? Before you leave this house, I must exact a promise from you that youll get me an interview with her consent, or refuse, I will see her! What do you say? I say, Mr. Heathcliff, I replied, you must not you never shall, through my means. Another encounter between you and the master would kill her altogether. With your aid that may be avoided, he continued; and should there be danger of such an eventshould he be the cause of adding a single trouble more to her existencewhy, I think I shall be justified in going to extremes! I wish you had sincerity enough to tell me whether Catherine would suffer greatly from his loss the fear that she would restrains me. And there you see the distinction between our feelings had he been in my place, and I in his, though I hated him with a hatred that turned my life to gall, I never would have raised a hand against him. You may look incredulous, if you please! I never would have banished him from her society as long as she desired his. The moment her regard ceased, I would have torn his heart out, and drunk his blood! But, till thenif you dont believe me, you dont know metill then, I would have died by inches before I touched a single hair of his head! And yet, I interrupted, you have no scruples in completely ruining all hopes of her perfect restoration, by thrusting yourself into her remembrance now, when she has nearly forgotten you, and involving her in a new tumult of discord and distress. You suppose she has nearly forgotten me? he said. Oh, Nelly! you know she has not! You know as well as I do, that for every thought she spends on Linton she spends a thousand on me! At a most miserable period of my life, I had a notion of the kind it haunted me on my return to the neighbourhood last summer; but only her own assurance could make me admit the horrible idea again. And then, Linton would be nothing, nor Hindley, nor all the dreams that ever I dreamt. Two words would comprehend my futuredeath and hell existence, after losing her, would be hell. Yet I was a fool to fancy for a moment that she valued Edgar Lintons attachment more than mine. If he loved with all the powers of his puny being, he couldnt love as much in eighty years as I could in a day. And Catherine has a heart as deep as I have the sea could be as readily contained in that horsetrough as her whole affection be monopolised by him. Tush! He is scarcely a degree dearer to her than her dog, or her horse. It is not in him to be loved like me how can she love in him what he has not? Catherine and Edgar are as fond of each other as any two people can be, cried Isabella, with sudden vivacity. No one has a right to talk in that manner, and I wont hear my brother depreciated in silence! Your brother is wondrous fond of you too, isnt he? observed Heathcliff, scornfully. He turns you adrift on the world with surprising alacrity. He is not aware of what I suffer, she replied. I didnt tell him that. You have been telling him something, then you have written, have you? To say that I was married, I did writeyou saw the note. And nothing since? No. My young lady is looking sadly the worse for her change of condition, I remarked. Somebodys love comes short in her case, obviously; whose, I may guess; but, perhaps, I shouldnt say. I should guess it was her own, said Heathcliff. She degenerates into a mere slut! She is tired of trying to please me uncommonly early. Youd hardly credit it, but the very morrow of our wedding she was weeping to go home. However, shell suit this house so much the better for not being over nice, and Ill take care she does not disgrace me by rambling abroad. Well, sir, returned I, I hope youll consider that Mrs. Heathcliff is accustomed to be looked after and waited on; and that she has been brought up like an only daughter, whom everyone was ready to serve. You must let her have a maid to keep things tidy about her, and you must treat her kindly. Whatever be your notion of Mr. Edgar, you cannot doubt that she has a capacity for strong attachments, or she wouldnt have abandoned the elegancies, and comforts, and friends of her former home, to fix contentedly, in such a wilderness as this, with you. She abandoned them under a delusion, he answered; picturing in me a hero of romance, and expecting unlimited indulgences from my chivalrous devotion. I can hardly regard her in the light of a rational creature, so obstinately has she persisted in forming a fabulous notion of my character and acting on the false impressions she cherished. But, at last, I think she begins to know me I dont perceive the silly smiles and grimaces that provoked me at first; and the senseless incapability of discerning that I was in earnest when I gave her my opinion of her infatuation and herself. It was a marvellous effort of perspicacity to discover that I did not love her. I believed, at one time, no lessons could teach her that! And yet it is poorly learnt; for this morning she announced, as a piece of appalling intelligence, that I had actually succeeded in making her hate me! A positive labour of Hercules, I assure you! If it be achieved, I have cause to return thanks. Can I trust your assertion, Isabella? Are you sure you hate me? If I let you alone for half a day, wont you come sighing and wheedling to me again? I daresay she would rather I had seemed all tenderness before you it wounds her vanity to have the truth exposed. But I dont care who knows that the passion was wholly on one side and I never told her a lie about it. She cannot accuse me of showing one bit of deceitful softness. The first thing she saw me do, on coming out of the Grange, was to hang up her little dog; and when she pleaded for it, the first words I uttered were a wish that I had the hanging of every being belonging to her, except one possibly she took that exception for herself. But no brutality disgusted her I suppose she has an innate admiration of it, if only her precious person were secure from injury! Now, was it not the depth of absurdityof genuine idiotcy, for that pitiful, slavish, meanminded brach to dream that I could love her? Tell your master, Nelly, that I never, in all my life, met with such an abject thing as she is. She even disgraces the name of Linton; and Ive sometimes relented, from pure lack of invention, in my experiments on what she could endure, and still creep shamefully cringing back! But tell him, also, to set his fraternal and magisterial heart at ease that I keep strictly within the limits of the law. I have avoided, up to this period, giving her the slightest right to claim a separation; and, whats more, shed thank nobody for dividing us. If she desired to go, she might the nuisance of her presence outweighs the gratification to be derived from tormenting her! Mr. Heathcliff, said I, this is the talk of a madman; your wife, most likely, is convinced you are mad; and, for that reason, she has borne with you hitherto but now that you say she may go, shell doubtless avail herself of the permission. You are not so bewitched, maam, are you, as to remain with him of your own accord? Take care, Ellen! answered Isabella, her eyes sparkling irefully; there was no misdoubting by their expression the full success of her partners endeavours to make himself detested. Dont put faith in a single word he speaks. Hes a lying fiend! a monster, and not a human being! Ive been told I might leave him before; and Ive made the attempt, but I dare not repeat it! Only, Ellen, promise youll not mention a syllable of his infamous conversation to my brother or Catherine. Whatever he may pretend, he wishes to provoke Edgar to desperation he says he has married me on purpose to obtain power over him; and he shant obtain itIll die first! I just hope, I pray, that he may forget his diabolical prudence and kill me! The single pleasure I can imagine is to die, or to see him dead! Therethat will do for the present! said Heathcliff. If you are called upon in a court of law, youll remember her language, Nelly! And take a good look at that countenance shes near the point which would suit me. No; youre not fit to be your own guardian, Isabella, now; and I, being your legal protector, must retain you in my custody, however distasteful the obligation may be. Go upstairs; I have something to say to Ellen Dean in private. Thats not the way upstairs, I tell you! Why, this is the road upstairs, child! He seized, and thrust her from the room; and returned mutteringI have no pity! I have no pity! The more the worms writhe, the more I yearn to crush out their entrails! It is a moral teething; and I grind with greater energy in proportion to the increase of pain. Do you understand what the word pity means? I said, hastening to resume my bonnet. Did you ever feel a touch of it in your life? Put that down! he interrupted, perceiving my intention to depart. You are not going yet. Come here now, Nelly I must either persuade or compel you to aid me in fulfilling my determination to see Catherine, and that without delay. I swear that I meditate no harm I dont desire to cause any disturbance, or to exasperate or insult Mr. Linton; I only wish to hear from herself how she is, and why she has been ill; and to ask if anything that I could do would be of use to her.

Last night I was in the Grange garden six hours, and Ill return there tonight; and every night Ill haunt the place, and every day, till I find an opportunity of entering. If Edgar Linton meets me, I shall not hesitate to knock him down, and give him enough to insure his quiescence while I stay. If his servants oppose me, I shall threaten them off with these pistols. But wouldnt it be better to prevent my coming in contact with them, or their master? And you could do it so easily. Id warn you when I came, and then you might let me in unobserved, as soon as she was alone, and watch till I departed, your conscience quite calm you would be hindering mischief. I protested against playing that treacherous part in my employers house and, besides, I urged the cruelty and selfishness of his destroying Mrs. Lintons tranquillity for his satisfaction. The commonest occurrence startles her painfully, I said. Shes all nerves, and she couldnt bear the surprise, Im positive. Dont persist, sir! or else I shall be obliged to inform my master of your designs; and hell take measures to secure his house and its inmates from any such unwarrantable intrusions! In that case Ill take measures to secure you, woman! exclaimed Heathcliff; you shall not leave Wuthering Heights till tomorrow morning. It is a foolish story to assert that Catherine could not bear to see me; and as to surprising her, I dont desire it you must prepare herask her if I may come. You say she never mentions my name, and that I am never mentioned to her. To whom should she mention me if I am a forbidden topic in the house? She thinks you are all spies for her husband. Oh, Ive no doubt shes in hell among you! I guess by her silence, as much as anything, what she feels. You say she is often restless, and anxiouslooking is that a proof of tranquillity? You talk of her mind being unsettled. How the devil could it be otherwise in her frightful isolation? And that insipid, paltry creature attending her from duty and humanity! From pity and charity! He might as well plant an oak in a flowerpot, and expect it to thrive, as imagine he can restore her to vigour in the soil of his shallow cares? Let us settle it at once will you stay here, and am I to fight my way to Catherine over Linton and his footman? Or will you be my friend, as you have been hitherto, and do what I request? Decide! because there is no reason for my lingering another minute, if you persist in your stubborn illnature! Well, Mr. Lockwood, I argued and complained, and flatly refused him fifty times; but in the long run he forced me to an agreement. I engaged to carry a letter from him to my mistress; and should she consent, I promised to let him have intelligence of Lintons next absence from home, when he might come, and get in as he was able I wouldnt be there, and my fellowservants should be equally out of the way. Was it right or wrong? I fear it was wrong, though expedient. I thought I prevented another explosion by my compliance; and I thought, too, it might create a favourable crisis in Catherines mental illness and then I remembered Mr. Edgars stern rebuke of my carrying tales; and I tried to smooth away all disquietude on the subject, by affirming, with frequent iteration, that that betrayal of trust, if it merited so harsh an appellation, should be the last. Notwithstanding, my journey homeward was sadder than my journey thither; and many misgivings I had, ere I could prevail on myself to put the missive into Mrs. Lintons hand. But here is Kenneth; Ill go down, and tell him how much better you are. My history is dree, as we say, and will serve to while away another morning. Dree, and dreary! I reflected as the good woman descended to receive the doctor and not exactly of the kind which I should have chosen to amuse me. But never mind! Ill extract wholesome medicines from Mrs. Deans bitter herbs; and firstly, let me beware of the fascination that lurks in Catherine Heathcliffs brilliant eyes. I should be in a curious taking if I surrendered my heart to that young person, and the daughter turned out a second edition of the mother. XV Another week overand I am so many days nearer health, and spring! I have now heard all my neighbours history, at different sittings, as the housekeeper could spare time from more important occupations. Ill continue it in her own words, only a little condensed. She is, on the whole, a very fair narrator, and I dont think I could improve her style. In the evening, she said, the evening of my visit to the Heights, I knew, as well as if I saw him, that Mr. Heathcliff was about the place; and I shunned going out, because I still carried his letter in my pocket, and didnt want to be threatened or teased any more. I had made up my mind not to give it till my master went somewhere, as I could not guess how its receipt would affect Catherine. The consequence was, that it did not reach her before the lapse of three days. The fourth was Sunday, and I brought it into her room after the family were gone to church. There was a manservant left to keep the house with me, and we generally made a practice of locking the doors during the hours of service; but on that occasion the weather was so warm and pleasant that I set them wide open, and, to fulfil my engagement, as I knew who would be coming, I told my companion that the mistress wished very much for some oranges, and he must run over to the village and get a few, to be paid for on the morrow. He departed, and I went upstairs. Mrs. Linton sat in a loose white dress, with a light shawl over her shoulders, in the recess of the open window, as usual. Her thick, long hair had been partly removed at the beginning of her illness, and now she wore it simply combed in its natural tresses over her temples and neck. Her appearance was altered, as I had told Heathcliff; but when she was calm, there seemed unearthly beauty in the change. The flash of her eyes had been succeeded by a dreamy and melancholy softness; they no longer gave the impression of looking at the objects around her they appeared always to gaze beyond, and far beyondyou would have said out of this world. Then, the paleness of her faceits haggard aspect having vanished as she recovered fleshand the peculiar expression arising from her mental state, though painfully suggestive of their causes, added to the touching interest which she awakened; andinvariably to me, I know, and to any person who saw her, I should thinkrefuted more tangible proofs of convalescence, and stamped her as one doomed to decay. A book lay spread on the sill before her, and the scarcely perceptible wind fluttered its leaves at intervals. I believe Linton had laid it there for she never endeavoured to divert herself with reading, or occupation of any kind, and he would spend many an hour in trying to entice her attention to some subject which had formerly been her amusement. She was conscious of his aim, and in her better moods endured his efforts placidly, only showing their uselessness by now and then suppressing a wearied sigh, and checking him at last with the saddest of smiles and kisses. At other times, she would turn petulantly away, and hide her face in her hands, or even push him off angrily; and then he took care to let her alone, for he was certain of doing no good. Gimmerton chapel bells were still ringing; and the full, mellow flow of the beck in the valley came soothingly on the ear. It was a sweet substitute for the yet absent murmur of the summer foliage, which drowned that music about the Grange when the trees were in leaf. At Wuthering Heights it always sounded on quiet days following a great thaw or a season of steady rain. And of Wuthering Heights Catherine was thinking as she listened that is, if she thought or listened at all; but she had the vague, distant look I mentioned before, which expressed no recognition of material things either by ear or eye. Theres a letter for you, Mrs. Linton, I said, gently inserting it in one hand that rested on her knee. You must read it immediately, because it wants an answer. Shall I break the seal? Yes, she answered, without altering the direction of her eyes. I opened itit was very short. Now, I continued, read it. She drew away her hand, and let it fall. I replaced it in her lap, and stood waiting till it should please her to glance down; but that movement was so long delayed that at last I resumedMust I read it, maam? It is from Mr. Heathcliff. There was a start and a troubled gleam of recollection, and a struggle to arrange her ideas. She lifted the letter, and seemed to peruse it; and when she came to the signature she sighed yet still I found she had not gathered its import, for, upon my desiring to hear her reply, she merely pointed to the name, and gazed at me with mournful and questioning eagerness. Well, he wishes to see you, said I, guessing her need of an interpreter. Hes in the garden by this time, and impatient to know what answer I shall bring. As I spoke, I observed a large dog lying on the sunny grass beneath raise its ears as if about to bark, and then smoothing them back, announce, by a wag of the tail, that someone approached whom it did not consider a stranger. Mrs. Linton bent forward, and listened breathlessly. The minute after a step traversed the hall; the open house was too tempting for Heathcliff to resist walking in most likely he supposed that I was inclined to shirk my promise, and so resolved to trust to his own audacity. With straining eagerness Catherine gazed towards the entrance of her chamber. He did not hit the right room directly she motioned me to admit him, but he found it out ere I could reach the door, and in a stride or two was at her side, and had her grasped in his arms. He neither spoke nor loosed his hold for some five minutes, during which period he bestowed more kisses than ever he gave in his life before, I daresay but then my mistress had kissed him first, and I plainly saw that he could hardly bear, for downright agony, to look into her face! The same conviction had stricken him as me, from the instant he beheld her, that there was no prospect of ultimate recovery thereshe was fated, sure to die. Oh, Cathy! Oh, my life! how can I bear it? was the first sentence he uttered, in a tone that did not seek to disguise his despair. And now he stared at her so earnestly that I thought the very intensity of his gaze would bring tears into his eyes; but they burned with anguish they did not melt. What now? said Catherine, leaning back, and returning his look with a suddenly clouded brow her humour was a mere vane for constantly varying caprices. You and Edgar have broken my heart, Heathcliff! And you both come to bewail the deed to me, as if you were the people to be pitied! I shall not pity you, not I. You have killed meand thriven on it, I think. How strong you are! How many years do you mean to live after I am gone? Heathcliff had knelt on one knee to embrace her; he attempted to rise, but she seized his hair, and kept him down. I wish I could hold you, she continued, bitterly, till we were both dead! I shouldnt care what you suffered. I care nothing for your sufferings. Why shouldnt you suffer? I do! Will you forget me? Will you be happy when I am in the earth? Will you say twenty years hence, Thats the grave of Catherine Earnshaw? I loved her long ago, and was wretched to lose her; but it is past. Ive loved many others since my children are dearer to me than she was; and, at death, I shall not rejoice that I am going to her I shall be sorry that I must leave them! Will you say so, Heathcliff? Dont torture me till Im as mad as yourself, cried he, wrenching his head free, and grinding his teeth. The two, to a cool spectator, made a strange and fearful picture. Well might Catherine deem that heaven would be a land of exile to her, unless with her mortal body she cast away her moral character also. Her present countenance had a wild vindictiveness in its white cheek, and a bloodless lip and scintillating eye; and she retained in her closed fingers a portion of the locks she had been grasping. As to her companion, while raising himself with one hand, he had taken her arm with the other; and so inadequate was his stock of gentleness to the requirements of her condition, that on his letting go I saw four distinct impressions left blue in the colourless skin. Are you possessed with a devil, he pursued, savagely, to talk in that manner to me when you are dying? Do you reflect that all those words will be branded in my memory, and eating deeper eternally after you have left me? You know you lie to say I have killed you and, Catherine, you know that I could as soon forget you as my existence! Is it not sufficient for your infernal selfishness, that while you are at peace I shall writhe in the torments of hell? I shall not be at peace, moaned Catherine, recalled to a sense of physical weakness by the violent, unequal throbbing of her heart, which beat visibly and audibly under this excess of agitation. She said nothing further till the paroxysm was over; then she continued, more kindly Im not wishing you greater torment than I have, Heathcliff. I only wish us never to be parted and should a word of mine distress you hereafter, think I feel the same distress underground, and for my own sake, forgive me! Come here and kneel down again! You never harmed me in your life. Nay, if you nurse anger, that will be worse to remember than my harsh words! Wont you come here again? Do! Heathcliff went to the back of her chair, and leant over, but not so far as to let her see his face, which was livid with emotion. She bent round to look at him; he would not permit it turning abruptly, he walked to the fireplace, where he stood, silent, with his back towards us. Mrs. Lintons glance followed him suspiciously every movement woke a new sentiment in her. After a pause and a prolonged gaze, she resumed; addressing me in accents of indignant disappointment Oh, you see, Nelly, he would not relent a moment to keep me out of the grave. That is how Im loved! Well, never mind. That is not my Heathcliff. I shall love mine yet; and take him with me hes in my soul. And, added she musingly, the thing that irks me most is this shattered prison, after all. Im tired of being enclosed here. Im wearying to escape into that glorious world, and to be always there not seeing it dimly through tears, and yearning for it through the walls of an aching heart but really with it, and in it. Nelly, you think you are better and more fortunate than I; in full health and strength you are sorry for mevery soon that will be altered. I shall be sorry for you. I shall be incomparably beyond and above you all. I wonder he wont be near me! She went on to herself. I thought he wished it. Heathcliff, dear! you should not be sullen now. Do come to me, Heathcliff. In her eagerness she rose and supported herself on the arm of the chair. At that earnest appeal he turned to her, looking absolutely desperate. His eyes, wide and wet, at last flashed fiercely on her; his breast heaved convulsively. An instant they held asunder, and then how they met I hardly saw, but Catherine made a spring, and he caught her, and they were locked in an embrace from which I thought my mistress would never be released alive in fact, to my eyes, she seemed directly insensible. He flung himself into the nearest seat, and on my approaching hurriedly to ascertain if she had fainted, he gnashed at me, and foamed like a mad dog, and gathered her to him with greedy jealousy. I did not feel as if I were in the company of a creature of my own species it appeared that he would not understand, though I spoke to him; so I stood off, and held my tongue, in great perplexity. A movement of Catherines relieved me a little presently she put up her hand to clasp his neck, and bring her cheek to his as he held her; while he, in return, covering her with frantic caresses, said wildly You teach me now how cruel youve beencruel and false. Why did you despise me? Why did you betray your own heart, Cathy? I have not one word of comfort. You deserve this. You have killed yourself. Yes, you may kiss me, and cry; and wring out my kisses and tears theyll blight youtheyll damn you. You loved methen what right had you to leave me? What rightanswer mefor the poor fancy you felt for Linton? Because misery and degradation, and death, and nothing that God or Satan could inflict would have parted us, you, of your own will, did it. I have not broken your heartyou have broken it; and in breaking it, you have broken mine. So much the worse for me that I am strong. Do I want to live? What kind of living will it be when youoh, God! would you like to live with your soul in the grave? Let me alone. Let me alone, sobbed Catherine. If Ive done wrong, Im dying for it. It is enough! You left me too but I wont upbraid you! I forgive you. Forgive me! It is hard to forgive, and to look at those eyes, and feel those wasted hands, he answered. Kiss me again; and dont let me see your eyes! I forgive what you have done to me. I love my murdererbut yours! How can I? They were silenttheir faces hid against each other, and washed by each others tears. At least, I suppose the weeping was on both sides; as it seemed Heathcliff could weep on a great occasion like this. I grew very uncomfortable, meanwhile; for the afternoon wore fast away, the man whom I had sent off returned from his errand, and I could distinguish, by the shine of the western sun up the valley, a concourse thickening outside Gimmerton chapel porch. Service is over, I announced. My master will be here in half an hour. Heathcliff groaned a curse, and strained Catherine closer she never moved. Ere long I perceived a group of the servants passing up the road towards the kitchen wing. Mr. Linton was not far behind; he opened the gate himself and sauntered slowly up, probably enjoying the lovely afternoon that breathed as soft as summer. Now he is here, I exclaimed. For heavens sake, hurry down! Youll not meet anyone on the front stairs. Do be quick; and stay among the trees till he is fairly in. I must go, Cathy, said Heathcliff, seeking to extricate himself from his companions arms. But if I live, Ill see you again before you are asleep. I wont stray five yards from your window. You must not go! she answered, holding him as firmly as her strength allowed. You shall not, I tell you. For one hour, he pleaded earnestly. Not for one minute, she replied. I mustLinton will be up immediately, persisted the alarmed intruder. He would have risen, and unfixed her fingers by the actshe clung fast, gasping there was mad resolution in her face. No! she shrieked. Oh, dont, dont go. It is the last time! Edgar will not hurt us. Heathcliff, I shall die! I shall die! Damn the fool! There he is, cried Heathcliff, sinking back into his seat. Hush, my darling! Hush, hush, Catherine! Ill stay. If he shot me so, Id expire with a blessing on my lips. And there they were fast again. I heard my master mounting the stairsthe cold sweat ran from my forehead I was horrified. Are you going to listen to her ravings? I said, passionately. She does not know what she says. Will you ruin her, because she has not wit to help herself? Get up! You could be free instantly. That is the most diabolical deed that ever you did. We are all done formaster, mistress, and servant. I wrung my hands, and cried out; and Mr. Linton hastened his step at the noise. In the midst of my agitation, I was sincerely glad to observe that Catherines arms had fallen relaxed, and her head hung down. Shes fainted, or dead, I thought so much the better. Far better that she should be dead, than lingering a burden and a miserymaker to all about her. Edgar sprang to his unbidden guest, blanched with astonishment and rage. What he meant to do I cannot tell; however, the other stopped all demonstrations, at once, by placing the lifelesslooking form in his arms. Look there! he said. Unless you be a fiend, help her firstthen you shall speak to me! He walked into the parlour, and sat down. Mr. Linton summoned me, and with great difficulty, and after resorting to many means, we managed to restore her to sensation; but she was all bewildered; she sighed, and moaned, and knew nobody. Edgar, in his anxiety for her, forgot her hated friend. I did not. I went, at the earliest opportunity, and besought him to depart; affirming that Catherine was better, and he should hear from me in the morning how she passed the night. I shall not refuse to go out of doors, he answered; but I shall stay in the garden and, Nelly, mind you keep your word tomorrow. I shall be under those larchtrees. Mind! or I pay another visit, whether Linton be in or not. He sent a rapid glance through the halfopen door of the chamber, and, ascertaining that what I stated was apparently true, delivered the house of his luckless presence. XVI About twelve oclock that night was born the Catherine you saw at Wuthering Heights a puny, sevenmonths child; and two hours after the mother died, having never recovered sufficient consciousness to miss Heathcliff, or know Edgar. The latters distraction at his bereavement is a subject too painful to be dwelt on; its aftereffects showed how deep the sorrow sunk. A great addition, in my eyes, was his being left without an heir. I bemoaned that, as I gazed on the feeble orphan; and I mentally abused old Linton for (what was only natural partiality) the securing his estate to his own daughter, instead of his sons. An unwelcomed infant it was, poor thing! It might have wailed out of life, and nobody cared a morsel, during those first hours of existence. We redeemed the neglect afterwards; but its beginning was as friendless as its end is likely to be. Next morningbright and cheerful out of doorsstole softened in through the blinds of the silent room, and suffused the couch and its occupant with a mellow, tender glow. Edgar Linton had his head laid on the pillow, and his eyes shut. His young and fair features were almost as deathlike as those of the form beside him, and almost as fixed but his was the hush of exhausted anguish, and hers of perfect peace. Her brow smooth, her lids closed, her lips wearing the expression of a smile; no angel in heaven could be more beautiful than she appeared. And I partook of the infinite calm in which she lay my mind was never in a holier frame than while I gazed on that untroubled image of Divine rest. I instinctively echoed the words she had uttered a few hours before Incomparably beyond and above us all! Whether still on earth or now in heaven, her spirit is at home with God! I dont know if it be a peculiarity in me, but I am seldom otherwise than happy while watching in the chamber of death, should no frenzied or despairing mourner share the duty with me. I see a repose that neither earth nor hell can break, and I feel an assurance of the endless and shadowless hereafterthe Eternity they have enteredwhere life is boundless in its duration, and love in its sympathy, and joy in its fullness. I noticed on that occasion how much selfishness there is even in a love like Mr. Lintons, when he so regretted Catherines blessed release! To be sure, one might have doubted, after the wayward and impatient existence she had led, whether she merited a haven of peace at last. One might doubt in seasons of cold reflection; but not then, in the presence of her corpse. It asserted its own tranquillity, which seemed a pledge of equal quiet to its former inhabitant. Do you believe such people are happy in the other world, sir? Id give a great deal to know. I declined answering Mrs. Deans question, which struck me as something heterodox. She proceeded Retracing the course of Catherine Linton, I fear we have no right to think she is; but well leave her with her Maker. The master looked asleep, and I ventured soon after sunrise to quit the room and steal out to the pure refreshing air. The servants thought me gone to shake off the drowsiness of my protracted watch; in reality, my chief motive was seeing Mr. Heathcliff. If he had remained among the larches all night, he would have heard nothing of the stir at the Grange; unless, perhaps, he might catch the gallop of the messenger going to Gimmerton. If he had come nearer, he would probably be aware, from the lights flitting to and fro, and the opening and shutting of the outer doors, that all was not right within. I wished, yet feared, to find him. I felt the terrible news must be told, and I longed to get it over; but how to do it I did not know. He was thereat least, a few yards further in the park; leant against an old ashtree, his hat off, and his hair soaked with the dew that had gathered on the budded branches, and fell pattering round him. He had been standing a long time in that position, for I saw a pair of ousels passing and repassing scarcely three feet from him, busy in building their nest, and regarding his proximity no more than that of a piece of timber. They flew off at my approach, and he raised his eyes and spokeShes dead! he said; Ive not waited for you to learn that. Put your handkerchief awaydont snivel before me. Damn you all! she wants none of your tears! I was weeping as much for him as her we do sometimes pity creatures that have none of the feeling either for themselves or others. When I first looked into his face, I perceived that he had got intelligence of the catastrophe; and a foolish notion struck me that his heart was quelled and he prayed, because his lips moved and his gaze was bent on the ground. Yes, shes dead! I answered, checking my sobs and drying my cheeks. Gone to heaven, I hope; where we may, everyone, join her, if we take due warning and leave our evil ways to follow good! Did she take due warning, then? asked Heathcliff, attempting a sneer. Did she die like a saint? Come, give me a true history of the event. How did? He endeavoured to pronounce the name, but could not manage it; and compressing his mouth he held a silent combat with his inward agony, defying, meanwhile, my sympathy with an unflinching, ferocious stare. How did she die? he resumed, at lastfain, notwithstanding his hardihood, to have a support behind him; for, after the struggle, he trembled, in spite of himself, to his very fingerends. Poor wretch! I thought; you have a heart and nerves the same as your brother men! Why should you be anxious to conceal them? Your pride cannot blind God! You tempt him to wring them, till he forces a cry of humiliation. Quietly as a lamb! I answered, aloud. She drew a sigh, and stretched herself, like a child reviving, and sinking again to sleep; and five minutes after I felt one little pulse at her heart, and nothing more! Anddid she ever mention me? he asked, hesitating, as if he dreaded the answer to his question would introduce details that he could not bear to hear. Her senses never returned she recognised nobody from the time you left her, I said. She lies with a sweet smile on her face; and her latest ideas wandered back to pleasant early days. Her life closed in a gentle dreammay she wake as kindly in the other world! May she wake in torment! he cried, with frightful vehemence, stamping his foot, and groaning in a sudden paroxysm of ungovernable passion. Why, shes a liar to the end! Where is she? Not therenot in heavennot perishedwhere? Oh! you said you cared nothing for my sufferings! And I pray one prayerI repeat it till my tongue stiffensCatherine Earnshaw, may you not rest as long as I am living; you said I killed youhaunt me, then! The murdered do haunt their murderers, I believe. I know that ghosts have wandered on earth. Be with me alwaystake any formdrive me mad! only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! it is unutterable! I cannot live without my life! I cannot live without my soul! He dashed his head against the knotted trunk; and, lifting up his eyes, howled, not like a man, but like a savage beast being goaded to death with knives and spears. I observed several splashes of blood about the bark of the tree, and his hand and forehead were both stained; probably the scene I witnessed was a repetition of others acted during the night. It hardly moved my compassionit appalled me still, I felt reluctant to quit him so. But the moment he recollected himself enough to notice me watching, he thundered a command for me to go, and I obeyed. He was beyond my skill to quiet or console! Mrs. Lintons funeral was appointed to take place on the Friday following her decease; and till then her coffin remained uncovered, and strewn with flowers and scented leaves, in the great drawingroom. Linton spent his days and nights there, a sleepless guardian; anda circumstance concealed from all but meHeathcliff spent his nights, at least, outside, equally a stranger to repose. I held no communication with him still, I was conscious of his design to enter, if he could; and on the Tuesday, a little after dark, when my master, from sheer fatigue, had been compelled to retire a couple of hours, I went and opened one of the windows; moved by his perseverance to give him a chance of bestowing on the faded image of his idol one final adieu. He did not omit to avail himself of the opportunity, cautiously and briefly; too cautiously to betray his presence by the slightest noise. Indeed, I shouldnt have discovered that he had been there, except for the disarrangement of the drapery about the corpses face, and for observing on the floor a curl of light hair, fastened with a silver thread; which, on examination, I ascertained to have been taken from a locket hung round Catherines neck. Heathcliff had opened the trinket and cast out its contents, replacing them by a black lock of his own. I twisted the two, and enclosed them together. Mr. Earnshaw was, of course, invited to attend the remains of his sister to the grave; he sent no excuse, but he never came; so that, besides her husband, the mourners were wholly composed of tenants and servants. Isabella was not asked. The place of Catherines interment, to the surprise of the villagers, was neither in the chapel under the carved monument of the Lintons, nor yet by the tombs of her own relations, outside. It was dug on a green slope in a corner of the kirkyard, where the wall is so low that heath and bilberryplants have climbed over it from the moor; and peatmould almost buries it. Her husband lies in the same spot now; and they have each a simple headstone above, and a plain grey block at their feet, to mark the graves. XVII That Friday made the last of our fine days for a month. In the evening the weather broke the wind shifted from south to northeast, and brought rain first, and then sleet and snow. On the morrow one could hardly imagine that there had been three weeks of summer the primroses and crocuses were hidden under wintry drifts; the larks were silent, the young leaves of the early trees smitten and blackened. And dreary, and chill, and dismal, that morrow did creep over! My master kept his room; I took possession of the lonely parlour, converting it into a nursery and there I was, sitting with the moaning doll of a child laid on my knee; rocking it to and fro, and watching, meanwhile, the still driving flakes build up the uncurtained window, when the door opened, and some person entered, out of breath and laughing! My anger was greater than my astonishment for a minute. I supposed it one of the maids, and I criedHave done! How dare you show your giddiness here; What would Mr. Linton say if he heard you? Excuse me! answered a familiar voice; but I know Edgar is in bed, and I cannot stop myself. With that the speaker came forward to the fire, panting and holding her hand to her side. I have run the whole way from Wuthering Heights! she continued, after a pause; except where Ive flown. I couldnt count the number of falls Ive had.

Oh, Im aching all over! Dont be alarmed! There shall be an explanation as soon as I can give it; only just have the goodness to step out and order the carriage to take me on to Gimmerton, and tell a servant to seek up a few clothes in my wardrobe. The intruder was Mrs. Heathcliff. She certainly seemed in no laughing predicament her hair streamed on her shoulders, dripping with snow and water; she was dressed in the girlish dress she commonly wore, befitting her age more than her position a low frock with short sleeves, and nothing on either head or neck. The frock was of light silk, and clung to her with wet, and her feet were protected merely by thin slippers; add to this a deep cut under one ear, which only the cold prevented from bleeding profusely, a white face scratched and bruised, and a frame hardly able to support itself through fatigue; and you may fancy my first fright was not much allayed when I had had leisure to examine her. My dear young lady, I exclaimed, Ill stir nowhere, and hear nothing, till you have removed every article of your clothes, and put on dry things; and certainly you shall not go to Gimmerton tonight, so it is needless to order the carriage. Certainly I shall, she said; walking or riding yet Ive no objection to dress myself decently. Andah, see how it flows down my neck now! The fire does make it smart. She insisted on my fulfilling her directions, before she would let me touch her; and not till after the coachman had been instructed to get ready, and a maid set to pack up some necessary attire, did I obtain her consent for binding the wound and helping to change her garments. Now, Ellen, she said, when my task was finished and she was seated in an easychair on the hearth, with a cup of tea before her, you sit down opposite me, and put poor Catherines baby away I dont like to see it! You mustnt think I care little for Catherine, because I behaved so foolishly on entering Ive cried, too, bitterlyyes, more than anyone else has reason to cry. We parted unreconciled, you remember, and I shant forgive myself. But, for all that, I was not going to sympathise with himthe brute beast! Oh, give me the poker! This is the last thing of his I have about me she slipped the gold ring from her third finger, and threw it on the floor. Ill smash it! she continued, striking it with childish spite, and then Ill burn it! and she took and dropped the misused article among the coals. There! he shall buy another, if he gets me back again. Hed be capable of coming to seek me, to tease Edgar. I dare not stay, lest that notion should possess his wicked head! And besides, Edgar has not been kind, has he? And I wont come suing for his assistance; nor will I bring him into more trouble. Necessity compelled me to seek shelter here; though, if I had not learned he was out of the way, Id have halted at the kitchen, washed my face, warmed myself, got you to bring what I wanted, and departed again to anywhere out of the reach of my accursedof that incarnate goblin! Ah, he was in such a fury! If he had caught me! Its a pity Earnshaw is not his match in strength I wouldnt have run till Id seen him all but demolished, had Hindley been able to do it! Well, dont talk so fast, Miss! I interrupted; youll disorder the handkerchief I have tied round your face, and make the cut bleed again. Drink your tea, and take breath, and give over laughing laughter is sadly out of place under this roof, and in your condition! An undeniable truth, she replied. Listen to that child! It maintains a constant wailsend it out of my hearing for an hour; I shant stay any longer. I rang the bell, and committed it to a servants care; and then I inquired what had urged her to escape from Wuthering Heights in such an unlikely plight, and where she meant to go, as she refused remaining with us. I ought, and I wished to remain, answered she, to cheer Edgar and take care of the baby, for two things, and because the Grange is my right home. But I tell you he wouldnt let me! Do you think he could bear to see me grow fat and merrycould bear to think that we were tranquil, and not resolve on poisoning our comfort? Now, I have the satisfaction of being sure that he detests me, to the point of its annoying him seriously to have me within earshot or eyesight I notice, when I enter his presence, the muscles of his countenance are involuntarily distorted into an expression of hatred; partly arising from his knowledge of the good causes I have to feel that sentiment for him, and partly from original aversion. It is strong enough to make me feel pretty certain that he would not chase me over England, supposing I contrived a clear escape; and therefore I must get quite away. Ive recovered from my first desire to be killed by him Id rather hed kill himself! He has extinguished my love effectually, and so Im at my ease. I can recollect yet how I loved him; and can dimly imagine that I could still be loving him, ifno, no! Even if he had doted on me, the devilish nature would have revealed its existence somehow. Catherine had an awfully perverted taste to esteem him so dearly, knowing him so well. Monster! would that he could be blotted out of creation, and out of my memory! Hush, hush! Hes a human being, I said. Be more charitable there are worse men than he is yet! Hes not a human being, she retorted; and he has no claim on my charity. I gave him my heart, and he took and pinched it to death, and flung it back to me. People feel with their hearts, Ellen and since he has destroyed mine, I have not power to feel for him and I would not, though he groaned from this to his dying day, and wept tears of blood for Catherine! No, indeed, indeed, I wouldnt! And here Isabella began to cry; but, immediately dashing the water from her lashes, she recommenced. You asked, what has driven me to flight at last? I was compelled to attempt it, because I had succeeded in rousing his rage a pitch above his malignity. Pulling out the nerves with red hot pincers requires more coolness than knocking on the head. He was worked up to forget the fiendish prudence he boasted of, and proceeded to murderous violence. I experienced pleasure in being able to exasperate him the sense of pleasure woke my instinct of selfpreservation, so I fairly broke free; and if ever I come into his hands again he is welcome to a signal revenge. Yesterday, you know, Mr. Earnshaw should have been at the funeral. He kept himself sober for the purposetolerably sober not going to bed mad at six oclock and getting up drunk at twelve. Consequently, he rose, in suicidal low spirits, as fit for the church as for a dance; and instead, he sat down by the fire and swallowed gin or brandy by tumblerfuls. HeathcliffI shudder to name him! has been a stranger in the house from last Sunday till today. Whether the angels have fed him, or his kin beneath, I cannot tell; but he has not eaten a meal with us for nearly a week. He has just come home at dawn, and gone upstairs to his chamber; locking himself inas if anybody dreamt of coveting his company! There he has continued, praying like a Methodist only the deity he implored is senseless dust and ashes; and God, when addressed, was curiously confounded with his own black father! After concluding these precious orisonsand they lasted generally till he grew hoarse and his voice was strangled in his throathe would be off again; always straight down to the Grange! I wonder Edgar did not send for a constable, and give him into custody! For me, grieved as I was about Catherine, it was impossible to avoid regarding this season of deliverance from degrading oppression as a holiday. I recovered spirits sufficient to bear Josephs eternal lectures without weeping, and to move up and down the house less with the foot of a frightened thief than formerly. You wouldnt think that I should cry at anything Joseph could say; but he and Hareton are detestable companions. Id rather sit with Hindley, and hear his awful talk, than with t little maister and his staunch supporter, that odious old man! When Heathcliff is in, Im often obliged to seek the kitchen and their society, or starve among the damp uninhabited chambers; when he is not, as was the case this week, I establish a table and chair at one corner of the house fire, and never mind how Mr. Earnshaw may occupy himself; and he does not interfere with my arrangements. He is quieter now than he used to be, if no one provokes him more sullen and depressed, and less furious. Joseph affirms hes sure hes an altered man that the Lord has touched his heart, and he is saved so as by fire. Im puzzled to detect signs of the favourable change but it is not my business. Yesterevening I sat in my nook reading some old books till late on towards twelve. It seemed so dismal to go upstairs, with the wild snow blowing outside, and my thoughts continually reverting to the kirkyard and the newmade grave! I dared hardly lift my eyes from the page before me, that melancholy scene so instantly usurped its place. Hindley sat opposite, his head leant on his hand; perhaps meditating on the same subject. He had ceased drinking at a point below irrationality, and had neither stirred nor spoken during two or three hours. There was no sound through the house but the moaning wind, which shook the windows every now and then, the faint crackling of the coals, and the click of my snuffers as I removed at intervals the long wick of the candle. Hareton and Joseph were probably fast asleep in bed. It was very, very sad and while I read I sighed, for it seemed as if all joy had vanished from the world, never to be restored. The doleful silence was broken at length by the sound of the kitchen latch Heathcliff had returned from his watch earlier than usual; owing, I suppose, to the sudden storm. That entrance was fastened, and we heard him coming round to get in by the other. I rose with an irrepressible expression of what I felt on my lips, which induced my companion, who had been staring towards the door, to turn and look at me. Ill keep him out five minutes, he exclaimed. You wont object? No, you may keep him out the whole night for me, I answered. Do! put the key in the lock, and draw the bolts. Earnshaw accomplished this ere his guest reached the front; he then came and brought his chair to the other side of my table, leaning over it, and searching in my eyes for a sympathy with the burning hate that gleamed from his as he both looked and felt like an assassin, he couldnt exactly find that; but he discovered enough to encourage him to speak. You, and I, he said, have each a great debt to settle with the man out yonder! If we were neither of us cowards, we might combine to discharge it. Are you as soft as your brother? Are you willing to endure to the last, and not once attempt a repayment? Im weary of enduring now, I replied; and Id be glad of a retaliation that wouldnt recoil on myself; but treachery and violence are spears pointed at both ends; they wound those who resort to them worse than their enemies. Treachery and violence are a just return for treachery and violence! cried Hindley. Mrs. Heathcliff, Ill ask you to do nothing; but sit still and be dumb. Tell me now, can you? Im sure you would have as much pleasure as I in witnessing the conclusion of the fiends existence; hell be your death unless you overreach him; and hell be my ruin. Damn the hellish villain! He knocks at the door as if he were master here already! Promise to hold your tongue, and before that clock strikesit wants three minutes of oneyoure a free woman! He took the implements which I described to you in my letter from his breast, and would have turned down the candle. I snatched it away, however, and seized his arm. Ill not hold my tongue! I said; you mustnt touch him. Let the door remain shut, and be quiet! No! Ive formed my resolution, and by God Ill execute it! cried the desperate being. Ill do you a kindness in spite of yourself, and Hareton justice! And you neednt trouble your head to screen me; Catherine is gone. Nobody alive would regret me, or be ashamed, though I cut my throat this minuteand its time to make an end! I might as well have struggled with a bear, or reasoned with a lunatic. The only resource left me was to run to a lattice and warn his intended victim of the fate which awaited him. Youd better seek shelter somewhere else tonight! I exclaimed, in rather a triumphant tone. Mr. Earnshaw has a mind to shoot you, if you persist in endeavouring to enter. Youd better open the door, you he answered, addressing me by some elegant term that I dont care to repeat. I shall not meddle in the matter, I retorted again. Come in and get shot, if you please. Ive done my duty. With that I shut the window and returned to my place by the fire; having too small a stock of hypocrisy at my command to pretend any anxiety for the danger that menaced him. Earnshaw swore passionately at me affirming that I loved the villain yet; and calling me all sorts of names for the base spirit I evinced. And I, in my secret heart (and conscience never reproached me), thought what a blessing it would be for him should Heathcliff put him out of misery; and what a blessing for me should he send Heathcliff to his right abode! As I sat nursing these reflections, the casement behind me was banged on to the floor by a blow from the latter individual, and his black countenance looked blightingly through. The stanchions stood too close to suffer his shoulders to follow, and I smiled, exulting in my fancied security. His hair and clothes were whitened with snow, and his sharp cannibal teeth, revealed by cold and wrath, gleamed through the dark. Isabella, let me in, or Ill make you repent! he girned, as Joseph calls it. I cannot commit murder, I replied. Mr. Hindley stands sentinel with a knife and loaded pistol. Let me in by the kitchen door, he said. Hindley will be there before me, I answered and thats a poor love of yours that cannot bear a shower of snow! We were left at peace in our beds as long as the summer moon shone, but the moment a blast of winter returns, you must run for shelter! Heathcliff, if I were you, Id go stretch myself over her grave and die like a faithful dog. The world is surely not worth living in now, is it? You had distinctly impressed on me the idea that Catherine was the whole joy of your life I cant imagine how you think of surviving her loss. Hes there, is he? exclaimed my companion, rushing to the gap. If I can get my arm out I can hit him! Im afraid, Ellen, youll set me down as really wicked; but you dont know all, so dont judge. I wouldnt have aided or abetted an attempt on even his life for anything. Wish that he were dead, I must; and therefore I was fearfully disappointed, and unnerved by terror for the consequences of my taunting speech, when he flung himself on Earnshaws weapon and wrenched it from his grasp. The charge exploded, and the knife, in springing back, closed into its owners wrist. Heathcliff pulled it away by main force, slitting up the flesh as it passed on, and thrust it dripping into his pocket. He then took a stone, struck down the division between two windows, and sprang in. His adversary had fallen senseless with excessive pain and the flow of blood, that gushed from an artery or a large vein. The ruffian kicked and trampled on him, and dashed his head repeatedly against the flags, holding me with one hand, meantime, to prevent me summoning Joseph. He exerted preterhuman selfdenial in abstaining from finishing him completely; but getting out of breath, he finally desisted, and dragged the apparently inanimate body on to the settle. There he tore off the sleeve of Earnshaws coat, and bound up the wound with brutal roughness; spitting and cursing during the operation as energetically as he had kicked before. Being at liberty, I lost no time in seeking the old servant; who, having gathered by degrees the purport of my hasty tale, hurried below, gasping, as he descended the steps two at once. What is ther to do, now? what is ther to do, now? Theres this to do, thundered Heathcliff, that your masters mad; and should he last another month, Ill have him to an asylum. And how the devil did you come to fasten me out, you toothless hound? Dont stand muttering and mumbling there. Come, Im not going to nurse him. Wash that stuff away; and mind the sparks of your candleit is more than half brandy! And so yeve been murthering on him? exclaimed Joseph, lifting his hands and eyes in horror. If iver I seed a seeght loike this! May the Lord Heathcliff gave him a push on to his knees in the middle of the blood, and flung a towel to him; but instead of proceeding to dry it up, he joined his hands and began a prayer, which excited my laughter from its odd phraseology. I was in the condition of mind to be shocked at nothing in fact, I was as reckless as some malefactors show themselves at the foot of the gallows. Oh, I forgot you, said the tyrant. You shall do that. Down with you. And you conspire with him against me, do you, viper? There, that is work fit for you! He shook me till my teeth rattled, and pitched me beside Joseph, who steadily concluded his supplications, and then rose, vowing he would set off for the Grange directly. Mr. Linton was a magistrate, and though he had fifty wives dead, he should inquire into this. He was so obstinate in his resolution, that Heathcliff deemed it expedient to compel from my lips a recapitulation of what had taken place; standing over me, heaving with malevolence, as I reluctantly delivered the account in answer to his questions. It required a great deal of labour to satisfy the old man that Heathcliff was not the aggressor; especially with my hardlywrung replies. However, Mr. Earnshaw soon convinced him that he was alive still; Joseph hastened to administer a dose of spirits, and by their succour his master presently regained motion and consciousness. Heathcliff, aware that his opponent was ignorant of the treatment received while insensible, called him deliriously intoxicated; and said he should not notice his atrocious conduct further, but advised him to get to bed. To my joy, he left us, after giving this judicious counsel, and Hindley stretched himself on the hearthstone. I departed to my own room, marvelling that I had escaped so easily. This morning, when I came down, about half an hour before noon, Mr. Earnshaw was sitting by the fire, deadly sick; his evil genius, almost as gaunt and ghastly, leant against the chimney. Neither appeared inclined to dine, and, having waited till all was cold on the table, I commenced alone. Nothing hindered me from eating heartily, and I experienced a certain sense of satisfaction and superiority, as, at intervals, I cast a look towards my silent companions, and felt the comfort of a quiet conscience within me. After I had done, I ventured on the unusual liberty of drawing near the fire, going round Earnshaws seat, and kneeling in the corner beside him. Heathcliff did not glance my way, and I gazed up, and contemplated his features almost as confidently as if they had been turned to stone. His forehead, that I once thought so manly, and that I now think so diabolical, was shaded with a heavy cloud; his basilisk eyes were nearly quenched by sleeplessness, and weeping, perhaps, for the lashes were wet then his lips devoid of their ferocious sneer, and sealed in an expression of unspeakable sadness. Had it been another, I would have covered my face in the presence of such grief. In his case, I was gratified; and, ignoble as it seems to insult a fallen enemy, I couldnt miss this chance of sticking in a dart his weakness was the only time when I could taste the delight of paying wrong for wrong. Fie, fie, Miss! I interrupted. One might suppose you had never opened a Bible in your life. If God afflict your enemies, surely that ought to suffice you. It is both mean and presumptuous to add your torture to his! In general Ill allow that it would be, Ellen, she continued; but what misery laid on Heathcliff could content me, unless I have a hand in it? Id rather he suffered less, if I might cause his sufferings and he might know that I was the cause. Oh, I owe him so much. On only one condition can I hope to forgive him. It is, if I may take an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth; for every wrench of agony return a wrench reduce him to my level. As he was the first to injure, make him the first to implore pardon; and thenwhy then, Ellen, I might show you some generosity. But it is utterly impossible I can ever be revenged, and therefore I cannot forgive him. Hindley wanted some water, and I handed him a glass, and asked him how he was. Not as ill as I wish, he replied. But leaving out my arm, every inch of me is as sore as if I had been fighting with a legion of imps! Yes, no wonder, was my next remark. Catherine used to boast that she stood between you and bodily harm she meant that certain persons would not hurt you for fear of offending her. Its well people dont really rise from their grave, or, last night, she might have witnessed a repulsive scene! Are not you bruised, and cut over your chest and shoulders? I cant say, he answered, but what do you mean? Did he dare to strike me when I was down? He trampled on and kicked you, and dashed you on the ground, I whispered. And his mouth watered to tear you with his teeth; because hes only half man not so much, and the rest fiend. Mr. Earnshaw looked up, like me, to the countenance of our mutual foe; who, absorbed in his anguish, seemed insensible to anything around him the longer he stood, the plainer his reflections revealed their blackness through his features. Oh, if God would but give me strength to strangle him in my last agony, Id go to hell with joy, groaned the impatient man, writhing to rise, and sinking back in despair, convinced of his inadequacy for the struggle. Nay, its enough that he has murdered one of you, I observed aloud. At the Grange, everyone knows your sister would have been living now had it not been for Mr. Heathcliff. After all, it is preferable to be hated than loved by him. When I recollect how happy we werehow happy Catherine was before he cameIm fit to curse the day. Most likely, Heathcliff noticed more the truth of what was said, than the spirit of the person who said it. His attention was roused, I saw, for his eyes rained down tears among the ashes, and he drew his breath in suffocating sighs. I stared full at him, and laughed scornfully. The clouded windows of hell flashed a moment towards me; the fiend which usually looked out, however, was so dimmed and drowned that I did not fear to hazard another sound of derision. Get up, and begone out of my sight, said the mourner. I guessed he uttered those words, at least, though his voice was hardly intelligible. I beg your pardon, I replied. But I loved Catherine too; and her brother requires attendance, which, for her sake, I shall supply. Now, that shes dead, I see her in Hindley Hindley has exactly her eyes, if you had not tried to gouge them out, and made them black and red; and her Get up, wretched idiot, before I stamp you to death! he cried, making a movement that caused me to make one also. But then, I continued, holding myself ready to flee, if poor Catherine had trusted you, and assumed the ridiculous, contemptible, degrading title of Mrs. Heathcliff, she would soon have presented a similar picture! She wouldnt have borne your abominable behaviour quietly her detestation and disgust must have found voice. The back of the settle and Earnshaws person interposed between me and him; so instead of endeavouring to reach me, he snatched a dinnerknife from the table and flung it at my head. It struck beneath my ear, and stopped the sentence I was uttering; but, pulling it out, I sprang to the door and delivered another; which I hope went a little deeper than his missile. The last glimpse I caught of him was a furious rush on his part, checked by the embrace of his host; and both fell locked together on the hearth. In my flight through the kitchen I bid Joseph speed to his master; I knocked over Hareton, who was hanging a litter of puppies from a chairback in the doorway; and, blessed as a soul escaped from purgatory, I bounded, leaped, and flew down the steep road; then, quitting its windings, shot direct across the moor, rolling over banks, and wading through marshes precipitating myself, in fact, towards the beaconlight of the Grange. And far rather would I be condemned to a perpetual dwelling in the infernal regions than, even for one night, abide beneath the roof of Wuthering Heights again. Isabella ceased speaking, and took a drink of tea; then she rose, and bidding me put on her bonnet, and a great shawl I had brought, and turning a deaf ear to my entreaties for her to remain another hour, she stepped on to a chair, kissed Edgars and Catherines portraits, bestowed a similar salute on me, and descended to the carriage, accompanied by Fanny, who yelped wild with joy at recovering her mistress. She was driven away, never to revisit this neighbourhood but a regular correspondence was established between her and my master when things were more settled. I believe her new abode was in the south, near London; there she had a son born a few months subsequent to her escape. He was christened Linton, and, from the first, she reported him to be an ailing, peevish creature. Mr. Heathcliff, meeting me one day in the village, inquired where she lived. I refused to tell. He remarked that it was not of any moment, only she must beware of coming to her brother she should not be with him, if he had to keep her himself. Though I would give no information, he discovered, through some of the other servants, both her place of residence and the existence of the child. Still, he didnt molest her for which forbearance she might thank his aversion, I suppose. He often asked about the infant, when he saw me; and on hearing its name, smiled grimly, and observed They wish me to hate it too, do they? I dont think they wish you to know anything about it, I answered. But Ill have it, he said, when I want it. They may reckon on that! Fortunately its mother died before the time arrived; some thirteen years after the decease of Catherine, when Linton was twelve, or a little more. On the day succeeding Isabellas unexpected visit I had no opportunity of speaking to my master he shunned conversation, and was fit for discussing nothing. When I could get him to listen, I saw it pleased him that his sister had left her husband; whom he abhorred with an intensity which the mildness of his nature would scarcely seem to allow. So deep and sensitive was his aversion, that he refrained from going anywhere where he was likely to see or hear of Heathcliff. Grief, and that together, transformed him into a complete hermit he threw up his office of magistrate, ceased even to attend church, avoided the village on all occasions, and spent a life of entire seclusion within the limits of his park and grounds; only varied by solitary rambles on the moors, and visits to the grave of his wife, mostly at evening, or early morning before other wanderers were abroad. But he was too good to be thoroughly unhappy long. He didnt pray for Catherines soul to haunt him. Time brought resignation, and a melancholy sweeter than common joy. He recalled her memory with ardent, tender love, and hopeful aspiring to the better world; where he doubted not she was gone. And he had earthly consolation and affections also. For a few days, I said, he seemed regardless of the puny successor to the departed that coldness melted as fast as snow in April, and ere the tiny thing could stammer a word or totter a step it wielded a despots sceptre in his heart. It was named Catherine; but he never called it the name in full, as he had never called the first Catherine short probably because Heathcliff had a habit of doing so. The little one was always Cathy it formed to him a distinction from the mother, and yet a connection with her; and his attachment sprang from its relation to her, far more than from its being his own. I used to draw a comparison between him and Hindley Earnshaw, and perplex myself to explain satisfactorily why their conduct was so opposite in similar circumstances. They had both been fond husbands, and were both attached to their children; and I could not see how they shouldnt both have taken the same road, for good or evil. But, I thought in my mind, Hindley, with apparently the stronger head, has shown himself sadly the worse and the weaker man. When his ship struck, the captain abandoned his post; and the crew, instead of trying to save her, rushed into riot and confusion, leaving no hope for their luckless vessel. Linton, on the contrary, displayed the true courage of a loyal and faithful soul he trusted God; and God comforted him. One hoped, and the other despaired they chose their own lots, and were righteously doomed to endure them. But youll not want to hear my moralising, Mr. Lockwood; youll judge, as well as I can, all these things at least, youll think you will, and thats the same. The end of Earnshaw was what might have been expected; it followed fast on his sisters there were scarcely six months between them. We, at the Grange, never got a very succinct account of his state preceding it; all that I did learn was on occasion of going to aid in the preparations for the funeral. Mr. Kenneth came to announce the event to my master. Well, Nelly, said he, riding into the yard one morning, too early not to alarm me with an instant presentiment of bad news, its yours and my turn to go into mourning at present. Whos given us the slip now, do you think? Who? I asked in a flurry. Why, guess! he returned, dismounting, and slinging his bridle on a hook by the door. And nip up the corner of your apron Im certain youll need it. Not Mr. Heathcliff, surely? I exclaimed. What! would you have tears for him? said the doctor. No, Heathcliffs a tough young fellow he looks blooming today. Ive just seen him. Hes rapidly regaining flesh since he lost his better half. Who is it, then, Mr. Kenneth? I repeated impatiently. Hindley Earnshaw! Your old friend Hindley, he replied, and my wicked gossip though hes been too wild for me this long while. There! I said we should draw water. But cheer up! He died true to his character drunk as a lord. Poor lad! Im sorry, too. One cant help missing an old companion though he had the worst tricks with him that ever man imagined, and has done me many a rascally turn. Hes barely twentyseven, it seems; thats your own age who would have thought you were born in one year? I confess this blow was greater to me than the shock of Mrs. Lintons death ancient associations lingered round my heart; I sat down in the porch and wept as for a blood relation, desiring Mr. Kenneth to get another servant to introduce him to the master. I could not hinder myself from pondering on the questionHad he had fair play? Whatever I did, that idea would bother me it was so tiresomely pertinacious that I resolved on requesting leave to go to Wuthering Heights, and assist in the last duties to the dead. Mr. Linton was extremely reluctant to consent, but I pleaded eloquently for the friendless condition in which he lay; and I said my old master and fosterbrother had a claim on my services as strong as his own. Besides, I reminded him that the child Hareton was his wifes nephew, and, in the absence of nearer kin, he ought to act as its guardian; and he ought to and must inquire how the property was left, and look over the concerns of his brotherinlaw. He was unfit for attending to such matters then, but he bid me speak to his lawyer; and at length permitted me to go. His lawyer had been Earnshaws also I called at the village, and asked him to accompany me.

He shook his head, and advised that Heathcliff should be let alone; affirming, if the truth were known, Hareton would be found little else than a beggar. His father died in debt, he said; the whole property is mortgaged, and the sole chance for the natural heir is to allow him an opportunity of creating some interest in the creditors heart, that he may be inclined to deal leniently towards him. When I reached the Heights, I explained that I had come to see everything carried on decently; and Joseph, who appeared in sufficient distress, expressed satisfaction at my presence. Mr. Heathcliff said he did not perceive that I was wanted; but I might stay and order the arrangements for the funeral, if I chose. Correctly, he remarked, that fools body should be buried at the crossroads, without ceremony of any kind. I happened to leave him ten minutes yesterday afternoon, and in that interval he fastened the two doors of the house against me, and he has spent the night in drinking himself to death deliberately! We broke in this morning, for we heard him sporting like a horse; and there he was, laid over the settle flaying and scalping would not have wakened him. I sent for Kenneth, and he came; but not till the beast had changed into carrion he was both dead and cold, and stark; and so youll allow it was useless making more stir about him! The old servant confirmed this statement, but muttered Id rayther hed goan hisseln for t doctor! I sud ha taen tent o t maister better nor himand he warnt deead when I left, naught o t soart! I insisted on the funeral being respectable. Mr. Heathcliff said I might have my own way there too only, he desired me to remember that the money for the whole affair came out of his pocket. He maintained a hard, careless deportment, indicative of neither joy nor sorrow if anything, it expressed a flinty gratification at a piece of difficult work successfully executed. I observed once, indeed, something like exultation in his aspect it was just when the people were bearing the coffin from the house. He had the hypocrisy to represent a mourner and previous to following with Hareton, he lifted the unfortunate child on to the table and muttered, with peculiar gusto, Now, my bonny lad, you are mine! And well see if one tree wont grow as crooked as another, with the same wind to twist it! The unsuspecting thing was pleased at this speech he played with Heathcliffs whiskers, and stroked his cheek; but I divined its meaning, and observed tartly, That boy must go back with me to Thrushcross Grange, sir. There is nothing in the world less yours than he is! Does Linton say so? he demanded. Of coursehe has ordered me to take him, I replied. Well, said the scoundrel, well not argue the subject now but I have a fancy to try my hand at rearing a young one; so intimate to your master that I must supply the place of this with my own, if he attempt to remove it. I dont engage to let Hareton go undisputed; but Ill be pretty sure to make the other come! Remember to tell him. This hint was enough to bind our hands. I repeated its substance on my return; and Edgar Linton, little interested at the commencement, spoke no more of interfering. Im not aware that he could have done it to any purpose, had he been ever so willing. The guest was now the master of Wuthering Heights he held firm possession, and proved to the attorneywho, in his turn, proved it to Mr. Lintonthat Earnshaw had mortgaged every yard of land he owned for cash to supply his mania for gaming; and he, Heathcliff, was the mortgagee. In that manner Hareton, who should now be the first gentleman in the neighbourhood, was reduced to a state of complete dependence on his fathers inveterate enemy; and lives in his own house as a servant, deprived of the advantage of wages quite unable to right himself, because of his friendlessness, and his ignorance that he has been wronged. XVIII The twelve years, continued Mrs. Dean, following that dismal period were the happiest of my life my greatest troubles in their passage rose from our little ladys trifling illnesses, which she had to experience in common with all children, rich and poor. For the rest, after the first six months, she grew like a larch, and could walk and talk too, in her own way, before the heath blossomed a second time over Mrs. Lintons dust. She was the most winning thing that ever brought sunshine into a desolate house a real beauty in face, with the Earnshaws handsome dark eyes, but the Lintons fair skin and small features, and yellow curling hair. Her spirit was high, though not rough, and qualified by a heart sensitive and lively to excess in its affections. That capacity for intense attachments reminded me of her mother still she did not resemble her for she could be soft and mild as a dove, and she had a gentle voice and pensive expression her anger was never furious; her love never fierce it was deep and tender. However, it must be acknowledged, she had faults to foil her gifts. A propensity to be saucy was one; and a perverse will, that indulged children invariably acquire, whether they be good tempered or cross. If a servant chanced to vex her, it was alwaysI shall tell papa! And if he reproved her, even by a look, you would have thought it a heartbreaking business I dont believe he ever did speak a harsh word to her. He took her education entirely on himself, and made it an amusement. Fortunately, curiosity and a quick intellect made her an apt scholar she learned rapidly and eagerly, and did honour to his teaching. Till she reached the age of thirteen she had not once been beyond the range of the park by herself. Mr. Linton would take her with him a mile or so outside, on rare occasions; but he trusted her to no one else. Gimmerton was an unsubstantial name in her ears; the chapel, the only building she had approached or entered, except her own home. Wuthering Heights and Mr. Heathcliff did not exist for her she was a perfect recluse; and, apparently, perfectly contented. Sometimes, indeed, while surveying the country from her nursery window, she would observe Ellen, how long will it be before I can walk to the top of those hills? I wonder what lies on the other sideis it the sea? No, Miss Cathy, I would answer; it is hills again, just like these. And what are those golden rocks like when you stand under them? she once asked. The abrupt descent of Penistone Crags particularly attracted her notice; especially when the setting sun shone on it and the topmost heights, and the whole extent of landscape besides lay in shadow. I explained that they were bare masses of stone, with hardly enough earth in their clefts to nourish a stunted tree. And why are they bright so long after it is evening here? she pursued. Because they are a great deal higher up than we are, replied I; you could not climb them, they are too high and steep. In winter the frost is always there before it comes to us; and deep into summer I have found snow under that black hollow on the northeast side! Oh, you have been on them! she cried gleefully. Then I can go, too, when I am a woman. Has papa been, Ellen? Papa would tell you, Miss, I answered, hastily, that they are not worth the trouble of visiting. The moors, where you ramble with him, are much nicer; and Thrushcross Park is the finest place in the world. But I know the park, and I dont know those, she murmured to herself. And I should delight to look round me from the brow of that tallest point my little pony Minny shall take me some time. One of the maids mentioning the Fairy Cave, quite turned her head with a desire to fulfil this project she teased Mr. Linton about it; and he promised she should have the journey when she got older. But Miss Catherine measured her age by months, and, Now, am I old enough to go to Penistone Crags? was the constant question in her mouth. The road thither wound close by Wuthering Heights. Edgar had not the heart to pass it; so she received as constantly the answer, Not yet, love not yet. I said Mrs. Heathcliff lived above a dozen years after quitting her husband. Her family were of a delicate constitution she and Edgar both lacked the ruddy health that you will generally meet in these parts. What her last illness was, I am not certain I conjecture, they died of the same thing, a kind of fever, slow at its commencement, but incurable, and rapidly consuming life towards the close. She wrote to inform her brother of the probable conclusion of a fourmonths indisposition under which she had suffered, and entreated him to come to her, if possible; for she had much to settle, and she wished to bid him adieu, and deliver Linton safely into his hands. Her hope was that Linton might be left with him, as he had been with her his father, she would fain convince herself, had no desire to assume the burden of his maintenance or education. My master hesitated not a moment in complying with her request reluctant as he was to leave home at ordinary calls, he flew to answer this; commanding Catherine to my peculiar vigilance, in his absence, with reiterated orders that she must not wander out of the park, even under my escort he did not calculate on her going unaccompanied. He was away three weeks. The first day or two my charge sat in a corner of the library, too sad for either reading or playing in that quiet state she caused me little trouble; but it was succeeded by an interval of impatient, fretful weariness; and being too busy, and too old then, to run up and down amusing her, I hit on a method by which she might entertain herself. I used to send her on her travels round the groundsnow on foot, and now on a pony; indulging her with a patient audience of all her real and imaginary adventures when she returned. The summer shone in full prime; and she took such a taste for this solitary rambling that she often contrived to remain out from breakfast till tea; and then the evenings were spent in recounting her fanciful tales. I did not fear her breaking bounds; because the gates were generally locked, and I thought she would scarcely venture forth alone, if they had stood wide open. Unluckily, my confidence proved misplaced. Catherine came to me, one morning, at eight oclock, and said she was that day an Arabian merchant, going to cross the Desert with his caravan; and I must give her plenty of provision for herself and beasts a horse, and three camels, personated by a large hound and a couple of pointers. I got together good store of dainties, and slung them in a basket on one side of the saddle; and she sprang up as gay as a fairy, sheltered by her widebrimmed hat and gauze veil from the July sun, and trotted off with a merry laugh, mocking my cautious counsel to avoid galloping, and come back early. The naughty thing never made her appearance at tea. One traveller, the hound, being an old dog and fond of its ease, returned; but neither Cathy, nor the pony, nor the two pointers were visible in any direction I despatched emissaries down this path, and that path, and at last went wandering in search of her myself. There was a labourer working at a fence round a plantation, on the borders of the grounds. I inquired of him if he had seen our young lady. I saw her at morn, he replied she would have me to cut her a hazel switch, and then she leapt her Galloway over the hedge yonder, where it is lowest, and galloped out of sight. You may guess how I felt at hearing this news. It struck me directly she must have started for Penistone Crags. What will become of her? I ejaculated, pushing through a gap which the man was repairing, and making straight to the high road. I walked as if for a wager, mile after mile, till a turn brought me in view of the Heights; but no Catherine could I detect, far or near. The Crags lie about a mile and a half beyond Mr. Heathcliffs place, and that is four from the Grange, so I began to fear night would fall ere I could reach them. And what if she should have slipped in clambering among them, I reflected, and been killed, or broken some of her bones? My suspense was truly painful; and, at first, it gave me delightful relief to observe, in hurrying by the farmhouse, Charlie, the fiercest of the pointers, lying under a window, with swelled head and bleeding ear. I opened the wicket and ran to the door, knocking vehemently for admittance. A woman whom I knew, and who formerly lived at Gimmerton, answered she had been servant there since the death of Mr. Earnshaw. Ah, said she, you are come aseeking your little mistress! Dont be frightened. Shes here safe but Im glad it isnt the master. He is not at home then, is he? I panted, quite breathless with quick walking and alarm. No, no, she replied both he and Joseph are off, and I think they wont return this hour or more. Step in and rest you a bit. I entered, and beheld my stray lamb seated on the hearth, rocking herself in a little chair that had been her mothers when a child. Her hat was hung against the wall, and she seemed perfectly at home, laughing and chattering, in the best spirits imaginable, to Haretonnow a great, strong lad of eighteenwho stared at her with considerable curiosity and astonishment comprehending precious little of the fluent succession of remarks and questions which her tongue never ceased pouring forth. Very well, Miss! I exclaimed, concealing my joy under an angry countenance. This is your last ride, till papa comes back. Ill not trust you over the threshold again, you naughty, naughty girl! Aha, Ellen! she cried, gaily, jumping up and running to my side. I shall have a pretty story to tell tonight; and so youve found me out. Have you ever been here in your life before? Put that hat on, and home at once, said I. Im dreadfully grieved at you, Miss Cathy youve done extremely wrong! Its no use pouting and crying that wont repay the trouble Ive had, scouring the country after you. To think how Mr. Linton charged me to keep you in; and you stealing off so! It shows you are a cunning little fox, and nobody will put faith in you any more. What have I done? sobbed she, instantly checked. Papa charged me nothing hell not scold me, Ellenhes never cross, like you! Come, come! I repeated. Ill tie the riband. Now, let us have no petulance. Oh, for shame! You thirteen years old, and such a baby! This exclamation was caused by her pushing the hat from her head, and retreating to the chimney out of my reach. Nay, said the servant, dont be hard on the bonny lass, Mrs. Dean. We made her stop shed fain have ridden forwards, afeard you should be uneasy. Hareton offered to go with her, and I thought he should its a wild road over the hills. Hareton, during the discussion, stood with his hands in his pockets, too awkward to speak; though he looked as if he did not relish my intrusion. How long am I to wait? I continued, disregarding the womans interference. It will be dark in ten minutes. Where is the pony, Miss Cathy? And where is Phoenix? I shall leave you, unless you be quick; so please yourself. The pony is in the yard, she replied, and Phoenix is shut in there. Hes bittenand so is Charlie. I was going to tell you all about it; but you are in a bad temper, and dont deserve to hear. I picked up her hat, and approached to reinstate it; but perceiving that the people of the house took her part, she commenced capering round the room; and on my giving chase, ran like a mouse over and under and behind the furniture, rendering it ridiculous for me to pursue. Hareton and the woman laughed, and she joined them, and waxed more impertinent still; till I cried, in great irritationWell, Miss Cathy, if you were aware whose house this is youd be glad enough to get out. Its your fathers, isnt it? said she, turning to Hareton. Nay, he replied, looking down, and blushing bashfully. He could not stand a steady gaze from her eyes, though they were just his own. Whose thenyour masters? she asked. He coloured deeper, with a different feeling, muttered an oath, and turned away. Who is his master? continued the tiresome girl, appealing to me. He talked about our house, and our folk. I thought he had been the owners son. And he never said Miss he should have done, shouldnt he, if hes a servant? Hareton grew black as a thundercloud at this childish speech. I silently shook my questioner, and at last succeeded in equipping her for departure. Now, get my horse, she said, addressing her unknown kinsman as she would one of the stableboys at the Grange. And you may come with me. I want to see where the goblinhunter rises in the marsh, and to hear about the fairishes, as you call them but make haste! Whats the matter? Get my horse, I say. Ill see thee damned before I be thy servant! growled the lad. Youll see me what! asked Catherine in surprise. Damnedthou saucy witch! he replied. There, Miss Cathy! you see you have got into pretty company, I interposed. Nice words to be used to a young lady! Pray dont begin to dispute with him. Come, let us seek for Minny ourselves, and begone. But, Ellen, cried she, staring fixed in astonishment, how dare he speak so to me? Mustnt he be made to do as I ask him? You wicked creature, I shall tell papa what you said.Now, then! Hareton did not appear to feel this threat; so the tears sprang into her eyes with indignation. You bring the pony, she exclaimed, turning to the woman, and let my dog free this moment! Softly, Miss, answered she addressed; youll lose nothing by being civil. Though Mr. Hareton, there, be not the masters son, hes your cousin and I was never hired to serve you. He my cousin! cried Cathy, with a scornful laugh. Yes, indeed, responded her reprover. Oh, Ellen! dont let them say such things, she pursued in great trouble. Papa is gone to fetch my cousin from London my cousin is a gentlemans son. That my she stopped, and wept outright; upset at the bare notion of relationship with such a clown. Hush, hush! I whispered; people can have many cousins and of all sorts, Miss Cathy, without being any the worse for it; only they neednt keep their company, if they be disagreeable and bad. Hes nothes not my cousin, Ellen! she went on, gathering fresh grief from reflection, and flinging herself into my arms for refuge from the idea. I was much vexed at her and the servant for their mutual revelations; having no doubt of Lintons approaching arrival, communicated by the former, being reported to Mr. Heathcliff; and feeling as confident that Catherines first thought on her fathers return would be to seek an explanation of the latters assertion concerning her rudebred kindred. Hareton, recovering from his disgust at being taken for a servant, seemed moved by her distress; and, having fetched the pony round to the door, he took, to propitiate her, a fine crookedlegged terrier whelp from the kennel, and putting it into her hand, bid her whist! for he meant nought. Pausing in her lamentations, she surveyed him with a glance of awe and horror, then burst forth anew. I could scarcely refrain from smiling at this antipathy to the poor fellow; who was a wellmade, athletic youth, goodlooking in features, and stout and healthy, but attired in garments befitting his daily occupations of working on the farm and lounging among the moors after rabbits and game. Still, I thought I could detect in his physiognomy a mind owning better qualities than his father ever possessed. Good things lost amid a wilderness of weeds, to be sure, whose rankness far overtopped their neglected growth; yet, notwithstanding, evidence of a wealthy soil, that might yield luxuriant crops under other and favourable circumstances. Mr. Heathcliff, I believe, had not treated him physically ill; thanks to his fearless nature, which offered no temptation to that course of oppression he had none of the timid susceptibility that would have given zest to illtreatment, in Heathcliffs judgment. He appeared to have bent his malevolence on making him a brute he was never taught to read or write; never rebuked for any bad habit which did not annoy his keeper; never led a single step towards virtue, or guarded by a single precept against vice. And from what I heard, Joseph contributed much to his deterioration, by a narrowminded partiality which prompted him to flatter and pet him, as a boy, because he was the head of the old family. And as he had been in the habit of accusing Catherine Earnshaw and Heathcliff, when children, of putting the master past his patience, and compelling him to seek solace in drink by what he termed their offald ways, so at present he laid the whole burden of Haretons faults on the shoulders of the usurper of his property. If the lad swore, he wouldnt correct him nor however culpably he behaved. It gave Joseph satisfaction, apparently, to watch him go the worst lengths he allowed that the lad was ruined that his soul was abandoned to perdition; but then he reflected that Heathcliff must answer for it. Haretons blood would be required at his hands; and there lay immense consolation in that thought. Joseph had instilled into him a pride of name, and of his lineage; he would, had he dared, have fostered hate between him and the present owner of the Heights but his dread of that owner amounted to superstition; and he confined his feelings regarding him to muttered innuendoes and private comminations. I dont pretend to be intimately acquainted with the mode of living customary in those days at Wuthering Heights I only speak from hearsay; for I saw little. The villagers affirmed Mr. Heathcliff was near, and a cruel hard landlord to his tenants; but the house, inside, had regained its ancient aspect of comfort under female management, and the scenes of riot common in Hindleys time were not now enacted within its walls. The master was too gloomy to seek companionship with any people, good or bad; and he is yet. This, however, is not making progress with my story. Miss Cathy rejected the peaceoffering of the terrier, and demanded her own dogs, Charlie and Phoenix. They came limping and hanging their heads; and we set out for home, sadly out of sorts, every one of us. I could not wring from my little lady how she had spent the day; except that, as I supposed, the goal of her pilgrimage was Penistone Crags; and she arrived without adventure to the gate of the farmhouse, when Hareton happened to issue forth, attended by some canine followers, who attacked her train. They had a smart battle, before their owners could separate them that formed an introduction. Catherine told Hareton who she was, and where she was going; and asked him to show her the way finally, beguiling him to accompany her. He opened the mysteries of the Fairy Cave, and twenty other queer places. But, being in disgrace, I was not favoured with a description of the interesting objects she saw. I could gather, however, that her guide had been a favourite till she hurt his feelings by addressing him as a servant; and Heathcliffs housekeeper hurt hers by calling him her cousin. Then the language he had held to her rankled in her heart; she who was always love, and darling, and queen, and angel, with everybody at the Grange, to be insulted so shockingly by a stranger! She did not comprehend it; and hard work I had to obtain a promise that she would not lay the grievance before her father. I explained how he objected to the whole household at the Heights, and how sorry he would be to find she had been there; but I insisted most on the fact, that if she revealed my negligence of his orders, he would perhaps be so angry that I should have to leave; and Cathy couldnt bear that prospect she pledged her word, and kept it for my sake. After all, she was a sweet little girl. XIX A letter, edged with black, announced the day of my masters return. Isabella was dead; and he wrote to bid me get mourning for his daughter, and arrange a room, and other accommodations, for his youthful nephew. Catherine ran wild with joy at the idea of welcoming her father back; and indulged most sanguine anticipations of the innumerable excellencies of her real cousin. The evening of their expected arrival came. Since early morning she had been busy ordering her own small affairs; and now attired in her new black frockpoor thing! her aunts death impressed her with no definite sorrowshe obliged me, by constant worrying, to walk with her down through the grounds to meet them. Linton is just six months younger than I am, she chattered, as we strolled leisurely over the swells and hollows of mossy turf, under shadow of the trees. How delightful it will be to have him for a playfellow! Aunt Isabella sent papa a beautiful lock of his hair; it was lighter than minemore flaxen, and quite as fine. I have it carefully preserved in a little glass box; and Ive often thought what a pleasure it would be to see its owner. Oh! I am happyand papa, dear, dear papa! Come, Ellen, let us run! come, run. She ran, and returned and ran again, many times before my sober footsteps reached the gate, and then she seated herself on the grassy bank beside the path, and tried to wait patiently; but that was impossible she couldnt be still a minute. How long they are! she exclaimed. Ah, I see, some dust on the roadthey are coming! No! When will they be here? May we not go a little wayhalf a mile, Ellen, only just half a mile? Do say Yes to that clump of birches at the turn! I refused staunchly. At length her suspense was ended the travelling carriage rolled in sight. Miss Cathy shrieked and stretched out her arms as soon as she caught her fathers face looking from the window. He descended, nearly as eager as herself; and a considerable interval elapsed ere they had a thought to spare for any but themselves. While they exchanged caresses I took a peep in to see after Linton. He was asleep in a corner, wrapped in a warm, furlined cloak, as if it had been winter. A pale, delicate, effeminate boy, who might have been taken for my masters younger brother, so strong was the resemblance but there was a sickly peevishness in his aspect that Edgar Linton never had. The latter saw me looking; and having shaken hands, advised me to close the door, and leave him undisturbed; for the journey had fatigued him. Cathy would fain have taken one glance, but her father told her to come, and they walked together up the park, while I hastened before to prepare the servants. Now, darling, said Mr. Linton, addressing his daughter, as they halted at the bottom of the front steps your cousin is not so strong or so merry as you are, and he has lost his mother, remember, a very short time since; therefore, dont expect him to play and run about with you directly. And dont harass him much by talking let him be quiet this evening, at least, will you? Yes, yes, papa, answered Catherine but I do want to see him; and he hasnt once looked out. The carriage stopped; and the sleeper being roused, was lifted to the ground by his uncle. This is your cousin Cathy, Linton, he said, putting their little hands together. Shes fond of you already; and mind you dont grieve her by crying tonight. Try to be cheerful now; the travelling is at an end, and you have nothing to do but rest and amuse yourself as you please. Let me go to bed, then, answered the boy, shrinking from Catherines salute; and he put his fingers to remove incipient tears. Come, come, theres a good child, I whispered, leading him in. Youll make her weep toosee how sorry she is for you! I do not know whether it was sorrow for him, but his cousin put on as sad a countenance as himself, and returned to her father. All three entered, and mounted to the library, where tea was laid ready. I proceeded to remove Lintons cap and mantle, and placed him on a chair by the table; but he was no sooner seated than he began to cry afresh. My master inquired what was the matter. I cant sit on a chair, sobbed the boy. Go to the sofa, then, and Ellen shall bring you some tea, answered his uncle patiently. He had been greatly tried, during the journey, I felt convinced, by his fretful ailing charge. Linton slowly trailed himself off, and lay down. Cathy carried a footstool and her cup to his side. At first she sat silent; but that could not last she had resolved to make a pet of her little cousin, as she would have him to be; and she commenced stroking his curls, and kissing his cheek, and offering him tea in her saucer, like a baby. This pleased him, for he was not much better he dried his eyes, and lightened into a faint smile. Oh, hell do very well, said the master to me, after watching them a minute. Very well, if we can keep him, Ellen. The company of a child of his own age will instil new spirit into him soon, and by wishing for strength hell gain it. Ay, if we can keep him! I mused to myself; and sore misgivings came over me that there was slight hope of that. And then, I thought, how ever will that weakling live at Wuthering Heights? Between his father and Hareton, what playmates and instructors theyll be. Our doubts were presently decidedeven earlier than I expected. I had just taken the children upstairs, after tea was finished, and seen Linton asleephe would not suffer me to leave him till that was the caseI had come down, and was standing by the table in the hall, lighting a bedroom candle for Mr. Edgar, when a maid stepped out of the kitchen and informed me that Mr. Heathcliffs servant Joseph was at the door, and wished to speak with the master. I shall ask him what he wants first, I said, in considerable trepidation. A very unlikely hour to be troubling people, and the instant they have returned from a long journey. I dont think the master can see him. Joseph had advanced through the kitchen as I uttered these words, and now presented himself in the hall. He was donned in his Sunday garments, with his most sanctimonious and sourest face, and, holding his hat in one hand, and his stick in the other, he proceeded to clean his shoes on the mat. Good evening, Joseph, I said, coldly. What business brings you here tonight? Its Maister Linton I mun spake to, he answered, waving me disdainfully aside. Mr. Linton is going to bed; unless you have something particular to say, Im sure he wont hear it now, I continued. You had better sit down in there, and entrust your message to me. Which is his rahm? pursued the fellow, surveying the range of closed doors. I perceived he was bent on refusing my mediation, so very reluctantly I went up to the library, and announced the unseasonable visitor, advising that he should be dismissed till next day. Mr. Linton had no time to empower me to do so, for Joseph mounted close at my heels, and, pushing into the apartment, planted himself at the far side of the table, with his two fists clapped on the head of his stick, and began in an elevated tone, as if anticipating opposition Hathecliff has sent me for his lad, and I munnt goa back bout him. Edgar Linton was silent a minute; an expression of exceeding sorrow overcast his features he would have pitied the child on his own account; but, recalling Isabellas hopes and fears, and anxious wishes for her son, and her commendations of him to his care, he grieved bitterly at the prospect of yielding him up, and searched in his heart how it might be avoided. No plan offered itself the very exhibition of any desire to keep him would have rendered the claimant more peremptory there was nothing left but to resign him. However, he was not going to rouse him from his sleep. Tell Mr. Heathcliff, he answered calmly, that his son shall come to Wuthering Heights tomorrow. He is in bed, and too tired to go the distance now. You may also tell him that the mother of Linton desired him to remain under my guardianship; and, at present, his health is very precarious. Noa! said Joseph, giving a thud with his prop on the floor, and assuming an authoritative air. Noa! that means naught.

Hathecliff maks noa count o t mother, nor ye norther; but hell heu his lad; und I mun tak himsoa now ye knaw! You shall not tonight! answered Linton decisively. Walk downstairs at once, and repeat to your master what I have said. Ellen, show him down. Go And, aiding the indignant elder with a lift by the arm, he rid the room of him and closed the door. Varrah weell! shouted Joseph, as he slowly drew off. Tomorn, hes come hisseln, and thrust him out, if ye darr! XX To obviate the danger of this threat being fulfilled, Mr. Linton commissioned me to take the boy home early, on Catherines pony; and, said heAs we shall now have no influence over his destiny, good or bad, you must say nothing of where he is gone to my daughter she cannot associate with him hereafter, and it is better for her to remain in ignorance of his proximity; lest she should be restless, and anxious to visit the Heights. Merely tell her his father sent for him suddenly, and he has been obliged to leave us. Linton was very reluctant to be roused from his bed at five oclock, and astonished to be informed that he must prepare for further travelling; but I softened off the matter by stating that he was going to spend some time with his father, Mr. Heathcliff, who wished to see him so much, he did not like to defer the pleasure till he should recover from his late journey. My father! he cried, in strange perplexity. Mamma never told me I had a father. Where does he live? Id rather stay with uncle. He lives a little distance from the Grange, I replied; just beyond those hills not so far, but you may walk over here when you get hearty. And you should be glad to go home, and to see him. You must try to love him, as you did your mother, and then he will love you. But why have I not heard of him before? asked Linton. Why didnt mamma and he live together, as other people do? He had business to keep him in the north, I answered, and your mothers health required her to reside in the south. And why didnt mamma speak to me about him? persevered the child. She often talked of uncle, and I learnt to love him long ago. How am I to love papa? I dont know him. Oh, all children love their parents, I said. Your mother, perhaps, thought you would want to be with him if she mentioned him often to you. Let us make haste. An early ride on such a beautiful morning is much preferable to an hours more sleep. Is she to go with us, he demanded, the little girl I saw yesterday? Not now, replied I. Is uncle? he continued. No, I shall be your companion there, I said. Linton sank back on his pillow and fell into a brown study. I wont go without uncle, he cried at length I cant tell where you mean to take me. I attempted to persuade him of the naughtiness of showing reluctance to meet his father; still he obstinately resisted any progress towards dressing, and I had to call for my masters assistance in coaxing him out of bed. The poor thing was finally got off, with several delusive assurances that his absence should be short that Mr. Edgar and Cathy would visit him, and other promises, equally illfounded, which I invented and reiterated at intervals throughout the way. The pure heatherscented air, the bright sunshine, and the gentle canter of Minny, relieved his despondency after a while. He began to put questions concerning his new home, and its inhabitants, with greater interest and liveliness. Is Wuthering Heights as pleasant a place as Thrushcross Grange? he inquired, turning to take a last glance into the valley, whence a light mist mounted and formed a fleecy cloud on the skirts of the blue. It is not so buried in trees, I replied, and it is not quite so large, but you can see the country beautifully all round; and the air is healthier for youfresher and drier. You will, perhaps, think the building old and dark at first; though it is a respectable house the next best in the neighbourhood. And you will have such nice rambles on the moors. Hareton Earnshawthat is, Miss Cathys other cousin, and so yours in a mannerwill show you all the sweetest spots; and you can bring a book in fine weather, and make a green hollow your study; and, now and then, your uncle may join you in a walk he does, frequently, walk out on the hills. And what is my father like? he asked. Is he as young and handsome as uncle? Hes as young, said I; but he has black hair and eyes, and looks sterner; and he is taller and bigger altogether. Hell not seem to you so gentle and kind at first, perhaps, because it is not his way still, mind you, be frank and cordial with him; and naturally hell be fonder of you than any uncle, for you are his own. Black hair and eyes! mused Linton. I cant fancy him. Then I am not like him, am I? Not much, I answered not a morsel, I thought, surveying with regret the white complexion and slim frame of my companion, and his large languid eyeshis mothers eyes, save that, unless a morbid touchiness kindled them a moment, they had not a vestige of her sparkling spirit. How strange that he should never come to see mamma and me! he murmured. Has he ever seen me? If he has, I must have been a baby. I remember not a single thing about him! Why, Master Linton, said I, three hundred miles is a great distance; and ten years seem very different in length to a grownup person compared with what they do to you. It is probable Mr. Heathcliff proposed going from summer to summer, but never found a convenient opportunity; and now it is too late. Dont trouble him with questions on the subject it will disturb him, for no good. The boy was fully occupied with his own cogitations for the remainder of the ride, till we halted before the farmhouse gardengate. I watched to catch his impressions in his countenance. He surveyed the carved front and lowbrowed lattices, the straggling gooseberrybushes and crooked firs, with solemn intentness, and then shook his head his private feelings entirely disapproved of the exterior of his new abode. But he had sense to postpone complaining there might be compensation within. Before he dismounted, I went and opened the door. It was halfpast six; the family had just finished breakfast the servant was clearing and wiping down the table. Joseph stood by his masters chair telling some tale concerning a lame horse; and Hareton was preparing for the hayfield. Hallo, Nelly! said Mr. Heathcliff, when he saw me. I feared I should have to come down and fetch my property myself. Youve brought it, have you? Let us see what we can make of it. He got up and strode to the door Hareton and Joseph followed in gaping curiosity. Poor Linton ran a frightened eye over the faces of the three. Surely, said Joseph after a grave inspection, hes swapped wi ye, Maister, an yons his lass! Heathcliff, having stared his son into an ague of confusion, uttered a scornful laugh. God! what a beauty! what a lovely, charming thing! he exclaimed. Havent they reared it on snails and sour milk, Nelly? Oh, damn my soul! but thats worse than I expectedand the devil knows I was not sanguine! I bid the trembling and bewildered child get down, and enter. He did not thoroughly comprehend the meaning of his fathers speech, or whether it were intended for him indeed, he was not yet certain that the grim, sneering stranger was his father. But he clung to me with growing trepidation; and on Mr. Heathcliffs taking a seat and bidding him come hither he hid his face on my shoulder and wept. Tut, tut! said Heathcliff, stretching out a hand and dragging him roughly between his knees, and then holding up his head by the chin. None of that nonsense! Were not going to hurt thee, Lintonisnt that thy name? Thou art thy mothers child, entirely! Where is my share in thee, puling chicken? He took off the boys cap and pushed back his thick flaxen curls, felt his slender arms and his small fingers; during which examination Linton ceased crying, and lifted his great blue eyes to inspect the inspector. Do you know me? asked Heathcliff, having satisfied himself that the limbs were all equally frail and feeble. No, said Linton, with a gaze of vacant fear. Youve heard of me, I daresay? No, he replied again. No! What a shame of your mother, never to waken your filial regard for me! You are my son, then, Ill tell you; and your mother was a wicked slut to leave you in ignorance of the sort of father you possessed. Now, dont wince, and colour up! Though it is something to see you have not white blood. Be a good lad; and Ill do for you. Nelly, if you be tired you may sit down; if not, get home again. I guess youll report what you hear and see to the cipher at the Grange; and this thing wont be settled while you linger about it. Well, replied I, I hope youll be kind to the boy, Mr. Heathcliff, or youll not keep him long; and hes all you have akin in the wide world, that you will ever knowremember. Ill be very kind to him, you neednt fear, he said, laughing. Only nobody else must be kind to him Im jealous of monopolising his affection. And, to begin my kindness, Joseph, bring the lad some breakfast. Hareton, you infernal calf, begone to your work. Yes, Nell, he added, when they had departed, my son is prospective owner of your place, and I should not wish him to die till I was certain of being his successor. Besides, hes mine, and I want the triumph of seeing my descendant fairly lord of their estates; my child hiring their children to till their fathers lands for wages. That is the sole consideration which can make me endure the whelp I despise him for himself, and hate him for the memories he revives! But that consideration is sufficient hes as safe with me, and shall be tended as carefully as your master tends his own. I have a room upstairs, furnished for him in handsome style; Ive engaged a tutor, also, to come three times a week, from twenty miles distance, to teach him what he pleases to learn. Ive ordered Hareton to obey him and in fact Ive arranged everything with a view to preserve the superior and the gentleman in him, above his associates. I do regret, however, that he so little deserves the trouble if I wished any blessing in the world, it was to find him a worthy object of pride; and Im bitterly disappointed with the wheyfaced, whining wretch! While he was speaking, Joseph returned bearing a basin of milkporridge, and placed it before Linton who stirred round the homely mess with a look of aversion, and affirmed he could not eat it. I saw the old manservant shared largely in his masters scorn of the child; though he was compelled to retain the sentiment in his heart, because Heathcliff plainly meant his underlings to hold him in honour. Cannot ate it? repeated he, peering in Lintons face, and subduing his voice to a whisper, for fear of being overheard. But Maister Hareton nivir ate naught else, when he wer a little un; and what wer gooid enough for hims gooid enough for ye, Is rayther think! I shant eat it! answered Linton, snappishly. Take it away. Joseph snatched up the food indignantly, and brought it to us. Is there aught ails th victuals? he asked, thrusting the tray under Heathcliffs nose. What should ail them? he said. Wah! answered Joseph, yon dainty chap says he cannut ate em. But I guess its raight! His mother wer just soawe wer amost too mucky to sow t corn for makking her breead. Dont mention his mother to me, said the master, angrily. Get him something that he can eat, thats all. What is his usual food, Nelly? I suggested boiled milk or tea; and the housekeeper received instructions to prepare some. Come, I reflected, his fathers selfishness may contribute to his comfort. He perceives his delicate constitution, and the necessity of treating him tolerably. Ill console Mr. Edgar by acquainting him with the turn Heathcliffs humour has taken. Having no excuse for lingering longer, I slipped out, while Linton was engaged in timidly rebuffing the advances of a friendly sheepdog. But he was too much on the alert to be cheated as I closed the door, I heard a cry, and a frantic repetition of the words Dont leave me! Ill not stay here! Ill not stay here! Then the latch was raised and fell they did not suffer him to come forth. I mounted Minny, and urged her to a trot; and so my brief guardianship ended. XXI We had sad work with little Cathy that day she rose in high glee, eager to join her cousin, and such passionate tears and lamentations followed the news of his departure that Edgar himself was obliged to soothe her, by affirming he should come back soon he added, however, if I can get him; and there were no hopes of that. This promise poorly pacified her; but time was more potent; and though still at intervals she inquired of her father when Linton would return, before she did see him again his features had waxed so dim in her memory that she did not recognise him. When I chanced to encounter the housekeeper of Wuthering Heights, in paying business visits to Gimmerton, I used to ask how the young master got on; for he lived almost as secluded as Catherine herself, and was never to be seen. I could gather from her that he continued in weak health, and was a tiresome inmate. She said Mr. Heathcliff seemed to dislike him ever longer and worse, though he took some trouble to conceal it he had an antipathy to the sound of his voice, and could not do at all with his sitting in the same room with him many minutes together. There seldom passed much talk between them Linton learnt his lessons and spent his evenings in a small apartment they called the parlour or else lay in bed all day for he was constantly getting coughs, and colds, and aches, and pains of some sort. And I never know such a fainthearted creature, added the woman; nor one so careful of hisseln. He will go on, if I leave the window open a bit late in the evening. Oh! its killing, a breath of night air! And he must have a fire in the middle of summer; and Josephs baccapipe is poison; and he must always have sweets and dainties, and always milk, milk foreverheeding naught how the rest of us are pinched in winter; and there hell sit, wrapped in his furred cloak in his chair by the fire, with some toast and water or other slop on the hob to sip at; and if Hareton, for pity, comes to amuse himHareton is not badnatured, though hes roughtheyre sure to part, one swearing and the other crying. I believe the master would relish Earnshaws thrashing him to a mummy, if he were not his son; and Im certain he would be fit to turn him out of doors, if he knew half the nursing he gives hisseln. But then he wont go into danger of temptation he never enters the parlour, and should Linton show those ways in the house where he is, he sends him upstairs directly. I divined, from this account, that utter lack of sympathy had rendered young Heathcliff selfish and disagreeable, if he were not so originally; and my interest in him, consequently, decayed though still I was moved with a sense of grief at his lot, and a wish that he had been left with us. Mr. Edgar encouraged me to gain information he thought a great deal about him, I fancy, and would have run some risk to see him; and he told me once to ask the housekeeper whether he ever came into the village? She said he had only been twice, on horseback, accompanying his father; and both times he pretended to be quite knocked up for three or four days afterwards. That housekeeper left, if I recollect rightly, two years after he came; and another, whom I did not know, was her successor; she lives there still. Time wore on at the Grange in its former pleasant way till Miss Cathy reached sixteen. On the anniversary of her birth we never manifested any signs of rejoicing, because it was also the anniversary of my late mistresss death. Her father invariably spent that day alone in the library; and walked, at dusk, as far as Gimmerton kirkyard, where he would frequently prolong his stay beyond midnight. Therefore Catherine was thrown on her own resources for amusement. This twentieth of March was a beautiful spring day, and when her father had retired, my young lady came down dressed for going out, and said she asked to have a ramble on the edge of the moor with me Mr. Linton had given her leave, if we went only a short distance and were back within the hour. So make haste, Ellen! she cried. I know where I wish to go; where a colony of moorgame are settled I want to see whether they have made their nests yet. That must be a good distance up, I answered; they dont breed on the edge of the moor. No, its not, she said. Ive gone very near with papa. I put on my bonnet and sallied out, thinking nothing more of the matter. She bounded before me, and returned to my side, and was off again like a young greyhound; and, at first, I found plenty of entertainment in listening to the larks singing far and near, and enjoying the sweet, warm sunshine; and watching her, my pet and my delight, with her golden ringlets flying loose behind, and her bright cheek, as soft and pure in its bloom as a wild rose, and her eyes radiant with cloudless pleasure. She was a happy creature, and an angel, in those days. Its a pity she could not be content. Well, said I, where are your moorgame, Miss Cathy? We should be at them the Grange parkfence is a great way off now. Oh, a little furtheronly a little further, Ellen, was her answer, continually. Climb to that hillock, pass that bank, and by the time you reach the other side I shall have raised the birds. But there were so many hillocks and banks to climb and pass, that, at length, I began to be weary, and told her we must halt, and retrace our steps. I shouted to her, as she had outstripped me a long way; she either did not hear or did not regard, for she still sprang on, and I was compelled to follow. Finally, she dived into a hollow; and before I came in sight of her again, she was two miles nearer Wuthering Heights than her own home; and I beheld a couple of persons arrest her, one of whom I felt convinced was Mr. Heathcliff himself. Cathy had been caught in the fact of plundering, or, at least, hunting out the nests of the grouse. The Heights were Heathcliffs land, and he was reproving the poacher. Ive neither taken any nor found any, she said, as I toiled to them, expanding her hands in corroboration of the statement. I didnt mean to take them; but papa told me there were quantities up here, and I wished to see the eggs. Heathcliff glanced at me with an illmeaning smile, expressing his acquaintance with the party, and, consequently, his malevolence towards it, and demanded who papa was? Mr. Linton of Thrushcross Grange, she replied. I thought you did not know me, or you wouldnt have spoken in that way. You suppose papa is highly esteemed and respected, then? he said, sarcastically. And what are you? inquired Catherine, gazing curiously on the speaker. That man Ive seen before. Is he your son? She pointed to Hareton, the other individual, who had gained nothing but increased bulk and strength by the addition of two years to his age he seemed as awkward and rough as ever. Miss Cathy, I interrupted, it will be three hours instead of one that we are out, presently. We really must go back. No, that man is not my son, answered Heathcliff, pushing me aside. But I have one, and you have seen him before too; and, though your nurse is in a hurry, I think both you and she would be the better for a little rest. Will you just turn this nab of heath, and walk into my house? Youll get home earlier for the ease; and you shall receive a kind welcome. I whispered Catherine that she mustnt, on any account, accede to the proposal it was entirely out of the question. Why? she asked, aloud. Im tired of running, and the ground is dewy I cant sit here. Let us go, Ellen. Besides, he says I have seen his son. Hes mistaken, I think; but I guess where he lives at the farmhouse I visited in coming from Penistone Crags. Dont you? I do. Come, Nelly, hold your tongueit will be a treat for her to look in on us. Hareton, get forwards with the lass. You shall walk with me, Nelly. No, shes not going to any such place, I cried, struggling to release my arm, which he had seized but she was almost at the doorstones already, scampering round the brow at full speed. Her appointed companion did not pretend to escort her he shied off by the roadside, and vanished. Mr. Heathcliff, its very wrong, I continued you know you mean no good. And there shell see Linton, and all will be told as soon as ever we return; and I shall have the blame. I want her to see Linton, he answered; hes looking better these few days; its not often hes fit to be seen. And well soon persuade her to keep the visit secret where is the harm of it? The harm of it is, that her father would hate me if he found I suffered her to enter your house; and I am convinced you have a bad design in encouraging her to do so, I replied. My design is as honest as possible. Ill inform you of its whole scope, he said. That the two cousins may fall in love, and get married. Im acting generously to your master his young chit has no expectations, and should she second my wishes shell be provided for at once as joint successor with Linton. If Linton died, I answered, and his life is quite uncertain, Catherine would be the heir. No, she would not, he said. There is no clause in the will to secure it so his property would go to me; but, to prevent disputes, I desire their union, and am resolved to bring it about. And Im resolved she shall never approach your house with me again, I returned, as we reached the gate, where Miss Cathy waited our coming. Heathcliff bade me be quiet; and, preceding us up the path, hastened to open the door. My young lady gave him several looks, as if she could not exactly make up her mind what to think of him; but now he smiled when he met her eye, and softened his voice in addressing her; and I was foolish enough to imagine the memory of her mother might disarm him from desiring her injury. Linton stood on the hearth. He had been out walking in the fields, for his cap was on, and he was calling to Joseph to bring him dry shoes. He had grown tall of his age, still wanting some months of sixteen. His features were pretty yet, and his eye and complexion brighter than I remembered them, though with merely temporary lustre borrowed from the salubrious air and genial sun. Now, who is that? asked Mr. Heathcliff, turning to Cathy. Can you tell? Your son? she said, having doubtfully surveyed, first one and then the other. Yes, yes, answered he but is this the only time you have beheld him? Think! Ah! you have a short memory. Linton, dont you recall your cousin, that you used to tease us so with wishing to see? What, Linton! cried Cathy, kindling into joyful surprise at the name. Is that little Linton? Hes taller than I am! Are you Linton? The youth stepped forward, and acknowledged himself she kissed him fervently, and they gazed with wonder at the change time had wrought in the appearance of each. Catherine had reached her full height; her figure was both plump and slender, elastic as steel, and her whole aspect sparkling with health and spirits. Lintons looks and movements were very languid, and his form extremely slight; but there was a grace in his manner that mitigated these defects, and rendered him not unpleasing. After exchanging numerous marks of fondness with him, his cousin went to Mr. Heathcliff, who lingered by the door, dividing his attention between the objects inside and those that lay without pretending, that is, to observe the latter, and really noting the former alone. And you are my uncle, then! she cried, reaching up to salute him. I thought I liked you, though you were cross at first. Why dont you visit at the Grange with Linton? To live all these years such close neighbours, and never see us, is odd what have you done so for? I visited it once or twice too often before you were born, he answered. Theredamn it! If you have any kisses to spare, give them to Linton they are thrown away on me. Naughty Ellen! exclaimed Catherine, flying to attack me next with her lavish caresses. Wicked Ellen! to try to hinder me from entering. But Ill take this walk every morning in future may I, uncle? and sometimes bring papa. Wont you be glad to see us? Of course, replied the uncle, with a hardly suppressed grimace, resulting from his deep aversion to both the proposed visitors. But stay, he continued, turning towards the young lady. Now I think of it, Id better tell you. Mr. Linton has a prejudice against me we quarrelled at one time of our lives, with unchristian ferocity; and, if you mention coming here to him, hell put a veto on your visits altogether. Therefore, you must not mention it, unless you be careless of seeing your cousin hereafter you may come, if you will, but you must not mention it. Why did you quarrel? asked Catherine, considerably crestfallen. He thought me too poor to wed his sister, answered Heathcliff, and was grieved that I got her his pride was hurt, and hell never forgive it. Thats wrong! said the young lady some time Ill tell him so. But Linton and I have no share in your quarrel. Ill not come here, then; he shall come to the Grange. It will be too far for me, murmured her cousin to walk four miles would kill me. No, come here, Miss Catherine, now and then not every morning, but once or twice a week. The father launched towards his son a glance of bitter contempt. I am afraid, Nelly, I shall lose my labour, he muttered to me. Miss Catherine, as the ninny calls her, will discover his value, and send him to the devil. Now, if it had been Hareton!Do you know that, twenty times a day, I covet Hareton, with all his degradation? Id have loved the lad had he been someone else. But I think hes safe from her love. Ill pit him against that paltry creature, unless it bestir itself briskly. We calculate it will scarcely last till it is eighteen. Oh, confound the vapid thing! Hes absorbed in drying his feet, and never looks at her.Linton! Yes, father, answered the boy. Have you nothing to show your cousin anywhere about, not even a rabbit or a weasels nest? Take her into the garden, before you change your shoes; and into the stable to see your horse. Wouldnt you rather sit here? asked Linton, addressing Cathy in a tone which expressed reluctance to move again. I dont know, she replied, casting a longing look to the door, and evidently eager to be active. He kept his seat, and shrank closer to the fire. Heathcliff rose, and went into the kitchen, and from thence to the yard, calling out for Hareton. Hareton responded, and presently the two reentered. The young man had been washing himself, as was visible by the glow on his cheeks and his wetted hair. Oh, Ill ask you, uncle, cried Miss Cathy, recollecting the housekeepers assertion. That is not my cousin, is he? Yes, he, replied, your mothers nephew. Dont you like him! Catherine looked queer. Is he not a handsome lad? he continued. The uncivil little thing stood on tiptoe, and whispered a sentence in Heathcliffs ear. He laughed; Hareton darkened I perceived he was very sensitive to suspected slights, and had obviously a dim notion of his inferiority. But his master or guardian chased the frown by exclaiming Youll be the favourite among us, Hareton! She says you are aWhat was it? Well, something very flattering. Here! you go with her round the farm. And behave like a gentleman, mind! Dont use any bad words; and dont stare when the young lady is not looking at you, and be ready to hide your face when she is; and, when you speak, say your words slowly, and keep your hands out of your pockets. Be off, and entertain her as nicely as you can. He watched the couple walking past the window. Earnshaw had his countenance completely averted from his companion. He seemed studying the familiar landscape with a strangers and an artists interest. Catherine took a sly look at him, expressing small admiration. She then turned her attention to seeking out objects of amusement for herself, and tripped merrily on, lilting a tune to supply the lack of conversation. Ive tied his tongue, observed Heathcliff. Hell not venture a single syllable all the time! Nelly, you recollect me at his agenay, some years younger. Did I ever look so stupid so gaumless, as Joseph calls it? Worse, I replied, because more sullen with it. Ive a pleasure in him, he continued, reflecting aloud. He has satisfied my expectations. If he were a born fool I should not enjoy it half so much. But hes no fool; and I can sympathise with all his feelings, having felt them myself. I know what he suffers now, for instance, exactly it is merely a beginning of what he shall suffer, though. And hell never be able to emerge from his bathos of coarseness and ignorance. Ive got him faster than his scoundrel of a father secured me, and lower; for he takes a pride in his brutishness. Ive taught him to scorn everything extraanimal as silly and weak. Dont you think Hindley would be proud of his son, if he could see him? almost as proud as I am of mine. But theres this difference; one is gold put to the use of pavingstones, and the other is tin polished to ape a service of silver. Mine has nothing valuable about it; yet I shall have the merit of making it go as far as such poor stuff can go. His had firstrate qualities, and they are lost rendered worse than unavailing. I have nothing to regret; he would have more than any but I are aware of. And the best of it is, Hareton is damnably fond of me! Youll own that Ive outmatched Hindley there. If the dead villain could rise from his grave to abuse me for his offsprings wrongs, I should have the fun of seeing the said offspring fight him back again, indignant that he should dare to rail at the one friend he has in the world! Heathcliff chuckled a fiendish laugh at the idea. I made no reply, because I saw that he expected none. Meantime, our young companion, who sat too removed from us to hear what was said, began to evince symptoms of uneasiness, probably repenting that he had denied himself the treat of Catherines society for fear of a little fatigue. His father remarked the restless glances wandering to the window, and the hand irresolutely extended towards his cap. Get up, you idle boy! he exclaimed, with assumed heartiness. Away after them! they are just at the corner, by the stand of hives. Linton gathered his energies, and left the hearth. The lattice was open, and, as he stepped out, I heard Cathy inquiring of her unsociable attendant what was that inscription over the door? Hareton stared up, and scratched his head like a true clown. Its some damnable writing, he answered. I cannot read it. Cant read it? cried Catherine; I can read it its English. But I want to know why it is there. Linton giggled the first appearance of mirth he had exhibited. He does not know his letters, he said to his cousin. Could you believe in the existence of such a colossal dunce? Is he all as he should be? asked Miss Cathy, seriously; or is he simple not right? Ive questioned him twice now, and each time he looked so stupid I think he does not understand me. I can hardly understand him, Im sure! Linton repeated his laugh, and glanced at Hareton tauntingly; who certainly did not seem quite clear of comprehension at that moment. Theres nothing the matter but laziness; is there, Earnshaw? he said. My cousin fancies you are an idiot. There you experience the consequence of scorning booklarning, as you would say. Have you noticed, Catherine, his frightful Yorkshire pronunciation? Why, where the devil is the use ont? growled Hareton, more ready in answering his daily companion. He was about to enlarge further, but the two youngsters broke into a noisy fit of merriment my giddy miss being delighted to discover that she might turn his strange talk to matter of amusement. Where is the use of the devil in that sentence? tittered Linton. Papa told you not to say any bad words, and you cant open your mouth without one.

Do try to behave like a gentleman, now do! If thou werent more a lass than a lad, Id fell thee this minute, I would; pitiful lath of a crater! retorted the angry boor, retreating, while his face burnt with mingled rage and mortification! for he was conscious of being insulted, and embarrassed how to resent it. Mr. Heathcliff having overheard the conversation, as well as I, smiled when he saw him go; but immediately afterwards cast a look of singular aversion on the flippant pair, who remained chattering in the doorway the boy finding animation enough while discussing Haretons faults and deficiencies, and relating anecdotes of his goings on; and the girl relishing his pert and spiteful sayings, without considering the illnature they evinced. I began to dislike, more than to compassionate Linton, and to excuse his father in some measure for holding him cheap. We stayed till afternoon I could not tear Miss Cathy away sooner; but happily my master had not quitted his apartment, and remained ignorant of our prolonged absence. As we walked home, I would fain have enlightened my charge on the characters of the people we had quitted but she got it into her head that I was prejudiced against them. Aha! she cried, you take papas side, Ellen you are partial I know; or else you wouldnt have cheated me so many years into the notion that Linton lived a long way from here. Im really extremely angry; only Im so pleased I cant show it! But you must hold your tongue about my uncle; hes my uncle, remember; and Ill scold papa for quarrelling with him. And so she ran on, till I relinquished the endeavour to convince her of her mistake. She did not mention the visit that night, because she did not see Mr. Linton. Next day it all came out, sadly to my chagrin; and still I was not altogether sorry I thought the burden of directing and warning would be more efficiently borne by him than me. But he was too timid in giving satisfactory reasons for his wish that she should shun connection with the household of the Heights, and Catherine liked good reasons for every restraint that harassed her petted will. Papa! she exclaimed, after the mornings salutations, guess whom I saw yesterday, in my walk on the moors. Ah, papa, you started! youve not done right, have you, now? I sawbut listen, and you shall hear how I found you out; and Ellen, who is in league with you, and yet pretended to pity me so, when I kept hoping, and was always disappointed about Lintons coming back! She gave a faithful account of her excursion and its consequences; and my master, though he cast more than one reproachful look at me, said nothing till she had concluded. Then he drew her to him, and asked if she knew why he had concealed Lintons near neighbourhood from her? Could she think it was to deny her a pleasure that she might harmlessly enjoy? It was because you disliked Mr. Heathcliff, she answered. Then you believe I care more for my own feelings than yours, Cathy? he said. No, it was not because I disliked Mr. Heathcliff, but because Mr. Heathcliff dislikes me; and is a most diabolical man, delighting to wrong and ruin those he hates, if they give him the slightest opportunity. I knew that you could not keep up an acquaintance with your cousin without being brought into contact with him; and I knew he would detest you on my account; so for your own good, and nothing else, I took precautions that you should not see Linton again. I meant to explain this some time as you grew older, and Im sorry I delayed it. But Mr. Heathcliff was quite cordial, papa, observed Catherine, not at all convinced; and he didnt object to our seeing each other he said I might come to his house when I pleased; only I must not tell you, because you had quarrelled with him, and would not forgive him for marrying aunt Isabella. And you wont. You are the one to be blamed he is willing to let us be friends, at least; Linton and I; and you are not. My master, perceiving that she would not take his word for her uncleinlaws evil disposition, gave a hasty sketch of his conduct to Isabella, and the manner in which Wuthering Heights became his property. He could not bear to discourse long upon the topic; for though he spoke little of it, he still felt the same horror and detestation of his ancient enemy that had occupied his heart ever since Mrs. Lintons death. She might have been living yet, if it had not been for him! was his constant bitter reflection; and, in his eyes, Heathcliff seemed a murderer. Miss Cathyconversant with no bad deeds except her own slight acts of disobedience, injustice, and passion, arising from hot temper and thoughtlessness, and repented of on the day they were committedwas amazed at the blackness of spirit that could brood on and cover revenge for years, and deliberately prosecute its plans without a visitation of remorse. She appeared so deeply impressed and shocked at this new view of human natureexcluded from all her studies and all her ideas till nowthat Mr. Edgar deemed it unnecessary to pursue the subject. He merely added You will know hereafter, darling, why I wish you to avoid his house and family; now return to your old employments and amusements, and think no more about them. Catherine kissed her father, and sat down quietly to her lessons for a couple of hours, according to custom; then she accompanied him into the grounds, and the whole day passed as usual but in the evening, when she had retired to her room, and I went to help her to undress, I found her crying, on her knees by the bedside. Oh, fie, silly child! I exclaimed. If you had any real griefs youd be ashamed to waste a tear on this little contrariety. You never had one shadow of substantial sorrow, Miss Catherine. Suppose, for a minute, that master and I were dead, and you were by yourself in the world how would you feel, then? Compare the present occasion with such an affliction as that, and be thankful for the friends you have, instead of coveting more. Im not crying for myself, Ellen, she answered, its for him. He expected to see me again tomorrow, and there hell be so disappointed and hell wait for me, and I shant come! Nonsense! said I, do you imagine he has thought as much of you as you have of him? Hasnt he Hareton for a companion? Not one in a hundred would weep at losing a relation they had just seen twice, for two afternoons. Linton will conjecture how it is, and trouble himself no further about you. But may I not write a note to tell him why I cannot come? she asked, rising to her feet. And just send those books I promised to lend him? His books are not as nice as mine, and he wanted to have them extremely, when I told him how interesting they were. May I not, Ellen? No, indeed! no, indeed! replied I with decision. Then he would write to you, and thered never be an end of it. No, Miss Catherine, the acquaintance must be dropped entirely so papa expects, and I shall see that it is done. But how can one little note? she recommenced, putting on an imploring countenance. Silence! I interrupted. Well not begin with your little notes. Get into bed. She threw at me a very naughty look, so naughty that I would not kiss her good night at first I covered her up, and shut her door, in great displeasure; but, repenting halfway, I returned softly, and lo! there was Miss standing at the table with a bit of blank paper before her and a pencil in her hand, which she guiltily slipped out of sight on my entrance. Youll get nobody to take that, Catherine, I said, if you write it; and at present I shall put out your candle. I set the extinguisher on the flame, receiving as I did so a slap on my hand and a petulant cross thing! I then quitted her again, and she drew the bolt in one of her worst, most peevish humours. The letter was finished and forwarded to its destination by a milkfetcher who came from the village; but that I didnt learn till some time afterwards. Weeks passed on, and Cathy recovered her temper; though she grew wondrous fond of stealing off to corners by herself and often, if I came near her suddenly while reading, she would start and bend over the book, evidently desirous to hide it; and I detected edges of loose paper sticking out beyond the leaves. She also got a trick of coming down early in the morning and lingering about the kitchen, as if she were expecting the arrival of something; and she had a small drawer in a cabinet in the library, which she would trifle over for hours, and whose key she took special care to remove when she left it. One day, as she inspected this drawer, I observed that the playthings and trinkets which recently formed its contents were transmuted into bits of folded paper. My curiosity and suspicions were roused; I determined to take a peep at her mysterious treasures; so, at night, as soon as she and my master were safe upstairs, I searched, and readily found among my house keys one that would fit the lock. Having opened, I emptied the whole contents into my apron, and took them with me to examine at leisure in my own chamber. Though I could not but suspect, I was still surprised to discover that they were a mass of correspondencedaily almost, it must have beenfrom Linton Heathcliff answers to documents forwarded by her. The earlier dated were embarrassed and short; gradually, however, they expanded into copious loveletters, foolish, as the age of the writer rendered natural, yet with touches here and there which I thought were borrowed from a more experienced source. Some of them struck me as singularly odd compounds of ardour and flatness; commencing in strong feeling, and concluding in the affected, wordy style that a schoolboy might use to a fancied, incorporeal sweetheart. Whether they satisfied Cathy I dont know; but they appeared very worthless trash to me. After turning over as many as I thought proper, I tied them in a handkerchief and set them aside, relocking the vacant drawer. Following her habit, my young lady descended early, and visited the kitchen I watched her go to the door, on the arrival of a certain little boy; and, while the dairymaid filled his can, she tucked something into his jacket pocket, and plucked something out. I went round by the garden, and laid wait for the messenger; who fought valorously to defend his trust, and we spilt the milk between us; but I succeeded in abstracting the epistle; and, threatening serious consequences if he did not look sharp home, I remained under the wall and perused Miss Cathys affectionate composition. It was more simple and more eloquent than her cousins very pretty and very silly. I shook my head, and went meditating into the house. The day being wet, she could not divert herself with rambling about the park; so, at the conclusion of her morning studies, she resorted to the solace of the drawer. Her father sat reading at the table; and I, on purpose, had sought a bit of work in some unripped fringes of the windowcurtain, keeping my eye steadily fixed on her proceedings. Never did any bird flying back to a plundered nest, which it had left brimful of chirping young ones, express more complete despair, in its anguished cries and flutterings, than she by her single Oh! and the change that transfigured her late happy countenance. Mr. Linton looked up. What is the matter, love? Have you hurt yourself? he said. His tone and look assured her he had not been the discoverer of the hoard. No, papa! she gasped. Ellen! Ellen! come upstairsIm sick! I obeyed her summons, and accompanied her out. Oh, Ellen! you have got them, she commenced immediately, dropping on her knees, when we were enclosed alone. Oh, give them to me, and Ill never, never do so again! Dont tell papa. You have not told papa, Ellen? say you have not? Ive been exceedingly naughty, but I wont do it any more! With a grave severity in my manner I bade her stand up. So, I exclaimed, Miss Catherine, you are tolerably far on, it seems you may well be ashamed of them! A fine bundle of trash you study in your leisure hours, to be sure why, its good enough to be printed! And what do you suppose the master will think when I display it before him? I havent shown it yet, but you neednt imagine I shall keep your ridiculous secrets. For shame! and you must have led the way in writing such absurdities he would not have thought of beginning, Im certain. I didnt! I didnt! sobbed Cathy, fit to break her heart. I didnt once think of loving him till Loving! cried I, as scornfully as I could utter the word. Loving! Did anybody ever hear the like! I might just as well talk of loving the miller who comes once a year to buy our corn. Pretty loving, indeed! and both times together you have seen Linton hardly four hours in your life! Now here is the babyish trash. Im going with it to the library; and well see what your father says to such loving. She sprang at her precious epistles, but I held them above my head; and then she poured out further frantic entreaties that I would burn themdo anything rather than show them. And being really fully as much inclined to laugh as scoldfor I esteemed it all girlish vanityI at length relented in a measure, and askedIf I consent to burn them, will you promise faithfully neither to send nor receive a letter again, nor a book (for I perceive you have sent him books), nor locks of hair, nor rings, nor playthings? We dont send playthings, cried Catherine, her pride overcoming her shame. Nor anything at all, then, my lady? I said. Unless you will, here I go. I promise, Ellen! she cried, catching my dress. Oh, put them in the fire, do, do! But when I proceeded to open a place with the poker the sacrifice was too painful to be borne. She earnestly supplicated that I would spare her one or two. One or two, Ellen, to keep for Lintons sake! I unknotted the handkerchief, and commenced dropping them in from an angle, and the flame curled up the chimney. I will have one, you cruel wretch! she screamed, darting her hand into the fire, and drawing forth some halfconsumed fragments, at the expense of her fingers. Very welland I will have some to exhibit to papa! I answered, shaking back the rest into the bundle, and turning anew to the door. She emptied her blackened pieces into the flames, and motioned me to finish the immolation. It was done; I stirred up the ashes, and interred them under a shovelful of coals; and she mutely, and with a sense of intense injury, retired to her private apartment. I descended to tell my master that the young ladys qualm of sickness was almost gone, but I judged it best for her to lie down a while. She wouldnt dine; but she reappeared at tea, pale, and red about the eyes, and marvellously subdued in outward aspect. Next morning I answered the letter by a slip of paper, inscribed, Master Heathcliff is requested to send no more notes to Miss Linton, as she will not receive them. And, henceforth, the little boy came with vacant pockets. XXII Summer drew to an end, and early autumn it was past Michaelmas, but the harvest was late that year, and a few of our fields were still uncleared. Mr. Linton and his daughter would frequently walk out among the reapers; at the carrying of the last sheaves they stayed till dusk, and the evening happening to be chill and damp, my master caught a bad cold, that settled obstinately on his lungs, and confined him indoors throughout the whole of the winter, nearly without intermission. Poor Cathy, frightened from her little romance, had been considerably sadder and duller since its abandonment; and her father insisted on her reading less, and taking more exercise. She had his companionship no longer; I esteemed it a duty to supply its lack, as much as possible, with mine an inefficient substitute; for I could only spare two or three hours, from my numerous diurnal occupations, to follow her footsteps, and then my society was obviously less desirable than his. On an afternoon in October, or the beginning of Novembera fresh watery afternoon, when the turf and paths were rustling with moist, withered leaves, and the cold blue sky was half hidden by cloudsdark grey streamers, rapidly mounting from the west, and boding abundant rainI requested my young lady to forego her ramble, because I was certain of showers. She refused; and I unwillingly donned a cloak, and took my umbrella to accompany her on a stroll to the bottom of the park a formal walk which she generally affected if lowspiritedand that she invariably was when Mr. Edgar had been worse than ordinary, a thing never known from his confession, but guessed both by her and me from his increased silence and the melancholy of his countenance. She went sadly on there was no running or bounding now, though the chill wind might well have tempted her to race. And often, from the side of my eye, I could detect her raising a hand, and brushing something off her cheek. I gazed round for a means of diverting her thoughts. On one side of the road rose a high, rough bank, where hazels and stunted oaks, with their roots half exposed, held uncertain tenure the soil was too loose for the latter; and strong winds had blown some nearly horizontal. In summer Miss Catherine delighted to climb along these trunks, and sit in the branches, swinging twenty feet above the ground; and I, pleased with her agility and her light, childish heart, still considered it proper to scold every time I caught her at such an elevation, but so that she knew there was no necessity for descending. From dinner to tea she would lie in her breezerocked cradle, doing nothing except singing old songsmy nursery loreto herself, or watching the birds, joint tenants, feed and entice their young ones to fly or nestling with closed lids, half thinking, half dreaming, happier than words can express. Look, Miss! I exclaimed, pointing to a nook under the roots of one twisted tree. Winter is not here yet. Theres a little flower up yonder, the last bud from the multitude of bluebells that clouded those turf steps in July with a lilac mist. Will you clamber up, and pluck it to show to papa? Cathy stared a long time at the lonely blossom trembling in its earthy shelter, and replied, at lengthNo, Ill not touch it but it looks melancholy, does it not, Ellen? Yes, I observed, about as starved and suckless as you your cheeks are bloodless; let us take hold of hands and run. Youre so low, I daresay I shall keep up with you. No, she repeated, and continued sauntering on, pausing at intervals to muse over a bit of moss, or a tuft of blanched grass, or a fungus spreading its bright orange among the heaps of brown foliage; and, ever and anon, her hand was lifted to her averted face. Catherine, why are you crying, love? I asked, approaching and putting my arm over her shoulder. You mustnt cry because papa has a cold; be thankful it is nothing worse. She now put no further restraint on her tears; her breath was stifled by sobs. Oh, it will be something worse, she said. And what shall I do when papa and you leave me, and I am by myself? I cant forget your words, Ellen; they are always in my ear. How life will be changed, how dreary the world will be, when papa and you are dead. None can tell whether you wont die before us, I replied. Its wrong to anticipate evil. Well hope there are years and years to come before any of us go master is young, and I am strong, and hardly fortyfive. My mother lived till eighty, a canty dame to the last. And suppose Mr. Linton were spared till he saw sixty, that would be more years than you have counted, Miss. And would it not be foolish to mourn a calamity above twenty years beforehand? But Aunt Isabella was younger than papa, she remarked, gazing up with timid hope to seek further consolation. Aunt Isabella had not you and me to nurse her, I replied. She wasnt as happy as Master she hadnt as much to live for. All you need do, is to wait well on your father, and cheer him by letting him see you cheerful; and avoid giving him anxiety on any subject mind that, Cathy! Ill not disguise but you might kill him if you were wild and reckless, and cherished a foolish, fanciful affection for the son of a person who would be glad to have him in his grave; and allowed him to discover that you fretted over the separation he has judged it expedient to make. I fret about nothing on earth except papas illness, answered my companion. I care for nothing in comparison with papa. And Ill neverneveroh, never, while I have my senses, do an act or say a word to vex him. I love him better than myself, Ellen; and I know it by this I pray every night that I may live after him; because I would rather be miserable than that he should be that proves I love him better than myself. Good words, I replied. But deeds must prove it also; and after he is well, remember you dont forget resolutions formed in the hour of fear. As we talked, we neared a door that opened on the road; and my young lady, lightening into sunshine again, climbed up and seated herself on the top of the wall, reaching over to gather some hips that bloomed scarlet on the summit branches of the wildrose trees shadowing the highway side the lower fruit had disappeared, but only birds could touch the upper, except from Cathys present station. In stretching to pull them, her hat fell off; and as the door was locked, she proposed scrambling down to recover it. I bid her be cautious lest she got a fall, and she nimbly disappeared. But the return was no such easy matter the stones were smooth and neatly cemented, and the rosebushes and blackberry stragglers could yield no assistance in reascending. I, like a fool, didnt recollect that, till I heard her laughing and exclaimingEllen! youll have to fetch the key, or else I must run round to the porters lodge. I cant scale the ramparts on this side! Stay where you are, I answered; I have my bundle of keys in my pocket perhaps I may manage to open it; if not, Ill go. Catherine amused herself with dancing to and fro before the door, while I tried all the large keys in succession. I had applied the last, and found that none would do; so, repeating my desire that she would remain there, I was about to hurry home as fast as I could, when an approaching sound arrested me. It was the trot of a horse; Cathys dance stopped also. Who is that? I whispered. Ellen, I wish you could open the door, whispered back my companion, anxiously. Ho, Miss Linton! cried a deep voice (the riders), Im glad to meet you. Dont be in haste to enter, for I have an explanation to ask and obtain. I shant speak to you, Mr. Heathcliff, answered Catherine. Papa says you are a wicked man, and you hate both him and me; and Ellen says the same. That is nothing to the purpose, said Heathcliff. (He it was.) I dont hate my son, I suppose; and it is concerning him that I demand your attention. Yes; you have cause to blush. Two or three months since, were you not in the habit of writing to Linton? making love in play, eh? You deserved, both of you, flogging for that! You especially, the elder; and less sensitive, as it turns out. Ive got your letters, and if you give me any pertness Ill send them to your father. I presume you grew weary of the amusement and dropped it, didnt you? Well, you dropped Linton with it into a Slough of Despond. He was in earnest in love, really. As true as I live, hes dying for you; breaking his heart at your fickleness not figuratively, but actually. Though Hareton has made him a standing jest for six weeks, and I have used more serious measures, and attempted to frighten him out of his idiotcy, he gets worse daily; and hell be under the sod before summer, unless you restore him! How can you lie so glaringly to the poor child? I called from the inside. Pray ride on! How can you deliberately get up such paltry falsehoods? Miss Cathy, Ill knock the lock off with a stone you wont believe that vile nonsense. You can feel in yourself it is impossible that a person should die for love of a stranger. I was not aware there were eavesdroppers, muttered the detected villain. Worthy Mrs. Dean, I like you, but I dont like your doubledealing, he added aloud. How could you lie so glaringly as to affirm I hated the poor child? and invent bugbear stories to terrify her from my doorstones? Catherine Linton (the very name warms me), my bonny lass, I shall be from home all this week; go and see if I have not spoken truth do, theres a darling! Just imagine your father in my place, and Linton in yours; then think how you would value your careless lover if he refused to stir a step to comfort you, when your father himself entreated him; and dont, from pure stupidity, fall into the same error. I swear, on my salvation, hes going to his grave, and none but you can save him! The lock gave way and I issued out. I swear Linton is dying, repeated Heathcliff, looking hard at me. And grief and disappointment are hastening his death. Nelly, if you wont let her go, you can walk over yourself. But I shall not return till this time next week; and I think your master himself would scarcely object to her visiting her cousin. Come in, said I, taking Cathy by the arm and half forcing her to reenter; for she lingered, viewing with troubled eyes the features of the speaker, too stern to express his inward deceit. He pushed his horse close, and, bending down, observedMiss Catherine, Ill own to you that I have little patience with Linton; and Hareton and Joseph have less. Ill own that hes with a harsh set. He pines for kindness, as well as love; and a kind word from you would be his best medicine. Dont mind Mrs. Deans cruel cautions; but be generous, and contrive to see him. He dreams of you day and night, and cannot be persuaded that you dont hate him, since you neither write nor call. I closed the door, and rolled a stone to assist the loosened lock in holding it; and spreading my umbrella, I drew my charge underneath for the rain began to drive through the moaning branches of the trees, and warned us to avoid delay. Our hurry prevented any comment on the encounter with Heathcliff, as we stretched towards home; but I divined instinctively that Catherines heart was clouded now in double darkness. Her features were so sad, they did not seem hers she evidently regarded what she had heard as every syllable true. The master had retired to rest before we came in. Cathy stole to his room to inquire how he was; he had fallen asleep. She returned, and asked me to sit with her in the library. We took our tea together; and afterwards she lay down on the rug, and told me not to talk, for she was weary. I got a book, and pretended to read. As soon as she supposed me absorbed in my occupation, she recommenced her silent weeping it appeared, at present, her favourite diversion. I suffered her to enjoy it a while; then I expostulated deriding and ridiculing all Mr. Heathcliffs assertions about his son, as if I were certain she would coincide. Alas! I hadnt skill to counteract the effect his account had produced it was just what he intended. You may be right, Ellen, she answered; but I shall never feel at ease till I know. And I must tell Linton it is not my fault that I dont write, and convince him that I shall not change. What use were anger and protestations against her silly credulity? We parted that nighthostile; but next day beheld me on the road to Wuthering Heights, by the side of my wilful young mistresss pony. I couldnt bear to witness her sorrow to see her pale, dejected countenance, and heavy eyes and I yielded, in the faint hope that Linton himself might prove, by his reception of us, how little of the tale was founded on fact. XXIII The rainy night had ushered in a misty morninghalf frost, half drizzleand temporary brooks crossed our pathgurgling from the uplands. My feet were thoroughly wetted; I was cross and low; exactly the humour suited for making the most of these disagreeable things. We entered the farmhouse by the kitchen way, to ascertain whether Mr. Heathcliff were really absent because I put slight faith in his own affirmation. Joseph seemed sitting in a sort of elysium alone, beside a roaring fire; a quart of ale on the table near him, bristling with large pieces of toasted oatcake; and his black, short pipe in his mouth. Catherine ran to the hearth to warm herself. I asked if the master was in? My question remained so long unanswered, that I thought the old man had grown deaf, and repeated it louder. Naay! he snarled, or rather screamed through his nose. Naay! yah muh goa back whear yah coom frough. Joseph! cried a peevish voice, simultaneously with me, from the inner room. How often am I to call you? There are only a few red ashes now. Joseph! come this moment. Vigorous puffs, and a resolute stare into the grate, declared he had no ear for this appeal. The housekeeper and Hareton were invisible; one gone on an errand, and the other at his work, probably. We knew Lintons tones, and entered. Oh, I hope youll die in a garret, starved to death! said the boy, mistaking our approach for that of his negligent attendant. He stopped on observing his error his cousin flew to him. Is that you, Miss Linton? he said, raising his head from the arm of the great chair, in which he reclined. Nodont kiss me it takes my breath. Dear me! Papa said you would call, continued he, after recovering a little from Catherines embrace; while she stood by looking very contrite. Will you shut the door, if you please? you left it open; and thosethose detestable creatures wont bring coals to the fire. Its so cold! I stirred up the cinders, and fetched a scuttleful myself. The invalid complained of being covered with ashes; but he had a tiresome cough, and looked feverish and ill, so I did not rebuke his temper. Well, Linton, murmured Catherine, when his corrugated brow relaxed, are you glad to see me? Can I do you any good? Why didnt you come before? he asked. You should have come, instead of writing. It tired me dreadfully writing those long letters. Id far rather have talked to you. Now, I can neither bear to talk, nor anything else. I wonder where Zillah is! Will you (looking at me) step into the kitchen and see? I had received no thanks for my other service; and being unwilling to run to and fro at his behest, I repliedNobody is out there but Joseph. I want to drink, he exclaimed fretfully, turning away. Zillah is constantly gadding off to Gimmerton since papa went its miserable! And Im obliged to come down herethey resolved never to hear me upstairs. Is your father attentive to you, Master Heathcliff? I asked, perceiving Catherine to be checked in her friendly advances. Attentive? He makes them a little more attentive at least, he cried. The wretches! Do you know, Miss Linton, that brute Hareton laughs at me! I hate him! indeed, I hate them all they are odious beings. Cathy began searching for some water; she lighted on a pitcher in the dresser, filled a tumbler, and brought it. He bid her add a spoonful of wine from a bottle on the table; and having swallowed a small portion, appeared more tranquil, and said she was very kind. And are you glad to see me? asked she, reiterating her former question and pleased to detect the faint dawn of a smile. Yes, I am. Its something new to hear a voice like yours! he replied. But I have been vexed, because you wouldnt come. And papa swore it was owing to me he called me a pitiful, shuffling, worthless thing; and said you despised me; and if he had been in my place, he would be more the master of the Grange than your father by this time. But you dont despise me, do you, Miss? I wish you would say Catherine, or Cathy, interrupted my young lady. Despise you? No! Next to papa and Ellen, I love you better than anybody living. I dont love Mr. Heathcliff, though; and I dare not come when he returns will he stay away many days? Not many, answered Linton; but he goes on to the moors frequently, since the shooting season commenced; and you might spend an hour or two with me in his absence. Do say you will.

I think I should not be peevish with you youd not provoke me, and youd always be ready to help me, wouldnt you? Yes, said Catherine, stroking his long soft hair if I could only get papas consent, Id spend half my time with you. Pretty Linton! I wish you were my brother. And then you would like me as well as your father? observed he, more cheerfully. But papa says you would love me better than him and all the world, if you were my wife; so Id rather you were that. No, I should never love anybody better than papa, she returned gravely. And people hate their wives, sometimes; but not their sisters and brothers and if you were the latter, you would live with us, and papa would be as fond of you as he is of me. Linton denied that people ever hated their wives; but Cathy affirmed they did, and, in her wisdom, instanced his own fathers aversion to her aunt. I endeavoured to stop her thoughtless tongue. I couldnt succeed till everything she knew was out. Master Heathcliff, much irritated, asserted her relation was false. Papa told me; and papa does not tell falsehoods, she answered pertly. My papa scorns yours! cried Linton. He calls him a sneaking fool. Yours is a wicked man, retorted Catherine; and you are very naughty to dare to repeat what he says. He must be wicked to have made Aunt Isabella leave him as she did. She didnt leave him, said the boy; you shant contradict me. She did, cried my young lady. Well, Ill tell you something! said Linton. Your mother hated your father now then. Oh! exclaimed Catherine, too enraged to continue. And she loved mine, added he. You little liar! I hate you now! she panted, and her face grew red with passion. She did! she did! sang Linton, sinking into the recess of his chair, and leaning back his head to enjoy the agitation of the other disputant, who stood behind. Hush, Master Heathcliff! I said; thats your fathers tale, too, I suppose. It isnt you hold your tongue! he answered. She did, she did, Catherine! she did, she did! Cathy, beside herself, gave the chair a violent push, and caused him to fall against one arm. He was immediately seized by a suffocating cough that soon ended his triumph. It lasted so long that it frightened even me. As to his cousin, she wept with all her might, aghast at the mischief she had done though she said nothing. I held him till the fit exhausted itself. Then he thrust me away, and leant his head down silently. Catherine quelled her lamentations also, took a seat opposite, and looked solemnly into the fire. How do you feel now, Master Heathcliff? I inquired, after waiting ten minutes. I wish she felt as I do, he replied spiteful, cruel thing! Hareton never touches me he never struck me in his life. And I was better today and there his voice died in a whimper. I didnt strike you! muttered Cathy, chewing her lip to prevent another burst of emotion. He sighed and moaned like one under great suffering, and kept it up for a quarter of an hour; on purpose to distress his cousin apparently, for whenever he caught a stifled sob from her he put renewed pain and pathos into the inflections of his voice. Im sorry I hurt you, Linton, she said at length, racked beyond endurance. But I couldnt have been hurt by that little push, and I had no idea that you could, either youre not much, are you, Linton? Dont let me go home thinking Ive done you harm. Answer! speak to me. I cant speak to you, he murmured; youve hurt me so that I shall lie awake all night choking with this cough. If you had it youd know what it was; but youll be comfortably asleep while Im in agony, and nobody near me. I wonder how you would like to pass those fearful nights! And he began to wail aloud, for very pity of himself. Since you are in the habit of passing dreadful nights, I said, it wont be Miss who spoils your ease youd be the same had she never come. However, she shall not disturb you again; and perhaps youll get quieter when we leave you. Must I go? asked Catherine dolefully, bending over him. Do you want me to go, Linton? You cant alter what youve done, he replied pettishly, shrinking from her, unless you alter it for the worse by teasing me into a fever. Well, then, I must go? she repeated. Let me alone, at least, said he; I cant bear your talking. She lingered, and resisted my persuasions to departure a tiresome while; but as he neither looked up nor spoke, she finally made a movement to the door, and I followed. We were recalled by a scream. Linton had slid from his seat on to the hearthstone, and lay writhing in the mere perverseness of an indulged plague of a child, determined to be as grievous and harassing as it can. I thoroughly gauged his disposition from his behaviour, and saw at once it would be folly to attempt humouring him. Not so my companion she ran back in terror, knelt down, and cried, and soothed, and entreated, till he grew quiet from lack of breath by no means from compunction at distressing her. I shall lift him on to the settle, I said, and he may roll about as he pleases we cant stop to watch him. I hope you are satisfied, Miss Cathy, that you are not the person to benefit him; and that his condition of health is not occasioned by attachment to you. Now, then, there he is! Come away as soon as he knows there is nobody by to care for his nonsense, hell be glad to lie still. She placed a cushion under his head, and offered him some water; he rejected the latter, and tossed uneasily on the former, as if it were a stone or a block of wood. She tried to put it more comfortably. I cant do with that, he said; its not high enough. Catherine brought another to lay above it. Thats too high, murmured the provoking thing. How must I arrange it, then? she asked despairingly. He twined himself up to her, as she half knelt by the settle, and converted her shoulder into a support. No, that wont do, I said. Youll be content with the cushion, Master Heathcliff. Miss has wasted too much time on you already we cannot remain five minutes longer. Yes, yes, we can! replied Cathy. Hes good and patient now. Hes beginning to think I shall have far greater misery than he will tonight, if I believe he is the worse for my visit and then I dare not come again. Tell the truth about it, Linton; for I musnt come, if I have hurt you. You must come, to cure me, he answered. You ought to come, because you have hurt me you know you have extremely! I was not as ill when you entered as I am at presentwas I? But youve made yourself ill by crying and being in a passion.I didnt do it all, said his cousin. However, well be friends now. And you want me you would wish to see me sometimes, really? I told you I did, he replied impatiently. Sit on the settle and let me lean on your knee. Thats as mamma used to do, whole afternoons together. Sit quite still and dont talk but you may sing a song, if you can sing; or you may say a nice long interesting balladone of those you promised to teach me; or a story. Id rather have a ballad, though begin. Catherine repeated the longest she could remember. The employment pleased both mightily. Linton would have another, and after that another, notwithstanding my strenuous objections; and so they went on until the clock struck twelve, and we heard Hareton in the court, returning for his dinner. And tomorrow, Catherine, will you be here tomorrow? asked young Heathcliff, holding her frock as she rose reluctantly. No, I answered, nor next day neither. She, however, gave a different response evidently, for his forehead cleared as she stooped and whispered in his ear. You wont go tomorrow, recollect, Miss! I commenced, when we were out of the house. You are not dreaming of it, are you? She smiled. Oh, Ill take good care, I continued Ill have that lock mended, and you can escape by no way else. I can get over the wall, she said laughing. The Grange is not a prison, Ellen, and you are not my gaoler. And besides, Im almost seventeen Im a woman. And Im certain Linton would recover quickly if he had me to look after him. Im older than he is, you know, and wiser less childish, am I not? And hell soon do as I direct him, with some slight coaxing. Hes a pretty little darling when hes good. Id make such a pet of him, if he were mine. We should never quarrel, should we after we were used to each other? Dont you like him, Ellen? Like him! I exclaimed. The worsttempered bit of a sickly slip that ever struggled into its teens. Happily, as Mr. Heathcliff conjectured, hell not win twenty. I doubt whether hell see spring, indeed. And small loss to his family whenever he drops off. And lucky it is for us that his father took him the kinder he was treated, the more tedious and selfish hed be. Im glad you have no chance of having him for a husband, Miss Catherine. My companion waxed serious at hearing this speech. To speak of his death so regardlessly wounded her feelings. Hes younger than I, she answered, after a protracted pause of meditation, and he ought to live the longest he willhe must live as long as I do. Hes as strong now as when he first came into the north; Im positive of that. Its only a cold that ails him, the same as papa has. You say papa will get better, and why shouldnt he? Well, well, I cried, after all, we neednt trouble ourselves; for listen, Missand mind, Ill keep my wordif you attempt going to Wuthering Heights again, with or without me, I shall inform Mr. Linton, and, unless he allow it, the intimacy with your cousin must not be revived. It has been revived, muttered Cathy, sulkily. Must not be continued, then, I said. Well see, was her reply, and she set off at a gallop, leaving me to toil in the rear. We both reached home before our dinnertime; my master supposed we had been wandering through the park, and therefore he demanded no explanation of our absence. As soon as I entered I hastened to change my soaked shoes and stockings; but sitting such awhile at the Heights had done the mischief. On the succeeding morning I was laid up, and during three weeks I remained incapacitated for attending to my duties a calamity never experienced prior to that period, and never, I am thankful to say, since. My little mistress behaved like an angel in coming to wait on me, and cheer my solitude; the confinement brought me exceedingly low. It is wearisome, to a stirring active body but few have slighter reasons for complaint than I had. The moment Catherine left Mr. Lintons room she appeared at my bedside. Her day was divided between us; no amusement usurped a minute she neglected her meals, her studies, and her play; and she was the fondest nurse that ever watched. She must have had a warm heart, when she loved her father so, to give so much to me. I said her days were divided between us; but the master retired early, and I generally needed nothing after six oclock, thus the evening was her own. Poor thing! I never considered what she did with herself after tea. And though frequently, when she looked in to bid me good night, I remarked a fresh colour in her cheeks and a pinkness over her slender fingers, instead of fancying the line borrowed from a cold ride across the moors, I laid it to the charge of a hot fire in the library. XXIV At the close of three weeks I was able to quit my chamber and move about the house. And on the first occasion of my sitting up in the evening I asked Catherine to read to me, because my eyes were weak. We were in the library, the master having gone to bed she consented, rather unwillingly, I fancied; and imagining my sort of books did not suit her, I bid her please herself in the choice of what she perused. She selected one of her own favourites, and got forward steadily about an hour; then came frequent questions. Ellen, are not you tired? Hadnt you better lie down now? Youll be sick, keeping up so long, Ellen. No, no, dear, Im not tired, I returned, continually. Perceiving me immovable, she essayed another method of showing her disrelish for her occupation. It changed to yawning, and stretching, and Ellen, Im tired. Give over then and talk, I answered. That was worse she fretted and sighed, and looked at her watch till eight, and finally went to her room, completely overdone with sleep; judging by her peevish, heavy look, and the constant rubbing she inflicted on her eyes. The following night she seemed more impatient still; and on the third from recovering my company she complained of a headache, and left me. I thought her conduct odd; and having remained alone a long while, I resolved on going and inquiring whether she were better, and asking her to come and lie on the sofa, instead of upstairs in the dark. No Catherine could I discover upstairs, and none below. The servants affirmed they had not seen her. I listened at Mr. Edgars door; all was silence. I returned to her apartment, extinguished my candle, and seated myself in the window. The moon shone bright; a sprinkling of snow covered the ground, and I reflected that she might, possibly, have taken it into her head to walk about the garden, for refreshment. I did detect a figure creeping along the inner fence of the park; but it was not my young mistress on its emerging into the light, I recognised one of the grooms. He stood a considerable period, viewing the carriageroad through the grounds; then started off at a brisk pace, as if he had detected something, and reappeared presently, leading Misss pony; and there she was, just dismounted, and walking by its side. The man took his charge stealthily across the grass towards the stable. Cathy entered by the casementwindow of the drawingroom, and glided noiselessly up to where I awaited her. She put the door gently too, slipped off her snowy shoes, untied her hat, and was proceeding, unconscious of my espionage, to lay aside her mantle, when I suddenly rose and revealed myself. The surprise petrified her an instant she uttered an inarticulate exclamation, and stood fixed. My dear Miss Catherine, I began, too vividly impressed by her recent kindness to break into a scold, where have you been riding out at this hour? And why should you try to deceive me by telling a tale? Where have you been? Speak! To the bottom of the park, she stammered. I didnt tell a tale. And nowhere else? I demanded. No, was the muttered reply. Oh, Catherine! I cried, sorrowfully. You know you have been doing wrong, or you wouldnt be driven to uttering an untruth to me. That does grieve me. Id rather be three months ill, than hear you frame a deliberate lie. She sprang forward, and bursting into tears, threw her arms round my neck. Well, Ellen, Im so afraid of you being angry, she said. Promise not to be angry, and you shall know the very truth I hate to hide it. We sat down in the windowseat; I assured her I would not scold, whatever her secret might be, and I guessed it, of course; so she commenced Ive been to Wuthering Heights, Ellen, and Ive never missed going a day since you fell ill; except thrice before, and twice after you left your room. I gave Michael books and pictures to prepare Minny every evening, and to put her back in the stable you mustnt scold him either, mind. I was at the Heights by halfpast six, and generally stayed till halfpast eight, and then galloped home. It was not to amuse myself that I went I was often wretched all the time. Now and then I was happy once in a week perhaps. At first, I expected there would be sad work persuading you to let me keep my word to Linton for I had engaged to call again next day, when we quitted him; but, as you stayed upstairs on the morrow, I escaped that trouble. While Michael was refastening the lock of the park door in the afternoon, I got possession of the key, and told him how my cousin wished me to visit him, because he was sick, and couldnt come to the Grange; and how papa would object to my going and then I negotiated with him about the pony. He is fond of reading, and he thinks of leaving soon to get married; so he offered, if I would lend him books out of the library, to do what I wished but I preferred giving him my own, and that satisfied him better. On my second visit Linton seemed in lively spirits; and Zillah (that is their housekeeper) made us a clean room and a good fire, and told us that, as Joseph was out at a prayermeeting and Hareton Earnshaw was off with his dogsrobbing our woods of pheasants, as I heard afterwardswe might do what we liked. She brought me some warm wine and gingerbread, and appeared exceedingly goodnatured, and Linton sat in the armchair, and I in the little rocking chair on the hearthstone, and we laughed and talked so merrily, and found so much to say we planned where we would go, and what we would do in summer. I neednt repeat that, because you would call it silly. One time, however, we were near quarrelling. He said the pleasantest manner of spending a hot July day was lying from morning till evening on a bank of heath in the middle of the moors, with the bees humming dreamily about among the bloom, and the larks singing high up overhead, and the blue sky and bright sun shining steadily and cloudlessly. That was his most perfect idea of heavens happiness mine was rocking in a rustling green tree, with a west wind blowing, and bright white clouds flitting rapidly above; and not only larks, but throstles, and blackbirds, and linnets, and cuckoos pouring out music on every side, and the moors seen at a distance, broken into cool dusky dells; but close by great swells of long grass undulating in waves to the breeze; and woods and sounding water, and the whole world awake and wild with joy. He wanted all to lie in an ecstasy of peace; I wanted all to sparkle and dance in a glorious jubilee. I said his heaven would be only half alive; and he said mine would be drunk I said I should fall asleep in his; and he said he could not breathe in mine, and began to grow very snappish. At last, we agreed to try both, as soon as the right weather came; and then we kissed each other and were friends. After sitting still an hour, I looked at the great room with its smooth uncarpeted floor, and thought how nice it would be to play in, if we removed the table; and I asked Linton to call Zillah in to help us, and wed have a game at blindmansbuff; she should try to catch us you used to, you know, Ellen. He wouldnt there was no pleasure in it, he said; but he consented to play at ball with me. We found two in a cupboard, among a heap of old toys, tops, and hoops, and battledores and shuttlecocks. One was marked C., and the other H.; I wished to have the C., because that stood for Catherine, and the H. might be for Heathcliff, his name; but the bran came out of H., and Linton didnt like it. I beat him constantly and he got cross again, and coughed, and returned to his chair. That night, though, he easily recovered his good humour he was charmed with two or three pretty songsyour songs, Ellen; and when I was obliged to go, he begged and entreated me to come the following evening; and I promised. Minny and I went flying home as light as air; and I dreamt of Wuthering Heights and my sweet, darling cousin, till morning. On the morrow I was sad; partly because you were poorly, and partly that I wished my father knew, and approved of my excursions but it was beautiful moonlight after tea; and, as I rode on, the gloom cleared. I shall have another happy evening, I thought to myself; and what delights me more, my pretty Linton will. I trotted up their garden, and was turning round to the back, when that fellow Earnshaw met me, took my bridle, and bid me go in by the front entrance. He patted Minnys neck, and said she was a bonny beast, and appeared as if he wanted me to speak to him. I only told him to leave my horse alone, or else it would kick him. He answered in his vulgar accent, It wouldnt do mitch hurt if it did; and surveyed its legs with a smile. I was half inclined to make it try; however, he moved off to open the door, and, as he raised the latch, he looked up to the inscription above, and said, with a stupid mixture of awkwardness and elation Miss Catherine! I can read yon, now. Wonderful, I exclaimed. Pray let us hear youyou are grown clever! He spelt, and drawled over by syllables, the nameHareton Earnshaw. And the figures? I cried, encouragingly, perceiving that he came to a dead halt. I cannot tell them yet, he answered. Oh, you dunce! I said, laughing heartily at his failure. The fool stared, with a grin hovering about his lips, and a scowl gathering over his eyes, as if uncertain whether he might not join in my mirth whether it were not pleasant familiarity, or what it really was, contempt. I settled his doubts, by suddenly retrieving my gravity and desiring him to walk away, for I came to see Linton, not him. He reddenedI saw that by the moonlightdropped his hand from the latch, and skulked off, a picture of mortified vanity. He imagined himself to be as accomplished as Linton, I suppose, because he could spell his own name; and was marvellously discomfited that I didnt think the same. Stop, Miss Catherine, dear!I interrupted. I shall not scold, but I dont like your conduct there. If you had remembered that Hareton was your cousin as much as Master Heathcliff, you would have felt how improper it was to behave in that way. At least, it was praiseworthy ambition for him to desire to be as accomplished as Linton; and probably he did not learn merely to show off you had made him ashamed of his ignorance before, I have no doubt; and he wished to remedy it and please you. To sneer at his imperfect attempt was very bad breeding. Had you been brought up in his circumstances, would you be less rude? He was as quick and as intelligent a child as ever you were; and Im hurt that he should be despised now, because that base Heathcliff has treated him so unjustly. Well, Ellen, you wont cry about it, will you? she exclaimed, surprised at my earnestness. But wait, and you shall hear if he conned his A.B.C. to please me; and if it were worth while being civil to the brute. I entered; Linton was lying on the settle, and half got up to welcome me. Im ill tonight, Catherine, love, he said; and you must have all the talk, and let me listen. Come, and sit by me. I was sure you wouldnt break your word, and Ill make you promise again, before you go. I knew now that I mustnt tease him, as he was ill; and I spoke softly and put no questions, and avoided irritating him in any way. I had brought some of my nicest books for him he asked me to read a little of one, and I was about to comply, when Earnshaw burst the door open having gathered venom with reflection. He advanced direct to us, seized Linton by the arm, and swung him off the seat. Get to thy own room! he said, in a voice almost inarticulate with passion; and his face looked swelled and furious. Take her there if she comes to see thee thou shallnt keep me out of this. Begone wi ye both! He swore at us, and left Linton no time to answer, nearly throwing him into the kitchen; and he clenched his fist as I followed, seemingly longing to knock me down. I was afraid for a moment, and I let one volume fall; he kicked it after me, and shut us out. I heard a malignant, crackly laugh by the fire, and turning, beheld that odious Joseph standing rubbing his bony hands, and quivering. I wer sure hed sarve ye out! Hes a grand lad! Hes getten t raight sperrit in him! He knawsay, he knaws, as weel as I do, who sud be t maister yonderEch, ech, ech! He made ye skift properly! Ech, ech, ech! Where must we go? I asked of my cousin, disregarding the old wretchs mockery. Linton was white and trembling. He was not pretty then, Ellen oh, no! he looked frightful; for his thin face and large eyes were wrought into an expression of frantic, powerless fury. He grasped the handle of the door, and shook it it was fastened inside. If you dont let me in, Ill kill you!If you dont let me in, Ill kill you! he rather shrieked than said. Devil! devil!Ill kill youIll kill you! Joseph uttered his croaking laugh again. Thear, thats t father! he cried. Thats father! Weve allas summut o either side in us. Niver heed, Hareton, laddunnut be feardhe cannot get at thee! I took hold of Lintons hands, and tried to pull him away; but he shrieked so shockingly that I dared not proceed. At last his cries were choked by a dreadful fit of coughing; blood gushed from his mouth, and he fell on the ground. I ran into the yard, sick with terror; and called for Zillah, as loud as I could. She soon heard me she was milking the cows in a shed behind the barn, and hurrying from her work, she inquired what there was to do? I hadnt breath to explain; dragging her in, I looked about for Linton. Earnshaw had come out to examine the mischief he had caused, and he was then conveying the poor thing upstairs. Zillah and I ascended after him; but he stopped me at the top of the steps, and said I shouldnt go in I must go home. I exclaimed that he had killed Linton, and I would enter. Joseph locked the door, and declared I should do no sich stuff, and asked me whether I were bahn to be as mad as him. I stood crying till the housekeeper reappeared. She affirmed he would be better in a bit, but he couldnt do with that shrieking and din; and she took me, and nearly carried me into the house. Ellen, I was ready to tear my hair off my head! I sobbed and wept so that my eyes were almost blind; and the ruffian you have such sympathy with stood opposite presuming every now and then to bid me wisht, and denying that it was his fault; and, finally, frightened by my assertions that I would tell papa, and that he should be put in prison and hanged, he commenced blubbering himself, and hurried out to hide his cowardly agitation. Still, I was not rid of him when at length they compelled me to depart, and I had got some hundred yards off the premises, he suddenly issued from the shadow of the roadside, and checked Minny and took hold of me. Miss Catherine, Im ill grieved, he began, but its rayther too bad I gave him a cut with my whip, thinking perhaps he would murder me. He let go, thundering one of his horrid curses, and I galloped home more than half out of my senses. I didnt bid you good night that evening, and I didnt go to Wuthering Heights the next I wished to go exceedingly; but I was strangely excited, and dreaded to hear that Linton was dead, sometimes; and sometimes shuddered at the thought of encountering Hareton. On the third day I took courage at least, I couldnt bear longer suspense, and stole off once more. I went at five oclock, and walked; fancying I might manage to creep into the house, and up to Lintons room, unobserved. However, the dogs gave notice of my approach. Zillah received me, and saying the lad was mending nicely, showed me into a small, tidy, carpeted apartment, where, to my inexpressible joy, I beheld Linton laid on a little sofa, reading one of my books. But he would neither speak to me nor look at me, through a whole hour, Ellen he has such an unhappy temper. And what quite confounded me, when he did open his mouth, it was to utter the falsehood that I had occasioned the uproar, and Hareton was not to blame! Unable to reply, except passionately, I got up and walked from the room. He sent after me a faint Catherine! He did not reckon on being answered so but I wouldnt turn back; and the morrow was the second day on which I stayed at home, nearly determined to visit him no more. But it was so miserable going to bed and getting up, and never hearing anything about him, that my resolution melted into air before it was properly formed. It had appeared wrong to take the journey once; now it seemed wrong to refrain. Michael came to ask if he must saddle Minny; I said Yes, and considered myself doing a duty as she bore me over the hills. I was forced to pass the front windows to get to the court it was no use trying to conceal my presence. Young master is in the house, said Zillah, as she saw me making for the parlour. I went in; Earnshaw was there also, but he quitted the room directly. Linton sat in the great armchair half asleep; walking up to the fire, I began in a serious tone, partly meaning it to be true As you dont like me, Linton, and as you think I come on purpose to hurt you, and pretend that I do so every time, this is our last meeting let us say goodbye; and tell Mr. Heathcliff that you have no wish to see me, and that he mustnt invent any more falsehoods on the subject. Sit down and take your hat off, Catherine, he answered. You are so much happier than I am, you ought to be better. Papa talks enough of my defects, and shows enough scorn of me, to make it natural I should doubt myself. I doubt whether I am not altogether as worthless as he calls me, frequently; and then I feel so cross and bitter, I hate everybody! I am worthless, and bad in temper, and bad in spirit, almost always; and, if you choose, you may say goodbye youll get rid of an annoyance. Only, Catherine, do me this justice believe that if I might be as sweet, and as kind, and as good as you are, I would be; as willingly, and more so, than as happy and as healthy. And believe that your kindness has made me love you deeper than if I deserved your love and though I couldnt, and cannot help showing my nature to you, I regret it and repent it; and shall regret and repent it till I die! I felt he spoke the truth; and I felt I must forgive him and, though we should quarrel the next moment, I must forgive him again. We were reconciled; but we cried, both of us, the whole time I stayed not entirely for sorrow; yet I was sorry Linton had that distorted nature. Hell never let his friends be at ease, and hell never be at ease himself! I have always gone to his little parlour, since that night; because his father returned the day after. About three times, I think, we have been merry and hopeful, as we were the first evening; the rest of my visits were dreary and troubled now with his selfishness and spite, and now with his sufferings but Ive learned to endure the former with nearly as little resentment as the latter. Mr. Heathcliff purposely avoids me I have hardly seen him at all. Last Sunday, indeed, coming earlier than usual, I heard him abusing poor Linton cruelly for his conduct of the night before. I cant tell how he knew of it, unless he listened. Linton had certainly behaved provokingly however, it was the business of nobody but me, and I interrupted Mr. Heathcliffs lecture by entering and telling him so. He burst into a laugh, and went away, saying he was glad I took that view of the matter. Since then, Ive told Linton he must whisper his bitter things. Now, Ellen, you have heard all. I cant be prevented from going to Wuthering Heights, except by inflicting misery on two people; whereas, if youll only not tell papa, my going need disturb the tranquillity of none. Youll not tell, will you? It will be very heartless, if you do. Ill make up my mind on that point by tomorrow, Miss Catherine, I replied. It requires some study; and so Ill leave you to your rest, and go think it over. I thought it over aloud, in my masters presence; walking straight from her room to his, and relating the whole story with the exception of her conversations with her cousin, and any mention of Hareton. Mr. Linton was alarmed and distressed, more than he would acknowledge to me. In the morning, Catherine learnt my betrayal of her confidence, and she learnt also that her secret visits were to end. In vain she wept and writhed against the interdict, and implored her father to have pity on Linton all she got to comfort her was a promise that he would write and give him leave to come to the Grange when he pleased; but explaining that he must no longer expect to see Catherine at Wuthering Heights. Perhaps, had he been aware of his nephews disposition and state of health, he would have seen fit to withhold even that slight consolation. XXV These things happened last winter, sir, said Mrs. Dean; hardly more than a year ago.

Last winter, I did not think, at another twelve months end, I should be amusing a stranger to the family with relating them! Yet, who knows how long youll be a stranger? Youre too young to rest always contented, living by yourself; and I some way fancy no one could see Catherine Linton and not love her. You smile; but why do you look so lively and interested when I talk about her? and why have you asked me to hang her picture over your fireplace? and why? Stop, my good friend! I cried. It may be very possible that I should love her; but would she love me? I doubt it too much to venture my tranquillity by running into temptation and then my home is not here. Im of the busy world, and to its arms I must return. Go on. Was Catherine obedient to her fathers commands? She was, continued the housekeeper. Her affection for him was still the chief sentiment in her heart; and he spoke without anger he spoke in the deep tenderness of one about to leave his treasure amid perils and foes, where his remembered words would be the only aid that he could bequeath to guide her. He said to me, a few days afterwards, I wish my nephew would write, Ellen, or call. Tell me, sincerely, what you think of him is he changed for the better, or is there a prospect of improvement, as he grows a man? Hes very delicate, sir, I replied; and scarcely likely to reach manhood but this I can say, he does not resemble his father; and if Miss Catherine had the misfortune to marry him, he would not be beyond her control unless she were extremely and foolishly indulgent. However, master, youll have plenty of time to get acquainted with him and see whether he would suit her it wants four years and more to his being of age. Edgar sighed; and, walking to the window, looked out towards Gimmerton Kirk. It was a misty afternoon, but the February sun shone dimly, and we could just distinguish the two firtrees in the yard, and the sparelyscattered gravestones. Ive prayed often, he half soliloquised, for the approach of what is coming; and now I begin to shrink, and fear it. I thought the memory of the hour I came down that glen a bridegroom would be less sweet than the anticipation that I was soon, in a few months, or, possibly, weeks, to be carried up, and laid in its lonely hollow! Ellen, Ive been very happy with my little Cathy through winter nights and summer days she was a living hope at my side. But Ive been as happy musing by myself among those stones, under that old church lying, through the long June evenings, on the green mound of her mothers grave, and wishingyearning for the time when I might lie beneath it. What can I do for Cathy? How must I quit her? Id not care one moment for Linton being Heathcliffs son; nor for his taking her from me, if he could console her for my loss. Id not care that Heathcliff gained his ends, and triumphed in robbing me of my last blessing! But should Linton be unworthyonly a feeble tool to his fatherI cannot abandon her to him! And, hard though it be to crush her buoyant spirit, I must persevere in making her sad while I live, and leaving her solitary when I die. Darling! Id rather resign her to God, and lay her in the earth before me. Resign her to God as it is, sir, I answered, and if we should lose youwhich may He forbidunder His providence, Ill stand her friend and counsellor to the last. Miss Catherine is a good girl I dont fear that she will go wilfully wrong; and people who do their duty are always finally rewarded. Spring advanced; yet my master gathered no real strength, though he resumed his walks in the grounds with his daughter. To her inexperienced notions, this itself was a sign of convalescence; and then his cheek was often flushed, and his eyes were bright; she felt sure of his recovering. On her seventeenth birthday, he did not visit the churchyard it was raining, and I observedYoull surely not go out tonight, sir? He answeredNo, Ill defer it this year a little longer. He wrote again to Linton, expressing his great desire to see him; and, had the invalid been presentable, Ive no doubt his father would have permitted him to come. As it was, being instructed, he returned an answer, intimating that Mr. Heathcliff objected to his calling at the Grange; but his uncles kind remembrance delighted him, and he hoped to meet him sometimes in his rambles, and personally to petition that his cousin and he might not remain long so utterly divided. That part of his letter was simple, and probably his own. Heathcliff knew he could plead eloquently for Catherines company, then. I do not ask, he said, that she may visit here; but am I never to see her, because my father forbids me to go to her home, and you forbid her to come to mine? Do, now and then, ride with her towards the Heights; and let us exchange a few words, in your presence! We have done nothing to deserve this separation; and you are not angry with me you have no reason to dislike me, you allow, yourself. Dear uncle! send me a kind note tomorrow, and leave to join you anywhere you please, except at Thrushcross Grange. I believe an interview would convince you that my fathers character is not mine he affirms I am more your nephew than his son; and though I have faults which render me unworthy of Catherine, she has excused them, and for her sake, you should also. You inquire after my healthit is better; but while I remain cut off from all hope, and doomed to solitude, or the society of those who never did and never will like me, how can I be cheerful and well? Edgar, though he felt for the boy, could not consent to grant his request; because he could not accompany Catherine. He said, in summer, perhaps, they might meet meantime, he wished him to continue writing at intervals, and engaged to give him what advice and comfort he was able by letter; being well aware of his hard position in his family. Linton complied; and had he been unrestrained, would probably have spoiled all by filling his epistles with complaints and lamentations but his father kept a sharp watch over him; and, of course, insisted on every line that my master sent being shown; so, instead of penning his peculiar personal sufferings and distresses, the themes constantly uppermost in his thoughts, he harped on the cruel obligation of being held asunder from his friend and love; and gently intimated that Mr. Linton must allow an interview soon, or he should fear he was purposely deceiving him with empty promises. Cathy was a powerful ally at home; and between them they at length persuaded my master to acquiesce in their having a ride or a walk together about once a week, under my guardianship, and on the moors nearest the Grange for June found him still declining. Though he had set aside yearly a portion of his income for my young ladys fortune, he had a natural desire that she might retainor at least return in a short time tothe house of her ancestors; and he considered her only prospect of doing that was by a union with his heir; he had no idea that the latter was failing almost as fast as himself; nor had anyone, I believe no doctor visited the Heights, and no one saw Master Heathcliff to make report of his condition among us. I, for my part, began to fancy my forebodings were false, and that he must be actually rallying, when he mentioned riding and walking on the moors, and seemed so earnest in pursuing his object. I could not picture a father treating a dying child as tyrannically and wickedly as I afterwards learned Heathcliff had treated him, to compel this apparent eagerness his efforts redoubling the more imminently his avaricious and unfeeling plans were threatened with defeat by death. XXVI Summer was already past its prime, when Edgar reluctantly yielded his assent to their entreaties, and Catherine and I set out on our first ride to join her cousin. It was a close, sultry day devoid of sunshine, but with a sky too dappled and hazy to threaten rain and our place of meeting had been fixed at the guidestone, by the crossroads. On arriving there, however, a little herdboy, despatched as a messenger, told us thatMaister Linton wer just o this side th Heights and hed be mitch obleeged to us to gang on a bit further. Then Master Linton has forgot the first injunction of his uncle, I observed he bid us keep on the Grange land, and here we are off at once. Well, well turn our horses heads round when we reach him, answered my companion; our excursion shall lie towards home. But when we reached him, and that was scarcely a quarter of a mile from his own door, we found he had no horse; and we were forced to dismount, and leave ours to graze. He lay on the heath, awaiting our approach, and did not rise till we came within a few yards. Then he walked so feebly, and looked so pale, that I immediately exclaimedWhy, Master Heathcliff, you are not fit for enjoying a ramble this morning. How ill you do look! Catherine surveyed him with grief and astonishment she changed the ejaculation of joy on her lips to one of alarm; and the congratulation on their longpostponed meeting to an anxious inquiry, whether he were worse than usual? Nobetterbetter! he panted, trembling, and retaining her hand as if he needed its support, while his large blue eyes wandered timidly over her; the hollowness round them transforming to haggard wildness the languid expression they once possessed. But you have been worse, persisted his cousin; worse than when I saw you last; you are thinner, and Im tired, he interrupted, hurriedly. It is too hot for walking, let us rest here. And, in the morning, I often feel sickpapa says I grow so fast. Badly satisfied, Cathy sat down, and he reclined beside her. This is something like your paradise, said she, making an effort at cheerfulness. You recollect the two days we agreed to spend in the place and way each thought pleasantest? This is nearly yours, only there are clouds; but then they are so soft and mellow it is nicer than sunshine. Next week, if you can, well ride down to the Grange Park, and try mine. Linton did not appear to remember what she talked of and he had evidently great difficulty in sustaining any kind of conversation. His lack of interest in the subjects she started, and his equal incapacity to contribute to her entertainment, were so obvious that she could not conceal her disappointment. An indefinite alteration had come over his whole person and manner. The pettishness that might be caressed into fondness, had yielded to a listless apathy; there was less of the peevish temper of a child which frets and teases on purpose to be soothed, and more of the selfabsorbed moroseness of a confirmed invalid, repelling consolation, and ready to regard the goodhumoured mirth of others as an insult. Catherine perceived, as well as I did, that he held it rather a punishment, than a gratification, to endure our company; and she made no scruple of proposing, presently, to depart. That proposal, unexpectedly, roused Linton from his lethargy, and threw him into a strange state of agitation. He glanced fearfully towards the Heights, begging she would remain another halfhour, at least. But I think, said Cathy, youd be more comfortable at home than sitting here; and I cannot amuse you today, I see, by my tales, and songs, and chatter you have grown wiser than I, in these six months; you have little taste for my diversions now or else, if I could amuse you, Id willingly stay. Stay to rest yourself, he replied. And, Catherine, dont think or say that Im very unwell it is the heavy weather and heat that make me dull; and I walked about, before you came, a great deal for me. Tell uncle Im in tolerable health, will you? Ill tell him that you say so, Linton. I couldnt affirm that you are, observed my young lady, wondering at his pertinacious assertion of what was evidently an untruth. And be here again next Thursday, continued he, shunning her puzzled gaze. And give him my thanks for permitting you to comemy best thanks, Catherine. Andand, if you did meet my father, and he asked you about me, dont lead him to suppose that Ive been extremely silent and stupid dont look sad and downcast, as you are doinghell be angry. I care nothing for his anger, exclaimed Cathy, imagining she would be its object. But I do, said her cousin, shuddering. Dont provoke him against me, Catherine, for he is very hard. Is he severe to you, Master Heathcliff? I inquired. Has he grown weary of indulgence, and passed from passive to active hatred? Linton looked at me, but did not answer; and, after keeping her seat by his side another ten minutes, during which his head fell drowsily on his breast, and he uttered nothing except suppressed moans of exhaustion or pain, Cathy began to seek solace in looking for bilberries, and sharing the produce of her researches with me she did not offer them to him, for she saw further notice would only weary and annoy. Is it halfanhour now, Ellen? she whispered in my ear, at last. I cant tell why we should stay. Hes asleep, and papa will be wanting us back. Well, we must not leave him asleep, I answered; wait till he wakes, and be patient. You were mighty eager to set off, but your longing to see poor Linton has soon evaporated! Why did he wish to see me? returned Catherine. In his crossest humours, formerly, I liked him better than I do in his present curious mood. Its just as if it were a task he was compelled to performthis interviewfor fear his father should scold him. But Im hardly going to come to give Mr. Heathcliff pleasure; whatever reason he may have for ordering Linton to undergo this penance. And, though Im glad hes better in health, Im sorry hes so much less pleasant, and so much less affectionate to me. You think he is better in health, then? I said. Yes, she answered; because he always made such a great deal of his sufferings, you know. He is not tolerably well, as he told me to tell papa; but hes better, very likely. There you differ with me, Miss Cathy, I remarked; I should conjecture him to be far worse. Linton here started from his slumber in bewildered terror, and asked if anyone had called his name. No, said Catherine; unless in dreams. I cannot conceive how you manage to doze out of doors, in the morning. I thought I heard my father, he gasped, glancing up to the frowning nab above us. You are sure nobody spoke? Quite sure, replied his cousin. Only Ellen and I were disputing concerning your health. Are you truly stronger, Linton, than when we separated in winter? If you be, Im certain one thing is not strongeryour regard for me speakare you? The tears gushed from Lintons eyes as he answered, Yes, yes, I am! And, still under the spell of the imaginary voice, his gaze wandered up and down to detect its owner. Cathy rose. For today we must part, she said. And I wont conceal that I have been sadly disappointed with our meeting; though Ill mention it to nobody but you not that I stand in awe of Mr. Heathcliff. Hush, murmured Linton; for Gods sake, hush! Hes coming. And he clung to Catherines arm, striving to detain her; but at that announcement she hastily disengaged herself, and whistled to Minny, who obeyed her like a dog. Ill be here next Thursday, she cried, springing to the saddle. Goodbye. Quick, Ellen! And so we left him, scarcely conscious of our departure, so absorbed was he in anticipating his fathers approach. Before we reached home, Catherines displeasure softened into a perplexed sensation of pity and regret, largely blended with vague, uneasy doubts about Lintons actual circumstances, physical and social in which I partook, though I counselled her not to say much; for a second journey would make us better judges. My master requested an account of our ongoings. His nephews offering of thanks was duly delivered, Miss Cathy gently touching on the rest I also threw little light on his inquiries, for I hardly knew what to hide and what to reveal. XXVII Seven days glided away, everyone marking its course by the henceforth rapid alteration of Edgar Lintons state. The havoc that months had previously wrought was now emulated by the inroads of hours. Catherine we would fain have deluded yet; but her own quick spirit refused to delude her it divined in secret, and brooded on the dreadful probability, gradually ripening into certainty. She had not the heart to mention her ride, when Thursday came round; I mentioned it for her, and obtained permission to order her out of doors for the library, where her father stopped a short time dailythe brief period he could bear to sit upand his chamber, had become her whole world. She grudged each moment that did not find her bending over his pillow, or seated by his side. Her countenance grew wan with watching and sorrow, and my master gladly dismissed her to what he flattered himself would be a happy change of scene and society; drawing comfort from the hope that she would not now be left entirely alone after his death. He had a fixed idea, I guessed by several observations he let fall, that, as his nephew resembled him in person, he would resemble him in mind; for Lintons letters bore few or no indications of his defective character. And I, through pardonable weakness, refrained from correcting the error; asking myself what good there would be in disturbing his last moments with information that he had neither power nor opportunity to turn to account. We deferred our excursion till the afternoon; a golden afternoon of August every breath from the hills so full of life, that it seemed whoever respired it, though dying, might revive. Catherines face was just like the landscapeshadows and sunshine flitting over it in rapid succession; but the shadows rested longer, and the sunshine was more transient; and her poor little heart reproached itself for even that passing forgetfulness of its cares. We discerned Linton watching at the same spot he had selected before. My young mistress alighted, and told me that, as she was resolved to stay a very little while, I had better hold the pony and remain on horseback; but I dissented I wouldnt risk losing sight of the charge committed to me a minute; so we climbed the slope of heath together. Master Heathcliff received us with greater animation on this occasion not the animation of high spirits though, nor yet of joy; it looked more like fear. It is late! he said, speaking short and with difficulty. Is not your father very ill? I thought you wouldnt come. Why wont you be candid? cried Catherine, swallowing her greeting. Why cannot you say at once you dont want me? It is strange, Linton, that for the second time you have brought me here on purpose, apparently to distress us both, and for no reason besides! Linton shivered, and glanced at her, half supplicating, half ashamed; but his cousins patience was not sufficient to endure this enigmatical behaviour. My father is very ill, she said; and why am I called from his bedside? Why didnt you send to absolve me from my promise, when you wished I wouldnt keep it? Come! I desire an explanation playing and trifling are completely banished out of my mind; and I cant dance attendance on your affectations now! My affectations! he murmured; what are they? For heavens sake, Catherine, dont look so angry! Despise me as much as you please; I am a worthless, cowardly wretch I cant be scorned enough; but Im too mean for your anger. Hate my father, and spare me for contempt. Nonsense! cried Catherine in a passion. Foolish, silly boy! And there! he trembles as if I were really going to touch him! You neednt bespeak contempt, Linton anybody will have it spontaneously at your service. Get off! I shall return home it is folly dragging you from the hearthstone, and pretendingwhat do we pretend? Let go my frock! If I pitied you for crying and looking so very frightened, you should spurn such pity. Ellen, tell him how disgraceful this conduct is. Rise, and dont degrade yourself into an abject reptiledont! With streaming face and an expression of agony, Linton had thrown his nerveless frame along the ground he seemed convulsed with exquisite terror. Oh! he sobbed, I cannot bear it! Catherine, Catherine, Im a traitor, too, and I dare not tell you! But leave me, and I shall be killed! Dear Catherine, my life is in your hands and you have said you loved me, and if you did, it wouldnt harm you. Youll not go, then? kind, sweet, good Catherine! And perhaps you will consentand hell let me die with you! My young lady, on witnessing his intense anguish, stooped to raise him. The old feeling of indulgent tenderness overcame her vexation, and she grew thoroughly moved and alarmed. Consent to what? she asked. To stay! tell me the meaning of this strange talk, and I will. You contradict your own words, and distract me! Be calm and frank, and confess at once all that weighs on your heart. You wouldnt injure me, Linton, would you? You wouldnt let any enemy hurt me, if you could prevent it? Ill believe you are a coward, for yourself, but not a cowardly betrayer of your best friend. But my father threatened me, gasped the boy, clasping his attenuated fingers, and I dread himI dread him! I dare not tell! Oh, well! said Catherine, with scornful compassion, keep your secret Im no coward. Save yourself Im not afraid! Her magnanimity provoked his tears he wept wildly, kissing her supporting hands, and yet could not summon courage to speak out. I was cogitating what the mystery might be, and determined Catherine should never suffer to benefit him or anyone else, by my good will; when, hearing a rustle among the ling, I looked up and saw Mr. Heathcliff almost close upon us, descending the Heights. He didnt cast a glance towards my companions, though they were sufficiently near for Lintons sobs to be audible; but hailing me in the almost hearty tone he assumed to none besides, and the sincerity of which I couldnt avoid doubting, he said It is something to see you so near to my house, Nelly. How are you at the Grange? Let us hear. The rumour goes, he added, in a lower tone, that Edgar Linton is on his deathbed perhaps they exaggerate his illness? No; my master is dying, I replied it is true enough. A sad thing it will be for us all, but a blessing for him! How long will he last, do you think? he asked. I dont know, I said. Because, he continued, looking at the two young people, who were fixed under his eyeLinton appeared as if he could not venture to stir or raise his head, and Catherine could not move, on his accountbecause that lad yonder seems determined to beat me; and Id thank his uncle to be quick, and go before him! Hallo! has the whelp been playing that game long? I did give him some lessons about snivelling. Is he pretty lively with Miss Linton generally? Lively? nohe has shown the greatest distress, I answered. To see him, I should say, that instead of rambling with his sweetheart on the hills, he ought to be in bed, under the hands of a doctor. He shall be, in a day or two, muttered Heathcliff. But firstget up, Linton! Get up! he shouted. Dont grovel on the ground there up, this moment! Linton had sunk prostrate again in another paroxysm of helpless fear, caused by his fathers glance towards him, I suppose there was nothing else to produce such humiliation. He made several efforts to obey, but his little strength was annihilated for the time, and he fell back again with a moan. Mr. Heathcliff advanced, and lifted him to lean against a ridge of turf. Now, said he, with curbed ferocity, Im getting angry and if you dont command that paltry spirit of yoursdamn you! get up directly! I will, father, he panted. Only, let me alone, or I shall faint. Ive done as you wished, Im sure. Catherine will tell you that Ithat Ihave been cheerful. Ah! keep by me, Catherine; give me your hand. Take mine, said his father; stand on your feet. There nowshell lend you her arm thats right, look at her. You would imagine I was the devil himself, Miss Linton, to excite such horror. Be so kind as to walk home with him, will you? He shudders if I touch him. Linton dear! whispered Catherine, I cant go to Wuthering Heights papa has forbidden me. Hell not harm you why are you so afraid? I can never reenter that house, he answered. Im not to reenter it without you! Stop! cried his father. Well respect Catherines filial scruples. Nelly, take him in, and Ill follow your advice concerning the doctor, without delay. Youll do well, replied I. But I must remain with my mistress to mind your son is not my business. You are very stiff, said Heathcliff, I know that but youll force me to pinch the baby and make it scream before it moves your charity. Come, then, my hero. Are you willing to return, escorted by me? He approached once more, and made as if he would seize the fragile being; but, shrinking back, Linton clung to his cousin, and implored her to accompany him, with a frantic importunity that admitted no denial. However I disapproved, I couldnt hinder her indeed, how could she have refused him herself? What was filling him with dread we had no means of discerning; but there he was, powerless under its grip, and any addition seemed capable of shocking him into idiotcy. We reached the threshold; Catherine walked in, and I stood waiting till she had conducted the invalid to a chair, expecting her out immediately; when Mr. Heathcliff, pushing me forward, exclaimedMy house is not stricken with the plague, Nelly; and I have a mind to be hospitable today sit down, and allow me to shut the door. He shut and locked it also. I started. You shall have tea before you go home, he added. I am by myself. Hareton is gone with some cattle to the Lees, and Zillah and Joseph are off on a journey of pleasure; and, though Im used to being alone, Id rather have some interesting company, if I can get it. Miss Linton, take your seat by him. I give you what I have the present is hardly worth accepting; but I have nothing else to offer. It is Linton, I mean. How she does stare! Its odd what a savage feeling I have to anything that seems afraid of me! Had I been born where laws are less strict and tastes less dainty, I should treat myself to a slow vivisection of those two, as an evenings amusement. He drew in his breath, struck the table, and swore to himself, By hell! I hate them. I am not afraid of you! exclaimed Catherine, who could not hear the latter part of his speech. She stepped close up; her black eyes flashing with passion and resolution. Give me that key I will have it! she said. I wouldnt eat or drink here, if I were starving. Heathcliff had the key in his hand that remained on the table. He looked up, seized with a sort of surprise at her boldness; or, possibly, reminded, by her voice and glance, of the person from whom she inherited it. She snatched at the instrument, and half succeeded in getting it out of his loosened fingers but her action recalled him to the present; he recovered it speedily. Now, Catherine Linton, he said, stand off, or I shall knock you down; and, that will make Mrs. Dean mad. Regardless of this warning, she captured his closed hand and its contents again. We will go! she repeated, exerting her utmost efforts to cause the iron muscles to relax; and finding that her nails made no impression, she applied her teeth pretty sharply. Heathcliff glanced at me a glance that kept me from interfering a moment. Catherine was too intent on his fingers to notice his face. He opened them suddenly, and resigned the object of dispute; but, ere she had well secured it, he seized her with the liberated hand, and, pulling her on his knee, administered with the other a shower of terrific slaps on both sides of the head, each sufficient to have fulfilled his threat, had she been able to fall. At this diabolical violence I rushed on him furiously. You villain! I began to cry, you villain! A touch on the chest silenced me I am stout, and soon put out of breath; and, what with that and the rage, I staggered dizzily back and felt ready to suffocate, or to burst a bloodvessel. The scene was over in two minutes; Catherine, released, put her two hands to her temples, and looked just as if she were not sure whether her ears were off or on. She trembled like a reed, poor thing, and leant against the table perfectly bewildered. I know how to chastise children, you see, said the scoundrel, grimly, as he stooped to repossess himself of the key, which had dropped to the floor. Go to Linton now, as I told you; and cry at your ease! I shall be your father, tomorrowall the father youll have in a few daysand you shall have plenty of that. You can bear plenty; youre no weakling you shall have a daily taste, if I catch such a devil of a temper in your eyes again! Cathy ran to me instead of Linton, and knelt down and put her burning cheek on my lap, weeping aloud. Her cousin had shrunk into a corner of the settle, as quiet as a mouse, congratulating himself, I dare say, that the correction had alighted on another than him. Mr. Heathcliff, perceiving us all confounded, rose, and expeditiously made the tea himself. The cups and saucers were laid ready. He poured it out, and handed me a cup. Wash away your spleen, he said. And help your own naughty pet and mine. It is not poisoned, though I prepared it. Im going out to seek your horses. Our first thought, on his departure, was to force an exit somewhere. We tried the kitchen door, but that was fastened outside we looked at the windowsthey were too narrow for even Cathys little figure. Master Linton, I cried, seeing we were regularly imprisoned, you know what your diabolical father is after, and you shall tell us, or Ill box your ears, as he has done your cousins. Yes, Linton, you must tell, said Catherine. It was for your sake I came; and it will be wickedly ungrateful if you refuse. Give me some tea, Im thirsty, and then Ill tell you, he answered. Mrs. Dean, go away. I dont like you standing over me. Now, Catherine, you are letting your tears fall into my cup. I wont drink that. Give me another. Catherine pushed another to him, and wiped her face. I felt disgusted at the little wretchs composure, since he was no longer in terror for himself. The anguish he had exhibited on the moor subsided as soon as ever he entered Wuthering Heights; so I guessed he had been menaced with an awful visitation of wrath if he failed in decoying us there; and, that accomplished, he had no further immediate fears. Papa wants us to be married, he continued, after sipping some of the liquid. And he knows your papa wouldnt let us marry now; and hes afraid of my dying if we wait; so we are to be married in the morning, and you are to stay here all night; and, if you do as he wishes, you shall return home next day, and take me with you. Take you with her, pitiful changeling! I exclaimed. You marry? Why, the man is mad! or he thinks us fools, everyone. And do you imagine that beautiful young lady, that healthy, hearty girl, will tie herself to a little perishing monkey like you? Are you cherishing the notion that anybody, let alone Miss Catherine Linton, would have you for a husband? You want whipping for bringing us in here at all, with your dastardly puling tricks anddont look so silly, now! Ive a very good mind to shake you severely, for your contemptible treachery, and your imbecile conceit. I did give him a slight shaking; but it brought on the cough, and he took to his ordinary resource of moaning and weeping, and Catherine rebuked me. Stay all night? No, she said, looking slowly round. Ellen, Ill burn that door down but Ill get out. And she would have commenced the execution of her threat directly, but Linton was up in alarm for his dear self again. He clasped her in his two feeble arms sobbingWont you have me, and save me? not let me come to the Grange? Oh, darling Catherine! you mustnt go and leave, after all. You must obey my fatheryou must! I must obey my own, she replied, and relieve him from this cruel suspense.

The whole night! What would he think? Hell be distressed already. Ill either break or burn a way out of the house. Be quiet! Youre in no danger; but if you hinder meLinton, I love papa better than you! The mortal terror he felt of Mr. Heathcliffs anger restored to the boy his cowards eloquence. Catherine was near distraught still, she persisted that she must go home, and tried entreaty in her turn, persuading him to subdue his selfish agony. While they were thus occupied, our jailor reentered. Your beasts have trotted off, he said, andnow Linton! snivelling again? What has she been doing to you? Come, comehave done, and get to bed. In a month or two, my lad, youll be able to pay her back her present tyrannies with a vigorous hand. Youre pining for pure love, are you not? nothing else in the world and she shall have you! There, to bed! Zillah wont be here tonight; you must undress yourself. Hush! hold your noise! Once in your own room, Ill not come near you you neednt fear. By chance, youve managed tolerably. Ill look to the rest. He spoke these words, holding the door open for his son to pass, and the latter achieved his exit exactly as a spaniel might which suspected the person who attended on it of designing a spiteful squeeze. The lock was resecured. Heathcliff approached the fire, where my mistress and I stood silent. Catherine looked up, and instinctively raised her hand to her cheek his neighbourhood revived a painful sensation. Anybody else would have been incapable of regarding the childish act with sternness, but he scowled on her and mutteredOh! you are not afraid of me? Your courage is well disguised you seem damnably afraid! I am afraid now, she replied, because, if I stay, papa will be miserable and how can I endure making him miserablewhen hewhen heMr. Heathcliff, let me go home! I promise to marry Linton papa would like me to and I love him. Why should you wish to force me to do what Ill willingly do of myself? Let him dare to force you, I cried. Theres law in the land, thank God! there is; though we be in an outoftheway place. Id inform if he were my own son and its felony without benefit of clergy! Silence! said the ruffian. To the devil with your clamour! I dont want you to speak. Miss Linton, I shall enjoy myself remarkably in thinking your father will be miserable I shall not sleep for satisfaction. You could have hit on no surer way of fixing your residence under my roof for the next twentyfour hours than informing me that such an event would follow. As to your promise to marry Linton, Ill take care you shall keep it; for you shall not quit this place till it is fulfilled. Send Ellen, then, to let papa know Im safe! exclaimed Catherine, weeping bitterly. Or marry me now. Poor papa! Ellen, hell think were lost. What shall we do? Not he! Hell think you are tired of waiting on him, and run off for a little amusement, answered Heathcliff. You cannot deny that you entered my house of your own accord, in contempt of his injunctions to the contrary. And it is quite natural that you should desire amusement at your age; and that you would weary of nursing a sick man, and that man only your father. Catherine, his happiest days were over when your days began. He cursed you, I dare say, for coming into the world (I did, at least); and it would just do if he cursed you as he went out of it. Id join him. I dont love you! How should I? Weep away. As far as I can see, it will be your chief diversion hereafter; unless Linton make amends for other losses and your provident parent appears to fancy he may. His letters of advice and consolation entertained me vastly. In his last he recommended my jewel to be careful of his; and kind to her when he got her. Careful and kindthats paternal. But Linton requires his whole stock of care and kindness for himself. Linton can play the little tyrant well. Hell undertake to torture any number of cats, if their teeth be drawn and their claws pared. Youll be able to tell his uncle fine tales of his kindness, when you get home again, I assure you. Youre right there! I said; explain your sons character. Show his resemblance to yourself and then, I hope, Miss Cathy will think twice before she takes the cockatrice! I dont much mind speaking of his amiable qualities now, he answered; because she must either accept him or remain a prisoner, and you along with her, till your master dies. I can detain you both, quite concealed, here. If you doubt, encourage her to retract her word, and youll have an opportunity of judging! Ill not retract my word, said Catherine. Ill marry him within this hour, if I may go to Thrushcross Grange afterwards. Mr. Heathcliff, youre a cruel man, but youre not a fiend; and you wont, from mere malice, destroy irrevocably all my happiness. If papa thought I had left him on purpose, and if he died before I returned, could I bear to live? Ive given over crying but Im going to kneel here, at your knee; and Ill not get up, and Ill not take my eyes from your face till you look back at me! No, dont turn away! do look! youll see nothing to provoke you. I dont hate you. Im not angry that you struck me. Have you never loved anybody in all your life, uncle? never? Ah! you must look once. Im so wretched, you cant help being sorry and pitying me. Keep your efts fingers off; and move, or Ill kick you! cried Heathcliff, brutally repulsing her. Id rather be hugged by a snake. How the devil can you dream of fawning on me? I detest you! He shrugged his shoulders shook himself, indeed, as if his flesh crept with aversion; and thrust back his chair; while I got up, and opened my mouth, to commence a downright torrent of abuse. But I was rendered dumb in the middle of the first sentence, by a threat that I should be shown into a room by myself the very next syllable I uttered. It was growing darkwe heard a sound of voices at the gardengate. Our host hurried out instantly he had his wits about him; we had not. There was a talk of two or three minutes, and he returned alone. I thought it had been your cousin Hareton, I observed to Catherine. I wish he would arrive! Who knows but he might take our part? It was three servants sent to seek you from the Grange, said Heathcliff, overhearing me. You should have opened a lattice and called out but I could swear that chit is glad you didnt. Shes glad to be obliged to stay, Im certain. At learning the chance we had missed, we both gave vent to our grief without control; and he allowed us to wail on till nine oclock. Then he bid us go upstairs, through the kitchen, to Zillahs chamber; and I whispered my companion to obey perhaps we might contrive to get through the window there, or into a garret, and out by its skylight. The window, however, was narrow, like those below, and the garret trap was safe from our attempts; for we were fastened in as before. We neither of us lay down Catherine took her station by the lattice, and watched anxiously for morning; a deep sigh being the only answer I could obtain to my frequent entreaties that she would try to rest. I seated myself in a chair, and rocked to and fro, passing harsh judgment on my many derelictions of duty; from which, it struck me then, all the misfortunes of my employers sprang. It was not the case, in reality, I am aware; but it was, in my imagination, that dismal night; and I thought Heathcliff himself less guilty than I. At seven oclock he came, and inquired if Miss Linton had risen. She ran to the door immediately, and answered, Yes. Here, then, he said, opening it, and pulling her out. I rose to follow, but he turned the lock again. I demanded my release. Be patient, he replied; Ill send up your breakfast in a while. I thumped on the panels, and rattled the latch angrily and Catherine asked why I was still shut up? He answered, I must try to endure it another hour, and they went away. I endured it two or three hours; at length, I heard a footstep not Heathcliffs. Ive brought you something to eat, said a voice; oppen t door! Complying eagerly, I beheld Hareton, laden with food enough to last me all day. Tak it, he added, thrusting the tray into my hand. Stay one minute, I began. Nay, cried he, and retired, regardless of any prayers I could pour forth to detain him. And there I remained enclosed the whole day, and the whole of the next night; and another, and another. Five nights and four days I remained, altogether, seeing nobody but Hareton once every morning; and he was a model of a jailor surly, and dumb, and deaf to every attempt at moving his sense of justice or compassion. XXVIII On the fifth morning, or rather afternoon, a different step approachedlighter and shorter; and, this time, the person entered the room. It was Zillah; donned in her scarlet shawl, with a black silk bonnet on her head, and a willowbasket swung to her arm. Eh, dear! Mrs. Dean! she exclaimed. Well! there is a talk about you at Gimmerton. I never thought but you were sunk in the Blackhorse marsh, and missy with you, till master told me youd been found, and hed lodged you here! What! and you must have got on an island, sure? And how long were you in the hole? Did master save you, Mrs. Dean? But youre not so thinyouve not been so poorly, have you? Your master is a true scoundrel! I replied. But he shall answer for it. He neednt have raised that tale it shall all be laid bare! What do you mean? asked Zillah. Its not his tale they tell that in the villageabout your being lost in the marsh; and I calls to Earnshaw, when I come inEh, theys queer things, Mr. Hareton, happened since I went off. Its a sad pity of that likely young lass, and cant Nelly Dean. He stared. I thought he had not heard aught, so I told him the rumour. The master listened, and he just smiled to himself, and said, If they have been in the marsh, they are out now, Zillah. Nelly Dean is lodged, at this minute, in your room. You can tell her to flit, when you go up; here is the key. The bogwater got into her head, and she would have run home quite flighty; but I fixed her till she came round to her senses. You can bid her go to the Grange at once, if she be able, and carry a message from me, that her young lady will follow in time to attend the squires funeral. Mr. Edgar is not dead? I gasped. Oh! Zillah, Zillah! No, no; sit you down, my good mistress, she replied; youre right sickly yet. Hes not dead; Doctor Kenneth thinks he may last another day. I met him on the road and asked. Instead of sitting down, I snatched my outdoor things, and hastened below, for the way was free. On entering the house, I looked about for someone to give information of Catherine. The place was filled with sunshine, and the door stood wide open; but nobody seemed at hand. As I hesitated whether to go off at once, or return and seek my mistress, a slight cough drew my attention to the hearth. Linton lay on the settle, sole tenant, sucking a stick of sugarcandy, and pursuing my movements with apathetic eyes. Where is Miss Catherine? I demanded sternly, supposing I could frighten him into giving intelligence, by catching him thus, alone. He sucked on like an innocent. Is she gone? I said. No, he replied; shes upstairs shes not to go; we wont let her. You wont let her, little idiot! I exclaimed. Direct me to her room immediately, or Ill make you sing out sharply. Papa would make you sing out, if you attempted to get there, he answered. He says Im not to be soft with Catherine shes my wife, and its shameful that she should wish to leave me. He says she hates me and wants me to die, that she may have my money; but she shant have it and she shant go home! She never shall!she may cry, and be sick as much as she pleases! He resumed his former occupation, closing his lids, as if he meant to drop asleep. Master Heathcliff, I resumed, have you forgotten all Catherines kindness to you last winter, when you affirmed you loved her, and when she brought you books and sung you songs, and came many a time through wind and snow to see you? She wept to miss one evening, because you would be disappointed; and you felt then that she was a hundred times too good to you and now you believe the lies your father tells, though you know he detests you both. And you join him against her. Thats fine gratitude, is it not? The corner of Lintons mouth fell, and he took the sugarcandy from his lips. Did she come to Wuthering Heights because she hated you? I continued. Think for yourself! As to your money, she does not even know that you will have any. And you say shes sick; and yet you leave her alone, up there in a strange house! You who have felt what it is to be so neglected! You could pity your own sufferings; and she pitied them, too; but you wont pity hers! I shed tears, Master Heathcliff, you seean elderly woman, and a servant merelyand you, after pretending such affection, and having reason to worship her almost, store every tear you have for yourself, and lie there quite at ease. Ah! youre a heartless, selfish boy! I cant stay with her, he answered crossly. Ill not stay by myself. She cries so I cant bear it. And she wont give over, though I say Ill call my father. I did call him once, and he threatened to strangle her if she was not quiet; but she began again the instant he left the room, moaning and grieving all night long, though I screamed for vexation that I couldnt sleep. Is Mr. Heathcliff out? I inquired, perceiving that the wretched creature had no power to sympathize with his cousins mental tortures. Hes in the court, he replied, talking to Doctor Kenneth; who says uncle is dying, truly, at last. Im glad, for I shall be master of the Grange after him. Catherine always spoke of it as her house. It isnt hers! Its mine papa says everything she has is mine. All her nice books are mine; she offered to give me them, and her pretty birds, and her pony Minny, if I would get the key of our room, and let her out; but I told her she had nothing to give, they were all, all mine. And then she cried, and took a little picture from her neck, and said I should have that; two pictures in a gold case, on one side her mother, and on the other uncle, when they were young. That was yesterdayI said they were mine, too; and tried to get them from her. The spiteful thing wouldnt let me she pushed me off, and hurt me. I shrieked outthat frightens hershe heard papa coming, and she broke the hinges and divided the case, and gave me her mothers portrait; the other she attempted to hide but papa asked what was the matter, and I explained it. He took the one I had away, and ordered her to resign hers to me; she refused, and hehe struck her down, and wrenched it off the chain, and crushed it with his foot. And were you pleased to see her struck? I asked having my designs in encouraging his talk. I winked, he answered I wink to see my father strike a dog or a horse, he does it so hard. Yet I was glad at firstshe deserved punishing for pushing me but when papa was gone, she made me come to the window and showed me her cheek cut on the inside, against her teeth, and her mouth filling with blood; and then she gathered up the bits of the picture, and went and sat down with her face to the wall, and she has never spoken to me since and I sometimes think she cant speak for pain. I dont like to think so; but shes a naughty thing for crying continually; and she looks so pale and wild, Im afraid of her. And you can get the key if you choose? I said. Yes, when I am upstairs, he answered; but I cant walk upstairs now. In what apartment is it? I asked. Oh, he cried, I shant tell you where it is. It is our secret. Nobody, neither Hareton nor Zillah, is to know. There! youve tired mego away, go away! And he turned his face on to his arm, and shut his eyes again. I considered it best to depart without seeing Mr. Heathcliff, and bring a rescue for my young lady from the Grange. On reaching it, the astonishment of my fellowservants to see me, and their joy also, was intense; and when they heard that their little mistress was safe, two or three were about to hurry up and shout the news at Mr. Edgars door but I bespoke the announcement of it myself. How changed I found him, even in those few days! He lay an image of sadness and resignation awaiting his death. Very young he looked though his actual age was thirtynine, one would have called him ten years younger, at least. He thought of Catherine; for he murmured her name. I touched his hand, and spoke. Catherine is coming, dear master! I whispered; she is alive and well; and will be here, I hope, tonight. I trembled at the first effects of this intelligence he half rose up, looked eagerly round the apartment, and then sank back in a swoon. As soon as he recovered, I related our compulsory visit, and detention at the Heights. I said Heathcliff forced me to go in which was not quite true. I uttered as little as possible against Linton; nor did I describe all his fathers brutal conductmy intentions being to add no bitterness, if I could help it, to his already overflowing cup. He divined that one of his enemys purposes was to secure the personal property, as well as the estate, to his son or rather himself; yet why he did not wait till his decease was a puzzle to my master, because ignorant how nearly he and his nephew would quit the world together. However, he felt that his will had better be altered instead of leaving Catherines fortune at her own disposal, he determined to put it in the hands of trustees for her use during life, and for her children, if she had any, after her. By that means, it could not fall to Mr. Heathcliff should Linton die. Having received his orders, I despatched a man to fetch the attorney, and four more, provided with serviceable weapons, to demand my young lady of her jailor. Both parties were delayed very late. The single servant returned first. He said Mr. Green, the lawyer, was out when he arrived at his house, and he had to wait two hours for his reentrance; and then Mr. Green told him he had a little business in the village that must be done; but he would be at Thrushcross Grange before morning. The four men came back unaccompanied also. They brought word that Catherine was ill too ill to quit her room; and Heathcliff would not suffer them to see her. I scolded the stupid fellows well for listening to that tale, which I would not carry to my master; resolving to take a whole bevy up to the Heights, at daylight, and storm it literally, unless the prisoner were quietly surrendered to us. Her father shall see her, I vowed, and vowed again, if that devil be killed on his own doorstones in trying to prevent it! Happily, I was spared the journey and the trouble. I had gone downstairs at three oclock to fetch a jug of water; and was passing through the hall with it in my hand, when a sharp knock at the front door made me jump. Oh! it is Green, I said, recollecting myselfonly Green, and I went on, intending to send somebody else to open it; but the knock was repeated not loud, and still importunately. I put the jug on the banister and hastened to admit him myself. The harvest moon shone clear outside. It was not the attorney. My own sweet little mistress sprang on my neck sobbing, Ellen, Ellen! Is papa alive? Yes, I cried yes, my angel, he is, God be thanked, you are safe with us again! She wanted to run, breathless as she was, upstairs to Mr. Lintons room; but I compelled her to sit down on a chair, and made her drink, and washed her pale face, chafing it into a faint colour with my apron. Then I said I must go first, and tell of her arrival; imploring her to say, she should be happy with young Heathcliff. She stared, but soon comprehending why I counselled her to utter the falsehood, she assured me she would not complain. I couldnt abide to be present at their meeting. I stood outside the chamberdoor a quarter of an hour, and hardly ventured near the bed, then. All was composed, however Catherines despair was as silent as her fathers joy. She supported him calmly, in appearance; and he fixed on her features his raised eyes that seemed dilating with ecstasy. He died blissfully, Mr. Lockwood he died so. Kissing her cheek, he murmuredI am going to her; and you, darling child, shall come to us! and never stirred or spoke again; but continued that rapt, radiant gaze, till his pulse imperceptibly stopped and his soul departed. None could have noticed the exact minute of his death, it was so entirely without a struggle. Whether Catherine had spent her tears, or whether the grief were too weighty to let them flow, she sat there dryeyed till the sun rose she sat till noon, and would still have remained brooding over that deathbed, but I insisted on her coming away and taking some repose. It was well I succeeded in removing her, for at dinnertime appeared the lawyer, having called at Wuthering Heights to get his instructions how to behave. He had sold himself to Mr. Heathcliff that was the cause of his delay in obeying my masters summons. Fortunately, no thought of worldly affairs crossed the latters mind, to disturb him, after his daughters arrival. Mr. Green took upon himself to order everything and everybody about the place. He gave all the servants but me, notice to quit. He would have carried his delegated authority to the point of insisting that Edgar Linton should not be buried beside his wife, but in the chapel, with his family. There was the will, however, to hinder that, and my loud protestations against any infringement of its directions. The funeral was hurried over; Catherine, Mrs. Linton Heathcliff now, was suffered to stay at the Grange till her fathers corpse had quitted it. She told me that her anguish had at last spurred Linton to incur the risk of liberating her. She heard the men I sent disputing at the door, and she gathered the sense of Heathcliffs answer. It drove her desperate. Linton who had been conveyed up to the little parlour soon after I left, was terrified into fetching the key before his father reascended. He had the cunning to unlock and relock the door, without shutting it; and when he should have gone to bed, he begged to sleep with Hareton, and his petition was granted for once. Catherine stole out before break of day. She dared not try the doors lest the dogs should raise an alarm; she visited the empty chambers and examined their windows; and, luckily, lighting on her mothers, she got easily out of its lattice, and on to the ground, by means of the firtree close by. Her accomplice suffered for his share in the escape, notwithstanding his timid contrivances. XXIX The evening after the funeral, my young lady and I were seated in the library; now musing mournfullyone of us despairinglyon our loss, now venturing conjectures as to the gloomy future. We had just agreed the best destiny which could await Catherine would be a permission to continue resident at the Grange; at least during Lintons life he being allowed to join her there, and I to remain as housekeeper. That seemed rather too favourable an arrangement to be hoped for; and yet I did hope, and began to cheer up under the prospect of retaining my home and my employment, and, above all, my beloved young mistress; when a servantone of the discarded ones, not yet departedrushed hastily in, and said that devil Heathcliff was coming through the court should he fasten the door in his face? If we had been mad enough to order that proceeding, we had not time. He made no ceremony of knocking or announcing his name he was master, and availed himself of the masters privilege to walk straight in, without saying a word. The sound of our informants voice directed him to the library; he entered and motioning him out, shut the door. It was the same room into which he had been ushered, as a guest, eighteen years before the same moon shone through the window; and the same autumn landscape lay outside. We had not yet lighted a candle, but all the apartment was visible, even to the portraits on the wall the splendid head of Mrs. Linton, and the graceful one of her husband. Heathcliff advanced to the hearth. Time had little altered his person either. There was the same man his dark face rather sallower and more composed, his frame a stone or two heavier, perhaps, and no other difference. Catherine had risen with an impulse to dash out, when she saw him. Stop! he said, arresting her by the arm. No more runnings away! Where would you go? Im come to fetch you home; and I hope youll be a dutiful daughter and not encourage my son to further disobedience. I was embarrassed how to punish him when I discovered his part in the business hes such a cobweb, a pinch would annihilate him; but youll see by his look that he has received his due! I brought him down one evening, the day before yesterday, and just set him in a chair, and never touched him afterwards. I sent Hareton out, and we had the room to ourselves. In two hours, I called Joseph to carry him up again; and since then my presence is as potent on his nerves as a ghost; and I fancy he sees me often, though I am not near. Hareton says he wakes and shrieks in the night by the hour together, and calls you to protect him from me; and, whether you like your precious mate, or not, you must come hes your concern now; I yield all my interest in him to you. Why not let Catherine continue here, I pleaded, and send Master Linton to her? As you hate them both, youd not miss them they can only be a daily plague to your unnatural heart. Im seeking a tenant for the Grange, he answered; and I want my children about me, to be sure. Besides, that lass owes me her services for her bread. Im not going to nurture her in luxury and idleness after Linton is gone. Make haste and get ready, now; and dont oblige me to compel you. I shall, said Catherine. Linton is all I have to love in the world, and though you have done what you could to make him hateful to me, and me to him, you cannot make us hate each other. And I defy you to hurt him when I am by, and I defy you to frighten me! You are a boastful champion, replied Heathcliff; but I dont like you well enough to hurt him you shall get the full benefit of the torment, as long as it lasts. It is not I who will make him hateful to youit is his own sweet spirit. Hes as bitter as gall at your desertion and its consequences dont expect thanks for this noble devotion. I heard him draw a pleasant picture to Zillah of what he would do if he were as strong as I the inclination is there, and his very weakness will sharpen his wits to find a substitute for strength. I know he has a bad nature, said Catherine hes your son. But Im glad Ive a better, to forgive it; and I know he loves me, and for that reason I love him. Mr. Heathcliff you have nobody to love you; and, however miserable you make us, we shall still have the revenge of thinking that your cruelty arises from your greater misery. You are miserable, are you not? Lonely, like the devil, and envious like him? Nobody loves younobody will cry for you when you die! I wouldnt be you! Catherine spoke with a kind of dreary triumph she seemed to have made up her mind to enter into the spirit of her future family, and draw pleasure from the griefs of her enemies. You shall be sorry to be yourself presently, said her fatherinlaw, if you stand there another minute. Begone, witch, and get your things! She scornfully withdrew. In her absence I began to beg for Zillahs place at the Heights, offering to resign mine to her; but he would suffer it on no account. He bid me be silent; and then, for the first time, allowed himself a glance round the room and a look at the pictures. Having studied Mrs. Lintons, he saidI shall have that home. Not because I need it, but He turned abruptly to the fire, and continued, with what, for lack of a better word, I must call a smileIll tell you what I did yesterday! I got the sexton, who was digging Lintons grave, to remove the earth off her coffin lid, and I opened it. I thought, once, I would have stayed there when I saw her face againit is hers yet!he had hard work to stir me; but he said it would change if the air blew on it, and so I struck one side of the coffin loose, and covered it up not Lintons side, damn him! I wish hed been soldered in lead. And I bribed the sexton to pull it away when Im laid there, and slide mine out too; Ill have it made so and then by the time Linton gets to us hell not know which is which! You were very wicked, Mr. Heathcliff! I exclaimed; were you not ashamed to disturb the dead? I disturbed nobody, Nelly, he replied; and I gave some ease to myself. I shall be a great deal more comfortable now; and youll have a better chance of keeping me underground, when I get there. Disturbed her? No! she has disturbed me, night and day, through eighteen yearsincessantlyremorselesslytill yesternight; and yesternight I was tranquil. I dreamt I was sleeping the last sleep by that sleeper, with my heart stopped and my cheek frozen against hers. And if she had been dissolved into earth, or worse, what would you have dreamt of then? I said. Of dissolving with her, and being more happy still! he answered. Do you suppose I dread any change of that sort? I expected such a transformation on raising the lidbut Im better pleased that it should not commence till I share it. Besides, unless I had received a distinct impression of her passionless features, that strange feeling would hardly have been removed. It began oddly. You know I was wild after she died; and eternally, from dawn to dawn, praying her to return to me her spirit! I have a strong faith in ghosts I have a conviction that they can, and do, exist among us! The day she was buried, there came a fall of snow. In the evening I went to the churchyard. It blew bleak as winterall round was solitary. I didnt fear that her fool of a husband would wander up the glen so late; and no one else had business to bring them there. Being alone, and conscious two yards of loose earth was the sole barrier between us, I said to myselfIll have her in my arms again! If she be cold, Ill think it is this north wind that chills me; and if she be motionless, it is sleep. I got a spade from the toolhouse, and began to delve with all my mightit scraped the coffin; I fell to work with my hands; the wood commenced cracking about the screws; I was on the point of attaining my object, when it seemed that I heard a sigh from someone above, close at the edge of the grave, and bending down. If I can only get this off, I muttered, I wish they may shovel in the earth over us both! and I wrenched at it more desperately still. There was another sigh, close at my ear. I appeared to feel the warm breath of it displacing the sleetladen wind. I knew no living thing in flesh and blood was by; but, as certainly as you perceive the approach to some substantial body in the dark, though it cannot be discerned, so certainly I felt that Cathy was there not under me, but on the earth. A sudden sense of relief flowed from my heart through every limb. I relinquished my labour of agony, and turned consoled at once unspeakably consoled. Her presence was with me it remained while I refilled the grave, and led me home. You may laugh, if you will; but I was sure I should see her there. I was sure she was with me, and I could not help talking to her. Having reached the Heights, I rushed eagerly to the door. It was fastened; and, I remember, that accursed Earnshaw and my wife opposed my entrance. I remember stopping to kick the breath out of him, and then hurrying upstairs, to my room and hers. I looked round impatientlyI felt her by meI could almost see her, and yet I could not! I ought to have sweat blood then, from the anguish of my yearningfrom the fervour of my supplications to have but one glimpse! I had not one.

She showed herself, as she often was in life, a devil to me! And, since then, sometimes more and sometimes less, Ive been the sport of that intolerable torture! Infernal! keeping my nerves at such a stretch that, if they had not resembled catgut, they would long ago have relaxed to the feebleness of Lintons. When I sat in the house with Hareton, it seemed that on going out I should meet her; when I walked on the moors I should meet her coming in. When I went from home I hastened to return; she must be somewhere at the Heights, I was certain! And when I slept in her chamberI was beaten out of that. I couldnt lie there; for the moment I closed my eyes, she was either outside the window, or sliding back the panels, or entering the room, or even resting her darling head on the same pillow as she did when a child; and I must open my lids to see. And so I opened and closed them a hundred times a nightto be always disappointed! It racked me! Ive often groaned aloud, till that old rascal Joseph no doubt believed that my conscience was playing the fiend inside of me. Now, since Ive seen her, Im pacifieda little. It was a strange way of killing not by inches, but by fractions of hairbreadths, to beguile me with the spectre of a hope through eighteen years! Mr. Heathcliff paused and wiped his forehead; his hair clung to it, wet with perspiration; his eyes were fixed on the red embers of the fire, the brows not contracted, but raised next the temples; diminishing the grim aspect of his countenance, but imparting a peculiar look of trouble, and a painful appearance of mental tension towards one absorbing subject. He only half addressed me, and I maintained silence. I didnt like to hear him talk! After a short period he resumed his meditation on the picture, took it down and leant it against the sofa to contemplate it at better advantage; and while so occupied Catherine entered, announcing that she was ready, when her pony should be saddled. Send that over tomorrow, said Heathcliff to me; then turning to her, he added You may do without your pony it is a fine evening, and youll need no ponies at Wuthering Heights; for what journeys you take, your own feet will serve you. Come along. Goodbye, Ellen! whispered my dear little mistress. As she kissed me, her lips felt like ice. Come and see me, Ellen; dont forget. Take care you do no such thing, Mrs. Dean! said her new father. When I wish to speak to you Ill come here. I want none of your prying at my house! He signed her to precede him; and casting back a look that cut my heart, she obeyed. I watched them, from the window, walk down the garden. Heathcliff fixed Catherines arm under his though she disputed the act at first evidently; and with rapid strides he hurried her into the alley, whose trees concealed them. XXX I have paid a visit to the Heights, but I have not seen her since she left Joseph held the door in his hand when I called to ask after her, and wouldnt let me pass. He said Mrs. Linton was thrang, and the master was not in. Zillah has told me something of the way they go on, otherwise I should hardly know who was dead and who living. She thinks Catherine haughty, and does not like her, I can guess by her talk. My young lady asked some aid of her when she first came; but Mr. Heathcliff told her to follow her own business, and let his daughterinlaw look after herself; and Zillah willingly acquiesced, being a narrowminded, selfish woman. Catherine evinced a childs annoyance at this neglect; repaid it with contempt, and thus enlisted my informant among her enemies, as securely as if she had done her some great wrong. I had a long talk with Zillah about six weeks ago, a little before you came, one day when we foregathered on the moor; and this is what she told me. The first thing Mrs. Linton did, she said, on her arrival at the Heights, was to run upstairs, without even wishing good evening to me and Joseph; she shut herself into Lintons room, and remained till morning. Then, while the master and Earnshaw were at breakfast, she entered the house, and asked all in a quiver if the doctor might be sent for? her cousin was very ill. We know that! answered Heathcliff; but his life is not worth a farthing, and I wont spend a farthing on him. But I cannot tell how to do, she said; and if nobody will help me, hell die! Walk out of the room, cried the master, and let me never hear a word more about him! None here care what becomes of him; if you do, act the nurse; if you do not, lock him up and leave him. Then she began to bother me, and I said Id had enough plague with the tiresome thing; we each had our tasks, and hers was to wait on Linton Mr. Heathcliff bid me leave that labour to her. How they managed together, I cant tell. I fancy he fretted a great deal, and moaned hisseln night and day; and she had precious little rest one could guess by her white face and heavy eyes. She sometimes came into the kitchen all wildered like, and looked as if she would fain beg assistance; but I was not going to disobey the master I never dare disobey him, Mrs. Dean; and, though I thought it wrong that Kenneth should not be sent for, it was no concern of mine either to advise or complain, and I always refused to meddle. Once or twice, after we had gone to bed, Ive happened to open my door again and seen her sitting crying on the stairstop; and then Ive shut myself in quick, for fear of being moved to interfere. I did pity her then, Im sure still I didnt wish to lose my place, you know. At last, one night she came boldly into my chamber, and frightened me out of my wits, by saying, Tell Mr. Heathcliff that his son is dyingIm sure he is, this time. Get up, instantly, and tell him. Having uttered this speech, she vanished again. I lay a quarter of an hour listening and trembling. Nothing stirredthe house was quiet. Shes mistaken, I said to myself. Hes got over it. I neednt disturb them; and I began to doze. But my sleep was marred a second time by a sharp ringing of the bellthe only bell we have, put up on purpose for Linton; and the master called to me to see what was the matter, and inform them that he wouldnt have that noise repeated. I delivered Catherines message. He cursed to himself, and in a few minutes came out with a lighted candle, and proceeded to their room. I followed. Mrs. Heathcliff was seated by the bedside, with her hands folded on her knees. Her fatherinlaw went up, held the light to Lintons face, looked at him, and touched him; afterwards he turned to her. NowCatherine, he said, how do you feel? She was dumb. How do you feel, Catherine? he repeated. Hes safe, and Im free, she answered I should feel wellbut, she continued, with a bitterness she couldnt conceal, you have left me so long to struggle against death alone, that I feel and see only death! I feel like death! And she looked like it, too! I gave her a little wine. Hareton and Joseph, who had been wakened by the ringing and the sound of feet, and heard our talk from outside, now entered. Joseph was fain, I believe, of the lads removal; Hareton seemed a thought bothered though he was more taken up with staring at Catherine than thinking of Linton. But the master bid him get off to bed again we didnt want his help. He afterwards made Joseph remove the body to his chamber, and told me to return to mine, and Mrs. Heathcliff remained by herself. In the morning, he sent me to tell her she must come down to breakfast she had undressed, and appeared going to sleep, and said she was ill; at which I hardly wondered. I informed Mr. Heathcliff, and he repliedWell, let her be till after the funeral; and go up now and then to get her what is needful; and, as soon as she seems better, tell me. Cathy stayed upstairs a fortnight, according to Zillah; who visited her twice a day, and would have been rather more friendly, but her attempts at increasing kindness were proudly and promptly repelled. Heathcliff went up once, to show her Lintons will. He had bequeathed the whole of his, and what had been her, moveable property, to his father the poor creature was threatened, or coaxed, into that act during her weeks absence, when his uncle died. The lands, being a minor, he could not meddle with. However, Mr. Heathcliff has claimed and kept them in his wifes right and his also I suppose legally; at any rate, Catherine, destitute of cash and friends, cannot disturb his possession. Nobody, said Zillah, ever approached her door, except that once, but I; and nobody asked anything about her. The first occasion of her coming down into the house was on a Sunday afternoon. She had cried out, when I carried up her dinner, that she couldnt bear any longer being in the cold; and I told her the master was going to Thrushcross Grange, and Earnshaw and I neednt hinder her from descending; so, as soon as she heard Heathcliffs horse trot off, she made her appearance, donned in black, and her yellow curls combed back behind her ears as plain as a Quaker she couldnt comb them out. Joseph and I generally go to chapel on Sundays (the kirk, you know, has no minister now, explained Mrs. Dean; and they call the Methodists or Baptists place (I cant say which it is) at Gimmerton, a chapel. Joseph had gone, she continued, but I thought proper to bide at home. Young folks are always the better for an elders overlooking; and Hareton, with all his bashfulness, isnt a model of nice behaviour. I let him know that his cousin would very likely sit with us, and she had been always used to see the Sabbath respected; so he had as good leave his guns and bits of indoor work alone, while she stayed. He coloured up at the news, and cast his eyes over his hands and clothes. The trainoil and gunpowder were shoved out of sight in a minute. I saw he meant to give her his company; and I guessed, by his way, he wanted to be presentable; so, laughing, as I durst not laugh when the master is by, I offered to help him, if he would, and joked at his confusion. He grew sullen, and began to swear. Now, Mrs. Dean, Zillah went on, seeing me not pleased by her manner, you happen think your young lady too fine for Mr. Hareton; and happen youre right but I own I should love well to bring her pride a peg lower. And what will all her learning and her daintiness do for her, now? Shes as poor as you or I poorer, Ill be bound youre saying, and Im doing my little all that road. Hareton allowed Zillah to give him her aid; and she flattered him into a good humour; so, when Catherine came, half forgetting her former insults, he tried to make himself agreeable, by the housekeepers account. Missis walked in, she said, as chill as an icicle, and as high as a princess. I got up and offered her my seat in the armchair. No, she turned up her nose at my civility. Earnshaw rose, too, and bid her come to the settle, and sit close by the fire he was sure she was starved. Ive been starved a month and more, she answered, resting on the word as scornful as she could. And she got a chair for herself, and placed it at a distance from both of us. Having sat till she was warm, she began to look round, and discovered a number of books on the dresser; she was instantly upon her feet again, stretching to reach them but they were too high up. Her cousin, after watching her endeavours a while, at last summoned courage to help her; she held her frock, and he filled it with the first that came to hand. That was a great advance for the lad. She didnt thank him; still, he felt gratified that she had accepted his assistance, and ventured to stand behind as she examined them, and even to stoop and point out what struck his fancy in certain old pictures which they contained; nor was he daunted by the saucy style in which she jerked the page from his finger he contented himself with going a bit farther back and looking at her instead of the book. She continued reading, or seeking for something to read. His attention became, by degrees, quite centred in the study of her thick silky curls her face he couldnt see, and she couldnt see him. And, perhaps, not quite awake to what he did, but attracted like a child to a candle, at last he proceeded from staring to touching; he put out his hand and stroked one curl, as gently as if it were a bird. He might have stuck a knife into her neck, she started round in such a taking. Get away this moment! How dare you touch me? Why are you stopping there? she cried, in a tone of disgust. I cant endure you! Ill go upstairs again, if you come near me. Mr. Hareton recoiled, looking as foolish as he could do he sat down in the settle very quiet, and she continued turning over her volumes another half hour; finally, Earnshaw crossed over, and whispered to me. Will you ask her to read to us, Zillah? Im stalled of doing naught; and I do likeI could like to hear her! Dunnot say I wanted it, but ask of yourseln. Mr. Hareton wishes you would read to us, maam, I said, immediately. Hed take it very kindhed be much obliged. She frowned; and looking up, answered Mr. Hareton, and the whole set of you, will be good enough to understand that I reject any pretence at kindness you have the hypocrisy to offer! I despise you, and will have nothing to say to any of you! When I would have given my life for one kind word, even to see one of your faces, you all kept off. But I wont complain to you! Im driven down here by the cold; not either to amuse you or enjoy your society. What could I ha done? began Earnshaw. How was I to blame? Oh! you are an exception, answered Mrs. Heathcliff. I never missed such a concern as you. But I offered more than once, and asked, he said, kindling up at her pertness, I asked Mr. Heathcliff to let me wake for you Be silent! Ill go out of doors, or anywhere, rather than have your disagreeable voice in my ear! said my lady. Hareton muttered she might go to hell, for him! and unslinging his gun, restrained himself from his Sunday occupations no longer. He talked now, freely enough; and she presently saw fit to retreat to her solitude but the frost had set in, and, in spite of her pride, she was forced to condescend to our company, more and more. However, I took care there should be no further scorning at my good nature ever since, Ive been as stiff as herself; and she has no lover or liker among us and she does not deserve one; for, let them say the least word to her, and shell curl back without respect of anyone. Shell snap at the master himself, and as good as dares him to thrash her; and the more hurt she gets, the more venomous she grows. At first, on hearing this account from Zillah, I determined to leave my situation, take a cottage, and get Catherine to come and live with me but Mr. Heathcliff would as soon permit that as he would set up Hareton in an independent house; and I can see no remedy, at present, unless she could marry again; and that scheme it does not come within my province to arrange. Thus ended Mrs. Deans story. Notwithstanding the doctors prophecy, I am rapidly recovering strength; and though it be only the second week in January, I propose getting out on horseback in a day or two, and riding over to Wuthering Heights, to inform my landlord that I shall spend the next six months in London; and, if he likes, he may look out for another tenant to take the place after October. I would not pass another winter here for much. XXXI Yesterday was bright, calm, and frosty. I went to the Heights as I proposed my housekeeper entreated me to bear a little note from her to her young lady, and I did not refuse, for the worthy woman was not conscious of anything odd in her request. The front door stood open, but the jealous gate was fastened, as at my last visit; I knocked and invoked Earnshaw from among the gardenbeds; he unchained it, and I entered. The fellow is as handsome a rustic as need be seen. I took particular notice of him this time; but then he does his best apparently to make the least of his advantages. I asked if Mr. Heathcliff were at home? He answered, No; but he would be in at dinnertime. It was eleven oclock, and I announced my intention of going in and waiting for him; at which he immediately flung down his tools and accompanied me, in the office of watchdog, not as a substitute for the host. We entered together; Catherine was there, making herself useful in preparing some vegetables for the approaching meal; she looked more sulky and less spirited than when I had seen her first. She hardly raised her eyes to notice me, and continued her employment with the same disregard to common forms of politeness as before; never returning my bow and good morning by the slightest acknowledgment. She does not seem so amiable, I thought, as Mrs. Dean would persuade me to believe. Shes a beauty, it is true; but not an angel. Earnshaw surlily bid her remove her things to the kitchen. Remove them yourself, she said, pushing them from her as soon as she had done; and retiring to a stool by the window, where she began to carve figures of birds and beasts out of the turnipparings in her lap. I approached her, pretending to desire a view of the garden; and, as I fancied, adroitly dropped Mrs. Deans note on to her knee, unnoticed by Haretonbut she asked aloud, What is that? And chucked it off. A letter from your old acquaintance, the housekeeper at the Grange, I answered; annoyed at her exposing my kind deed, and fearful lest it should be imagined a missive of my own. She would gladly have gathered it up at this information, but Hareton beat her; he seized and put it in his waistcoat, saying Mr. Heathcliff should look at it first. Thereat, Catherine silently turned her face from us, and, very stealthily, drew out her pockethandkerchief and applied it to her eyes; and her cousin, after struggling awhile to keep down his softer feelings, pulled out the letter and flung it on the floor beside her, as ungraciously as he could. Catherine caught and perused it eagerly; then she put a few questions to me concerning the inmates, rational and irrational, of her former home; and gazing towards the hills, murmured in soliloquy I should like to be riding Minny down there! I should like to be climbing up there! Oh! Im tiredIm stalled, Hareton! And she leant her pretty head back against the sill, with half a yawn and half a sigh, and lapsed into an aspect of abstracted sadness neither caring nor knowing whether we remarked her. Mrs. Heathcliff, I said, after sitting some time mute, you are not aware that I am an acquaintance of yours? so intimate that I think it strange you wont come and speak to me. My housekeeper never wearies of talking about and praising you; and shell be greatly disappointed if I return with no news of or from you, except that you received her letter and said nothing! She appeared to wonder at this speech, and asked Does Ellen like you? Yes, very well, I replied, hesitatingly. You must tell her, she continued, that I would answer her letter, but I have no materials for writing not even a book from which I might tear a leaf. No books! I exclaimed. How do you contrive to live here without them? if I may take the liberty to inquire. Though provided with a large library, Im frequently very dull at the Grange; take my books away, and I should be desperate! I was always reading, when I had them, said Catherine; and Mr. Heathcliff never reads; so he took it into his head to destroy my books. I have not had a glimpse of one for weeks. Only once, I searched through Josephs store of theology, to his great irritation; and once, Hareton, I came upon a secret stock in your roomsome Latin and Greek, and some tales and poetry all old friends. I brought the last hereand you gathered them, as a magpie gathers silver spoons, for the mere love of stealing! They are of no use to you; or else you concealed them in the bad spirit that, as you cannot enjoy them, nobody else shall. Perhaps your envy counselled Mr. Heathcliff to rob me of my treasures? But Ive most of them written on my brain and printed in my heart, and you cannot deprive me of those! Earnshaw blushed crimson when his cousin made this revelation of his private literary accumulations, and stammered an indignant denial of her accusations. Mr. Hareton is desirous of increasing his amount of knowledge, I said, coming to his rescue. He is not envious, but emulous of your attainments. Hell be a clever scholar in a few years. And he wants me to sink into a dunce, meantime, answered Catherine. Yes, I hear him trying to spell and read to himself, and pretty blunders he makes! I wish you would repeat Chevy Chase as you did yesterday it was extremely funny. I heard you; and I heard you turning over the dictionary to seek out the hard words, and then cursing because you couldnt read their explanations! The young man evidently thought it too bad that he should be laughed at for his ignorance, and then laughed at for trying to remove it. I had a similar notion; and, remembering Mrs. Deans anecdote of his first attempt at enlightening the darkness in which he had been reared, I observedBut, Mrs. Heathcliff, we have each had a commencement, and each stumbled and tottered on the threshold; had our teachers scorned instead of aiding us, we should stumble and totter yet. Oh! she replied, I dont wish to limit his acquirements still, he has no right to appropriate what is mine, and make it ridiculous to me with his vile mistakes and mispronunciations! Those books, both prose and verse, are consecrated to me by other associations; and I hate to have them debased and profaned in his mouth! Besides, of all, he has selected my favourite pieces that I love the most to repeat, as if out of deliberate malice. Haretons chest heaved in silence a minute he laboured under a severe sense of mortification and wrath, which it was no easy task to suppress. I rose, and, from a gentlemanly idea of relieving his embarrassment, took up my station in the doorway, surveying the external prospect as I stood. He followed my example, and left the room; but presently reappeared, bearing half a dozen volumes in his hands, which he threw into Catherines lap, exclaimingTake them! I never want to hear, or read, or think of them again! I wont have them now, she answered. I shall connect them with you, and hate them. She opened one that had obviously been often turned over, and read a portion in the drawling tone of a beginner; then laughed, and threw it from her. And listen, she continued, provokingly, commencing a verse of an old ballad in the same fashion. But his selflove would endure no further torment I heard, and not altogether disapprovingly, a manual check given to her saucy tongue. The little wretch had done her utmost to hurt her cousins sensitive though uncultivated feelings, and a physical argument was the only mode he had of balancing the account, and repaying its effects on the inflictor. He afterwards gathered the books and hurled them on the fire. I read in his countenance what anguish it was to offer that sacrifice to spleen. I fancied that as they consumed, he recalled the pleasure they had already imparted, and the triumph and everincreasing pleasure he had anticipated from them; and I fancied I guessed the incitement to his secret studies also. He had been content with daily labour and rough animal enjoyments, till Catherine crossed his path. Shame at her scorn, and hope of her approval, were his first prompters to higher pursuits; and instead of guarding him from one and winning him to the other, his endeavours to raise himself had produced just the contrary result. Yes thats all the good that such a brute as you can get from them! cried Catherine, sucking her damaged lip, and watching the conflagration with indignant eyes. Youd better hold your tongue, now, he answered fiercely. And his agitation precluded further speech; he advanced hastily to the entrance, where I made way for him to pass. But ere he had crossed the doorstones, Mr. Heathcliff, coming up the causeway, encountered him, and laying hold of his shoulder askedWhats to do now, my lad? Naught, naught, he said, and broke away to enjoy his grief and anger in solitude. Heathcliff gazed after him, and sighed. It will be odd if I thwart myself, he muttered, unconscious that I was behind him. But when I look for his father in his face, I find her every day more! How the devil is he so like? I can hardly bear to see him. He bent his eyes to the ground, and walked moodily in. There was a restless, anxious expression in his countenance. I had never remarked there before; and he looked sparer in person. His daughterinlaw, on perceiving him through the window, immediately escaped to the kitchen, so that I remained alone. Im glad to see you out of doors again, Mr. Lockwood, he said, in reply to my greeting; from selfish motives partly I dont think I could readily supply your loss in this desolation. Ive wondered more than once what brought you here. An idle whim, I fear, sir, was my answer; or else an idle whim is going to spirit me away. I shall set out for London next week; and I must give you warning that I feel no disposition to retain Thrushcross Grange beyond the twelve months I agreed to rent it. I believe I shall not live there any more. Oh, indeed; youre tired of being banished from the world, are you? he said. But if you be coming to plead off paying for a place you wont occupy, your journey is useless I never relent in exacting my due from anyone. Im coming to plead off nothing about it, I exclaimed, considerably irritated. Should you wish it, Ill settle with you now, and I drew my notebook from my pocket. No, no, he replied, coolly; youll leave sufficient behind to cover your debts, if you fail to return Im not in such a hurry. Sit down and take your dinner with us; a guest that is safe from repeating his visit can generally be made welcome. Catherine! bring the things in where are you? Catherine reappeared, bearing a tray of knives and forks. You may get your dinner with Joseph, muttered Heathcliff, aside, and remain in the kitchen till he is gone. She obeyed his directions very punctually perhaps she had no temptation to transgress. Living among clowns and misanthropists, she probably cannot appreciate a better class of people when she meets them. With Mr. Heathcliff, grim and saturnine, on the one hand, and Hareton, absolutely dumb, on the other, I made a somewhat cheerless meal, and bade adieu early. I would have departed by the back way, to get a last glimpse of Catherine and annoy old Joseph; but Hareton received orders to lead up my horse, and my host himself escorted me to the door, so I could not fulfil my wish. How dreary life gets over in that house! I reflected, while riding down the road. What a realisation of something more romantic than a fairy tale it would have been for Mrs. Linton Heathcliff, had she and I struck up an attachment, as her good nurse desired, and migrated together into the stirring atmosphere of the town! XXXII 1802.This September I was invited to devastate the moors of a friend in the north, and on my journey to his abode, I unexpectedly came within fifteen miles of Gimmerton. The ostler at a roadside publichouse was holding a pail of water to refresh my horses, when a cart of very green oats, newly reaped, passed by, and he remarkedYons frough Gimmerton, nah! Theyre allas three wick after other folk wi ther harvest. Gimmerton? I repeatedmy residence in that locality had already grown dim and dreamy. Ah! I know. How far is it from this? Happen fourteen mile oer th hills; and a rough road, he answered. A sudden impulse seized me to visit Thrushcross Grange. It was scarcely noon, and I conceived that I might as well pass the night under my own roof as in an inn. Besides, I could spare a day easily to arrange matters with my landlord, and thus save myself the trouble of invading the neighbourhood again. Having rested awhile, I directed my servant to inquire the way to the village; and, with great fatigue to our beasts, we managed the distance in some three hours. I left him there, and proceeded down the valley alone. The grey church looked greyer, and the lonely churchyard lonelier. I distinguished a moorsheep cropping the short turf on the graves. It was sweet, warm weathertoo warm for travelling; but the heat did not hinder me from enjoying the delightful scenery above and below had I seen it nearer August, Im sure it would have tempted me to waste a month among its solitudes. In winter nothing more dreary, in summer nothing more divine, than those glens shut in by hills, and those bluff, bold swells of heath. I reached the Grange before sunset, and knocked for admittance; but the family had retreated into the back premises, I judged, by one thin, blue wreath, curling from the kitchen chimney, and they did not hear. I rode into the court. Under the porch, a girl of nine or ten sat knitting, and an old woman reclined on the housesteps, smoking a meditative pipe. Is Mrs. Dean within? I demanded of the dame. Mistress Dean? Nay! she answered, she doesnt bide here shoos up at th Heights. Are you the housekeeper, then? I continued. Eea, aw keep th hause, she replied. Well, Im Mr. Lockwood, the master. Are there any rooms to lodge me in, I wonder? I wish to stay all night. T maister! she cried in astonishment. Whet, whoiver knew yah wur coming? Yah sud ha send word. Theys nowt norther dry nor mensful abaht t place nowt there isnt! She threw down her pipe and bustled in, the girl followed, and I entered too; soon perceiving that her report was true, and, moreover, that I had almost upset her wits by my unwelcome apparition, I bade her be composed. I would go out for a walk; and, meantime she must try to prepare a corner of a sittingroom for me to sup in, and a bedroom to sleep in. No sweeping and dusting, only good fire and dry sheets were necessary. She seemed willing to do her best; though she thrust the hearthbrush into the grates in mistake for the poker, and malappropriated several other articles of her craft but I retired, confiding in her energy for a restingplace against my return. Wuthering Heights was the goal of my proposed excursion. An afterthought brought me back, when I had quitted the court. All well at the Heights? I inquired of the woman. Eea, fr owt ee knaw! she answered, skurrying away with a pan of hot cinders. I would have asked why Mrs. Dean had deserted the Grange, but it was impossible to delay her at such a crisis, so I turned away and made my exit, rambling leisurely along, with the glow of a sinking sun behind, and the mild glory of a rising moon in frontone fading, and the other brighteningas I quitted the park, and climbed the stony byroad branching off to Mr. Heathcliffs dwelling. Before I arrived in sight of it, all that remained of day was a beamless amber light along the west but I could see every pebble on the path, and every blade of grass, by that splendid moon. I had neither to climb the gate nor to knockit yielded to my hand. That is an improvement, I thought. And I noticed another, by the aid of my nostrils; a fragrance of stocks and wallflowers wafted on the air from amongst the homely fruittrees. Both doors and lattices were open; and yet, as is usually the case in a coaldistrict, a fine red fire illumined the chimney the comfort which the eye derives from it renders the extra heat endurable. But the house of Wuthering Heights is so large that the inmates have plenty of space for withdrawing out of its influence; and accordingly what inmates there were had stationed themselves not far from one of the windows. I could both see them and hear them talk before I entered, and looked and listened in consequence; being moved thereto by a mingled sense of curiosity and envy, that grew as I lingered. Contrary! said a voice as sweet as a silver bell. That for the third time, you dunce! Im not going to tell you again.

Recollect, or Ill pull your hair! Contrary, then, answered another, in deep but softened tones. And now, kiss me, for minding so well. No, read it over first correctly, without a single mistake. The male speaker began to read he was a young man, respectably dressed and seated at a table, having a book before him. His handsome features glowed with pleasure, and his eyes kept impatiently wandering from the page to a small white hand over his shoulder, which recalled him by a smart slap on the cheek, whenever its owner detected such signs of inattention. Its owner stood behind; her light, shining ringlets blending, at intervals, with his brown looks, as she bent to superintend his studies; and her faceit was lucky he could not see her face, or he would never have been so steady. I could; and I bit my lip in spite, at having thrown away the chance I might have had of doing something besides staring at its smiting beauty. The task was done, not free from further blunders; but the pupil claimed a reward, and received at least five kisses; which, however, he generously returned. Then they came to the door, and from their conversation I judged they were about to issue out and have a walk on the moors. I supposed I should be condemned in Hareton Earnshaws heart, if not by his mouth, to the lowest pit in the infernal regions if I showed my unfortunate person in his neighbourhood then; and feeling very mean and malignant, I skulked round to seek refuge in the kitchen. There was unobstructed admittance on that side also; and at the door sat my old friend Nelly Dean, sewing and singing a song; which was often interrupted from within by harsh words of scorn and intolerance, uttered in far from musical accents. Id rayther, by th haulf, hev em swearing i my lugs froh morn to neeght, nor hearken ye hahsiver! said the tenant of the kitchen, in answer to an unheard speech of Nellys. Its a blazing shame, that I cannot oppen t blessed Book, but yah set up them glories to sattan, and all t flaysome wickednesses that iver were born into th warld! Oh! yere a raight nowt; and shoos another; and that poor ladll be lost atween ye. Poor lad! he added, with a groan; hes witched Im sartin ont. Oh, Lord, judge em, for theres norther law nor justice among wer rullers! No! or we should be sitting in flaming fagots, I suppose, retorted the singer. But wisht, old man, and read your Bible like a Christian, and never mind me. This is Fairy Annies Weddinga bonny tuneit goes to a dance. Mrs. Dean was about to recommence, when I advanced; and recognising me directly, she jumped to her feet, cryingWhy, bless you, Mr. Lockwood! How could you think of returning in this way? Alls shut up at Thrushcross Grange. You should have given us notice! Ive arranged to be accommodated there, for as long as I shall stay, I answered. I depart again tomorrow. And how are you transplanted here, Mrs. Dean? tell me that. Zillah left, and Mr. Heathcliff wished me to come, soon after you went to London, and stay till you returned. But, step in, pray! Have you walked from Gimmerton this evening? From the Grange, I replied; and while they make me lodging room there, I want to finish my business with your master; because I dont think of having another opportunity in a hurry. What business, sir? said Nelly, conducting me into the house. Hes gone out at present, and wont return soon. About the rent, I answered. Oh! then it is with Mrs. Heathcliff you must settle, she observed; or rather with me. She has not learnt to manage her affairs yet, and I act for her theres nobody else. I looked surprised. Ah! you have not heard of Heathcliffs death, I see, she continued. Heathcliff dead! I exclaimed, astonished. How long ago? Three months since but sit down, and let me take your hat, and Ill tell you all about it. Stop, you have had nothing to eat, have you? I want nothing I have ordered supper at home. You sit down too. I never dreamt of his dying! Let me hear how it came to pass. You say you dont expect them back for some timethe young people? NoI have to scold them every evening for their late rambles but they dont care for me. At least, have a drink of our old ale; it will do you good you seem weary. She hastened to fetch it before I could refuse, and I heard Joseph asking whether it warnt a crying scandal that she should have followers at her time of life? And then, to get them jocks out o t maisters cellar! He fair shaamed to bide still and see it. She did not stay to retaliate, but reentered in a minute, bearing a reaming silver pint, whose contents I lauded with becoming earnestness. And afterwards she furnished me with the sequel of Heathcliffs history. He had a queer end, as she expressed it. I was summoned to Wuthering Heights, within a fortnight of your leaving us, she said; and I obeyed joyfully, for Catherines sake. My first interview with her grieved and shocked me she had altered so much since our separation. Mr. Heathcliff did not explain his reasons for taking a new mind about my coming here; he only told me he wanted me, and he was tired of seeing Catherine I must make the little parlour my sittingroom, and keep her with me. It was enough if he were obliged to see her once or twice a day. She seemed pleased at this arrangement; and, by degrees, I smuggled over a great number of books, and other articles, that had formed her amusement at the Grange; and flattered myself we should get on in tolerable comfort. The delusion did not last long. Catherine, contented at first, in a brief space grew irritable and restless. For one thing, she was forbidden to move out of the garden, and it fretted her sadly to be confined to its narrow bounds as spring drew on; for another, in following the house, I was forced to quit her frequently, and she complained of loneliness she preferred quarrelling with Joseph in the kitchen to sitting at peace in her solitude. I did not mind their skirmishes but Hareton was often obliged to seek the kitchen also, when the master wanted to have the house to himself! and though in the beginning she either left it at his approach, or quietly joined in my occupations, and shunned remarking or addressing himand though he was always as sullen and silent as possibleafter a while, she changed her behaviour, and became incapable of letting him alone talking at him; commenting on his stupidity and idleness; expressing her wonder how he could endure the life he livedhow he could sit a whole evening staring into the fire, and dozing. Hes just like a dog, is he not, Ellen? she once observed, or a carthorse? He does his work, eats his food, and sleeps eternally! What a blank, dreary mind he must have! Do you ever dream, Hareton? And, if you do, what is it about? But you cant speak to me! Then she looked at him; but he would neither open his mouth nor look again. Hes, perhaps, dreaming now, she continued. He twitched his shoulder as Juno twitches hers. Ask him, Ellen. Mr. Hareton will ask the master to send you upstairs, if you dont behave! I said. He had not only twitched his shoulder but clenched his fist, as if tempted to use it. I know why Hareton never speaks, when I am in the kitchen, she exclaimed, on another occasion. He is afraid I shall laugh at him. Ellen, what do you think? He began to teach himself to read once; and, because I laughed, he burned his books, and dropped it was he not a fool? Were not you naughty? I said; answer me that. Perhaps I was, she went on; but I did not expect him to be so silly. Hareton, if I gave you a book, would you take it now? Ill try! She placed one she had been perusing on his hand; he flung it off, and muttered, if she did not give over, he would break her neck. Well, I shall put it here, she said, in the tabledrawer; and Im going to bed. Then she whispered me to watch whether he touched it, and departed. But he would not come near it; and so I informed her in the morning, to her great disappointment. I saw she was sorry for his persevering sulkiness and indolence her conscience reproved her for frightening him off improving himself she had done it effectually. But her ingenuity was at work to remedy the injury while I ironed, or pursued other such stationary employments as I could not well do in the parlour, she would bring some pleasant volume and read it aloud to me. When Hareton was there, she generally paused in an interesting part, and left the book lying about that she did repeatedly; but he was as obstinate as a mule, and, instead of snatching at her bait, in wet weather he took to smoking with Joseph; and they sat like automatons, one on each side of the fire, the elder happily too deaf to understand her wicked nonsense, as he would have called it, the younger doing his best to seem to disregard it. On fine evenings the latter followed his shooting expeditions, and Catherine yawned and sighed, and teased me to talk to her, and ran off into the court or garden the moment I began; and, as a last resource, cried, and said she was tired of living her life was useless. Mr. Heathcliff, who grew more and more disinclined to society, had almost banished Earnshaw from his apartment. Owing to an accident at the commencement of March, he became for some days a fixture in the kitchen. His gun burst while out on the hills by himself; a splinter cut his arm, and he lost a good deal of blood before he could reach home. The consequence was that, perforce, he was condemned to the fireside and tranquillity, till he made it up again. It suited Catherine to have him there at any rate, it made her hate her room upstairs more than ever and she would compel me to find out business below, that she might accompany me. On Easter Monday, Joseph went to Gimmerton fair with some cattle; and, in the afternoon, I was busy getting up linen in the kitchen. Earnshaw sat, morose as usual, at the chimney corner, and my little mistress was beguiling an idle hour with drawing pictures on the windowpanes, varying her amusement by smothered bursts of songs, and whispered ejaculations, and quick glances of annoyance and impatience in the direction of her cousin, who steadfastly smoked, and looked into the grate. At a notice that I could do with her no longer intercepting my light, she removed to the hearthstone. I bestowed little attention on her proceedings, but, presently, I heard her beginIve found out, Hareton, that I wantthat Im gladthat I should like you to be my cousin now, if you had not grown so cross to me, and so rough. Hareton returned no answer. Hareton, Hareton, Hareton! do you hear? she continued. Get off wi ye! he growled, with uncompromising gruffness. Let me take that pipe, she said, cautiously advancing her hand and abstracting it from his mouth. Before he could attempt to recover it, it was broken, and behind the fire. He swore at her and seized another. Stop, she cried, you must listen to me first; and I cant speak while those clouds are floating in my face. Will you go to the devil! he exclaimed, ferociously, and let me be! No, she persisted, I wont I cant tell what to do to make you talk to me; and you are determined not to understand. When I call you stupid, I dont mean anything I dont mean that I despise you. Come, you shall take notice of me, Hareton you are my cousin, and you shall own me. I shall have naught to do wi you and your mucky pride, and your damned mocking tricks! he answered. Ill go to hell, body and soul, before I look sideways after you again. Side out o t gate, now, this minute! Catherine frowned, and retreated to the windowseat chewing her lip, and endeavouring, by humming an eccentric tune, to conceal a growing tendency to sob. You should be friends with your cousin, Mr. Hareton, I interrupted, since she repents of her sauciness. It would do you a great deal of good it would make you another man to have her for a companion. A companion! he cried; when she hates me, and does not think me fit to wipe her shoon! Nay, if it made me a king, Id not be scorned for seeking her goodwill any more. It is not I who hate you, it is you who hate me! wept Cathy, no longer disguising her trouble. You hate me as much as Mr. Heathcliff does, and more. Youre a damned liar, began Earnshaw why have I made him angry, by taking your part, then, a hundred times? and that when you sneered at and despised me, andGo on plaguing me, and Ill step in yonder, and say you worried me out of the kitchen! I didnt know you took my part, she answered, drying her eyes; and I was miserable and bitter at everybody; but now I thank you, and beg you to forgive me what can I do besides? She returned to the hearth, and frankly extended her hand. He blackened and scowled like a thundercloud, and kept his fists resolutely clenched, and his gaze fixed on the ground. Catherine, by instinct, must have divined it was obdurate perversity, and not dislike, that prompted this dogged conduct; for, after remaining an instant undecided, she stooped and impressed on his cheek a gentle kiss. The little rogue thought I had not seen her, and, drawing back, she took her former station by the window, quite demurely. I shook my head reprovingly, and then she blushed and whisperedWell! what should I have done, Ellen? He wouldnt shake hands, and he wouldnt look I must show him some way that I like himthat I want to be friends. Whether the kiss convinced Hareton, I cannot tell he was very careful, for some minutes, that his face should not be seen, and when he did raise it, he was sadly puzzled where to turn his eyes. Catherine employed herself in wrapping a handsome book neatly in white paper, and having tied it with a bit of ribbon, and addressed it to Mr. Hareton Earnshaw, she desired me to be her ambassadress, and convey the present to its destined recipient. And tell him, if hell take it, Ill come and teach him to read it right, she said; and, if he refuse it, Ill go upstairs, and never tease him again. I carried it, and repeated the message; anxiously watched by my employer. Hareton would not open his fingers, so I laid it on his knee. He did not strike it off, either. I returned to my work. Catherine leaned her head and arms on the table, till she heard the slight rustle of the covering being removed; then she stole away, and quietly seated herself beside her cousin. He trembled, and his face glowed all his rudeness and all his surly harshness had deserted him he could not summon courage, at first, to utter a syllable in reply to her questioning look, and her murmured petition. Say you forgive me, Hareton, do. You can make me so happy by speaking that little word. He muttered something inaudible. And youll be my friend? added Catherine, interrogatively. Nay, youll be ashamed of me every day of your life, he answered; and the more ashamed, the more you know me; and I cannot bide it. So you wont be my friend? she said, smiling as sweet as honey, and creeping close up. I overheard no further distinguishable talk, but, on looking round again, I perceived two such radiant countenances bent over the page of the accepted book, that I did not doubt the treaty had been ratified on both sides; and the enemies were, thenceforth, sworn allies. The work they studied was full of costly pictures; and those and their position had charm enough to keep them unmoved till Joseph came home. He, poor man, was perfectly aghast at the spectacle of Catherine seated on the same bench with Hareton Earnshaw, leaning her hand on his shoulder; and confounded at his favourites endurance of her proximity it affected him too deeply to allow an observation on the subject that night. His emotion was only revealed by the immense sighs he drew, as he solemnly spread his large Bible on the table, and overlaid it with dirty banknotes from his pocketbook, the produce of the days transactions. At length he summoned Hareton from his seat. Tak these in to t maister, lad, he said, and bide there. Is gang up to my own rahm. This hoiles neither mensful nor seemly for us we mun side out and seearch another. Come, Catherine, I said, we must side out too Ive done my ironing. Are you ready to go? It is not eight oclock! she answered, rising unwillingly. Hareton, Ill leave this book upon the chimneypiece, and Ill bring some more tomorrow. Ony books that yah leave, I shall tak into th hahse, said Joseph, and itll be mitch if yah find em agean; soa, yah may plase yerseln! Cathy threatened that his library should pay for hers; and, smiling as she passed Hareton, went singing upstairs lighter of heart, I venture to say, than ever she had been under that roof before; except, perhaps, during her earliest visits to Linton. The intimacy thus commenced grew rapidly; though it encountered temporary interruptions. Earnshaw was not to be civilized with a wish, and my young lady was no philosopher, and no paragon of patience; but both their minds tending to the same pointone loving and desiring to esteem, and the other loving and desiring to be esteemedthey contrived in the end to reach it. You see, Mr. Lockwood, it was easy enough to win Mrs. Heathcliffs heart. But now, Im glad you did not try. The crown of all my wishes will be the union of those two. I shall envy no one on their wedding day there wont be a happier woman than myself in England! XXXIII On the morrow of that Monday, Earnshaw being still unable to follow his ordinary employments, and therefore remaining about the house, I speedily found it would be impracticable to retain my charge beside me, as heretofore. She got downstairs before me, and out into the garden, where she had seen her cousin performing some easy work; and when I went to bid them come to breakfast, I saw she had persuaded him to clear a large space of ground from currant and gooseberry bushes, and they were busy planning together an importation of plants from the Grange. I was terrified at the devastation which had been accomplished in a brief halfhour; the blackcurrant trees were the apple of Josephs eye, and she had just fixed her choice of a flowerbed in the midst of them. There! That will be all shown to the master, I exclaimed, the minute it is discovered. And what excuse have you to offer for taking such liberties with the garden? We shall have a fine explosion on the head of it see if we dont! Mr. Hareton, I wonder you should have no more wit than to go and make that mess at her bidding! Id forgotten they were Josephs, answered Earnshaw, rather puzzled; but Ill tell him I did it. We always ate our meals with Mr. Heathcliff. I held the mistresss post in making tea and carving; so I was indispensable at table. Catherine usually sat by me, but today she stole nearer to Hareton; and I presently saw she would have no more discretion in her friendship than she had in her hostility. Now, mind you dont talk with and notice your cousin too much, were my whispered instructions as we entered the room. It will certainly annoy Mr. Heathcliff, and hell be mad at you both. Im not going to, she answered. The minute after, she had sidled to him, and was sticking primroses in his plate of porridge. He dared not speak to her there he dared hardly look; and yet she went on teasing, till he was twice on the point of being provoked to laugh. I frowned, and then she glanced towards the master whose mind was occupied on other subjects than his company, as his countenance evinced; and she grew serious for an instant, scrutinizing him with deep gravity. Afterwards she turned, and recommenced her nonsense; at last, Hareton uttered a smothered laugh. Mr. Heathcliff started; his eye rapidly surveyed our faces, Catherine met it with her accustomed look of nervousness and yet defiance, which he abhorred. It is well you are out of my reach, he exclaimed. What fiend possesses you to stare back at me, continually, with those infernal eyes? Down with them! and dont remind me of your existence again. I thought I had cured you of laughing. It was me, muttered Hareton. What do you say? demanded the master. Hareton looked at his plate, and did not repeat the confession. Mr. Heathcliff looked at him a bit, and then silently resumed his breakfast and his interrupted musing. We had nearly finished, and the two young people prudently shifted wider asunder, so I anticipated no further disturbance during that sitting when Joseph appeared at the door, revealing by his quivering lip and furious eyes that the outrage committed on his precious shrubs was detected. He must have seen Cathy and her cousin about the spot before he examined it, for while his jaws worked like those of a cow chewing its cud, and rendered his speech difficult to understand, he began I mun hev my wage, and I mun goa! I hed aimed to dee wheare Id sarved fur sixty year; and I thowt Id lug my books up into t garret, and all my bits o stuff, and they sud hev t kitchen to theirseln; for t sake o quietness. It wur hard to gie up my awn hearthstun, but I thowt I could do that! But nah, shoos taan my garden fro me, and by th heart, maister, I cannot stand it! Yah may bend to th yoak an ye willI noan used to t, and an old man doesnt sooin get used to new barthens. Id rayther arn my bite an my sup wi a hammer in th road! Now, now, idiot! interrupted Heathcliff, cut it short! Whats your grievance? Ill interfere in no quarrels between you and Nelly. She may thrust you into the coalhole for anything I care. Its noan Nelly! answered Joseph. I sudnt shift for Nellynasty ill nowt as shoo is. Thank God! shoo cannot stale t sowl o nobdy! Shoo wer niver soa handsome, but what a body mud look at her bout winking. Its yon flaysome, graceless quean, thats witched our lad, wi her bold een and her forrard waystillNay! it fair brusts my heart! Hes forgotten all Ive done for him, and made on him, and goan and riven up a whole row o t grandest curranttrees i t garden! and here he lamented outright; unmanned by a sense of his bitter injuries, and Earnshaws ingratitude and dangerous condition. Is the fool drunk? asked Mr. Heathcliff. Hareton, is it you hes finding fault with? Ive pulled up two or three bushes, replied the young man; but Im going to set em again. And why have you pulled them up? said the master. Catherine wisely put in her tongue. We wanted to plant some flowers there, she cried. Im the only person to blame, for I wished him to do it. And who the devil gave you leave to touch a stick about the place? demanded her fatherinlaw, much surprised. And who ordered you to obey her? he added, turning to Hareton. The latter was speechless; his cousin repliedYou shouldnt grudge a few yards of earth for me to ornament, when you have taken all my land! Your land, insolent slut! You never had any, said Heathcliff. And my money, she continued; returning his angry glare, and meantime biting a piece of crust, the remnant of her breakfast. Silence! he exclaimed. Get done, and begone! And Haretons land, and his money, pursued the reckless thing. Hareton and I are friends now; and I shall tell him all about you! The master seemed confounded a moment he grew pale, and rose up, eyeing her all the while, with an expression of mortal hate. If you strike me, Hareton will strike you, she said; so you may as well sit down. If Hareton does not turn you out of the room, Ill strike him to hell, thundered Heathcliff. Damnable witch! dare you pretend to rouse him against me? Off with her! Do you hear? Fling her into the kitchen! Ill kill her, Ellen Dean, if you let her come into my sight again! Hareton tried, under his breath, to persuade her to go. Drag her away! he cried, savagely. Are you staying to talk? And he approached to execute his own command. Hell not obey you, wicked man, any more, said Catherine; and hell soon detest you as much as I do. Wisht! wisht! muttered the young man, reproachfully; I will not hear you speak so to him. Have done. But you wont let him strike me? she cried. Come, then, he whispered earnestly. It was too late Heathcliff had caught hold of her. Now, you go! he said to Earnshaw. Accursed witch! this time she has provoked me when I could not bear it; and Ill make her repent it forever! He had his hand in her hair; Hareton attempted to release her locks, entreating him not to hurt her that once. Heathcliffs black eyes flashed; he seemed ready to tear Catherine in pieces, and I was just worked up to risk coming to the rescue, when of a sudden his fingers relaxed; he shifted his grasp from her head to her arm, and gazed intently in her face. Then he drew his hand over his eyes, stood a moment to collect himself apparently, and turning anew to Catherine, said, with assumed calmnessYou must learn to avoid putting me in a passion, or I shall really murder you some time! Go with Mrs. Dean, and keep with her; and confine your insolence to her ears. As to Hareton Earnshaw, if I see him listen to you, Ill send him seeking his bread where he can get it! Your love will make him an outcast and a beggar. Nelly, take her; and leave me, all of you! Leave me! I led my young lady out she was too glad of her escape to resist; the other followed, and Mr. Heathcliff had the room to himself till dinner. I had counselled Catherine to dine upstairs; but, as soon as he perceived her vacant seat, he sent me to call her. He spoke to none of us, ate very little, and went out directly afterwards, intimating that he should not return before evening. The two new friends established themselves in the house during his absence; where I heard Hareton sternly check his cousin, on her offering a revelation of her fatherinlaws conduct to his father. He said he wouldnt suffer a word to be uttered in his disparagement if he were the devil, it didnt signify; he would stand by him; and hed rather she would abuse himself, as she used to, than begin on Mr. Heathcliff. Catherine was waxing cross at this; but he found means to make her hold her tongue, by asking how she would like him to speak ill of her father? Then she comprehended that Earnshaw took the masters reputation home to himself; and was attached by ties stronger than reason could breakchains, forged by habit, which it would be cruel to attempt to loosen. She showed a good heart, thenceforth, in avoiding both complaints and expressions of antipathy concerning Heathcliff; and confessed to me her sorrow that she had endeavoured to raise a bad spirit between him and Hareton indeed, I dont believe she has ever breathed a syllable, in the latters hearing, against her oppressor since. When this slight disagreement was over, they were friends again, and as busy as possible in their several occupations of pupil and teacher. I came in to sit with them, after I had done my work; and I felt so soothed and comforted to watch them, that I did not notice how time got on. You know, they both appeared in a measure my children I had long been proud of one; and now, I was sure, the other would be a source of equal satisfaction. His honest, warm, and intelligent nature shook off rapidly the clouds of ignorance and degradation in which it had been bred; and Catherines sincere commendations acted as a spur to his industry. His brightening mind brightened his features, and added spirit and nobility to their aspect I could hardly fancy it the same individual I had beheld on the day I discovered my little lady at Wuthering Heights, after her expedition to the Crags. While I admired and they laboured, dusk drew on, and with it returned the master. He came upon us quite unexpectedly, entering by the front way, and had a full view of the whole three, ere we could raise our heads to glance at him. Well, I reflected, there was never a pleasanter, or more harmless sight; and it will be a burning shame to scold them. The red firelight glowed on their two bonny heads, and revealed their faces animated with the eager interest of children; for, though he was twentythree and she eighteen, each had so much of novelty to feel and learn, that neither experienced nor evinced the sentiments of sober disenchanted maturity. They lifted their eyes together, to encounter Mr. Heathcliff perhaps you have never remarked that their eyes are precisely similar, and they are those of Catherine Earnshaw. The present Catherine has no other likeness to her, except a breadth of forehead, and a certain arch of the nostril that makes her appear rather haughty, whether she will or not. With Hareton the resemblance is carried farther it is singular at all times, then it was particularly striking; because his senses were alert, and his mental faculties wakened to unwonted activity. I suppose this resemblance disarmed Mr. Heathcliff he walked to the hearth in evident agitation; but it quickly subsided as he looked at the young man or, I should say, altered its character; for it was there yet. He took the book from his hand, and glanced at the open page, then returned it without any observation; merely signing Catherine away her companion lingered very little behind her, and I was about to depart also, but he bid me sit still. It is a poor conclusion, is it not? he observed, having brooded awhile on the scene he had just witnessed an absurd termination to my violent exertions? I get levers and mattocks to demolish the two houses, and train myself to be capable of working like Hercules, and when everything is ready and in my power, I find the will to lift a slate off either roof has vanished! My old enemies have not beaten me; now would be the precise time to revenge myself on their representatives I could do it; and none could hinder me. But where is the use? I dont care for striking I cant take the trouble to raise my hand! That sounds as if I had been labouring the whole time only to exhibit a fine trait of magnanimity. It is far from being the case I have lost the faculty of enjoying their destruction, and I am too idle to destroy for nothing. Nelly, there is a strange change approaching; Im in its shadow at present. I take so little interest in my daily life that I hardly remember to eat and drink. Those two who have left the room are the only objects which retain a distinct material appearance to me; and that appearance causes me pain, amounting to agony. About her I wont speak; and I dont desire to think; but I earnestly wish she were invisible her presence invokes only maddening sensations. He moves me differently and yet if I could do it without seeming insane, Id never see him again! Youll perhaps think me rather inclined to become so, he added, making an effort to smile, if I try to describe the thousand forms of past associations and ideas he awakens or embodies. But youll not talk of what I tell you; and my mind is so eternally secluded in itself, it is tempting at last to turn it out to another. Five minutes ago Hareton seemed a personification of my youth, not a human being; I felt to him in such a variety of ways, that it would have been impossible to have accosted him rationally. In the first place, his startling likeness to Catherine connected him fearfully with her. That, however, which you may suppose the most potent to arrest my imagination, is actually the least for what is not connected with her to me? and what does not recall her? I cannot look down to this floor, but her features are shaped in the flags! In every cloud, in every treefilling the air at night, and caught by glimpses in every object by dayI am surrounded with her image! The most ordinary faces of men and womenmy own featuresmock me with a resemblance. The entire world is a dreadful collection of memoranda that she did exist, and that I have lost her! Well, Haretons aspect was the ghost of my immortal love; of my wild endeavours to hold my right; my degradation, my pride, my happiness, and my anguish But it is frenzy to repeat these thoughts to you only it will let you know why, with a reluctance to be always alone, his society is no benefit; rather an aggravation of the constant torment I suffer and it partly contributes to render me regardless how he and his cousin go on together.

I can give them no attention any more. But what do you mean by a change, Mr. Heathcliff? I said, alarmed at his manner though he was neither in danger of losing his senses, nor dying, according to my judgment he was quite strong and healthy; and, as to his reason, from childhood he had a delight in dwelling on dark things, and entertaining odd fancies. He might have had a monomania on the subject of his departed idol; but on every other point his wits were as sound as mine. I shall not know that till it comes, he said; Im only half conscious of it now. You have no feeling of illness, have you? I asked. No, Nelly, I have not, he answered. Then you are not afraid of death? I pursued. Afraid? No! he replied. I have neither a fear, nor a presentiment, nor a hope of death. Why should I? With my hard constitution and temperate mode of living, and unperilous occupations, I ought to, and probably shall, remain above ground till there is scarcely a black hair on my head. And yet I cannot continue in this condition! I have to remind myself to breathealmost to remind my heart to beat! And it is like bending back a stiff spring it is by compulsion that I do the slightest act not prompted by one thought; and by compulsion that I notice anything alive or dead, which is not associated with one universal idea. I have a single wish, and my whole being and faculties are yearning to attain it. They have yearned towards it so long, and so unwaveringly, that Im convinced it will be reachedand soonbecause it has devoured my existence I am swallowed up in the anticipation of its fulfilment. My confessions have not relieved me; but they may account for some otherwise unaccountable phases of humour which I show. O God! It is a long fight; I wish it were over! He began to pace the room, muttering terrible things to himself, till I was inclined to believe, as he said Joseph did, that conscience had turned his heart to an earthly hell. I wondered greatly how it would end. Though he seldom before had revealed this state of mind, even by looks, it was his habitual mood, I had no doubt he asserted it himself; but not a soul, from his general bearing, would have conjectured the fact. You did not when you saw him, Mr. Lockwood and at the period of which I speak, he was just the same as then; only fonder of continued solitude, and perhaps still more laconic in company. XXXIV For some days after that evening Mr. Heathcliff shunned meeting us at meals; yet he would not consent formally to exclude Hareton and Cathy. He had an aversion to yielding so completely to his feelings, choosing rather to absent himself; and eating once in twentyfour hours seemed sufficient sustenance for him. One night, after the family were in bed, I heard him go downstairs, and out at the front door. I did not hear him reenter, and in the morning I found he was still away. We were in April then the weather was sweet and warm, the grass as green as showers and sun could make it, and the two dwarf appletrees near the southern wall in full bloom. After breakfast, Catherine insisted on my bringing a chair and sitting with my work under the firtrees at the end of the house; and she beguiled Hareton, who had perfectly recovered from his accident, to dig and arrange her little garden, which was shifted to that corner by the influence of Josephs complaints. I was comfortably revelling in the spring fragrance around, and the beautiful soft blue overhead, when my young lady, who had run down near the gate to procure some primrose roots for a border, returned only half laden, and informed us that Mr. Heathcliff was coming in. And he spoke to me, she added, with a perplexed countenance. What did he say? asked Hareton. He told me to begone as fast as I could, she answered. But he looked so different from his usual look that I stopped a moment to stare at him. How? he inquired. Why, almost bright and cheerful. No, almost nothingvery much excited, and wild, and glad! she replied. Nightwalking amuses him, then, I remarked, affecting a careless manner in reality as surprised as she was, and anxious to ascertain the truth of her statement; for to see the master looking glad would not be an everyday spectacle. I framed an excuse to go in. Heathcliff stood at the open door; he was pale, and he trembled yet, certainly, he had a strange joyful glitter in his eyes, that altered the aspect of his whole face. Will you have some breakfast? I said. You must be hungry, rambling about all night! I wanted to discover where he had been, but I did not like to ask directly. No, Im not hungry, he answered, averting his head, and speaking rather contemptuously, as if he guessed I was trying to divine the occasion of his good humour. I felt perplexed I didnt know whether it were not a proper opportunity to offer a bit of admonition. I dont think it right to wander out of doors, I observed, instead of being in bed it is not wise, at any rate this moist season. I daresay youll catch a bad cold or a fever you have something the matter with you now! Nothing but what I can bear, he replied; and with the greatest pleasure, provided youll leave me alone get in, and dont annoy me. I obeyed and, in passing, I noticed he breathed as fast as a cat. Yes! I reflected to myself, we shall have a fit of illness. I cannot conceive what he has been doing. That noon he sat down to dinner with us, and received a heapedup plate from my hands, as if he intended to make amends for previous fasting. Ive neither cold nor fever, Nelly, he remarked, in allusion to my mornings speech; and Im ready to do justice to the food you give me. He took his knife and fork, and was going to commence eating, when the inclination appeared to become suddenly extinct. He laid them on the table, looked eagerly towards the window, then rose and went out. We saw him walking to and fro in the garden while we concluded our meal, and Earnshaw said hed go and ask why he would not dine he thought we had grieved him some way. Well, is he coming? cried Catherine, when her cousin returned. Nay, he answered; but hes not angry he seemed rarely pleased indeed; only I made him impatient by speaking to him twice; and then he bid me be off to you he wondered how I could want the company of anybody else. I set his plate to keep warm on the fender; and after an hour or two he reentered, when the room was clear, in no degree calmer the same unnaturalit was unnaturalappearance of joy under his black brows; the same bloodless hue, and his teeth visible, now and then, in a kind of smile; his frame shivering, not as one shivers with chill or weakness, but as a tightstretched cord vibratesa strong thrilling, rather than trembling. I will ask what is the matter, I thought; or who should? And I exclaimedHave you heard any good news, Mr. Heathcliff? You look uncommonly animated. Where should good news come from to me? he said. Im animated with hunger; and, seemingly, I must not eat. Your dinner is here, I returned; why wont you get it? I dont want it now, he muttered, hastily Ill wait till supper. And, Nelly, once for all, let me beg you to warn Hareton and the other away from me. I wish to be troubled by nobody I wish to have this place to myself. Is there some new reason for this banishment? I inquired. Tell me why you are so queer, Mr. Heathcliff? Where were you last night? Im not putting the question through idle curiosity, but You are putting the question through very idle curiosity, he interrupted, with a laugh. Yet Ill answer it. Last night I was on the threshold of hell. Today, I am within sight of my heaven. I have my eyes on it hardly three feet to sever me! And now youd better go! Youll neither see nor hear anything to frighten you, if you refrain from prying. Having swept the hearth and wiped the table, I departed; more perplexed than ever. He did not quit the house again that afternoon, and no one intruded on his solitude; till, at eight oclock, I deemed it proper, though unsummoned, to carry a candle and his supper to him. He was leaning against the ledge of an open lattice, but not looking out his face was turned to the interior gloom. The fire had smouldered to ashes; the room was filled with the damp, mild air of the cloudy evening; and so still, that not only the murmur of the beck down Gimmerton was distinguishable, but its ripples and its gurgling over the pebbles, or through the large stones which it could not cover. I uttered an ejaculation of discontent at seeing the dismal grate, and commenced shutting the casements, one after another, till I came to his. Must I close this? I asked, in order to rouse him; for he would not stir. The light flashed on his features as I spoke. Oh, Mr. Lockwood, I cannot express what a terrible start I got by the momentary view! Those deep black eyes! That smile, and ghastly paleness! It appeared to me, not Mr. Heathcliff, but a goblin; and, in my terror, I let the candle bend towards the wall, and it left me in darkness. Yes, close it, he replied, in his familiar voice. There, that is pure awkwardness! Why did you hold the candle horizontally? Be quick, and bring another. I hurried out in a foolish state of dread, and said to JosephThe master wishes you to take him a light and rekindle the fire. For I dared not go in myself again just then. Joseph rattled some fire into the shovel, and went but he brought it back immediately, with the suppertray in his other hand, explaining that Mr. Heathcliff was going to bed, and he wanted nothing to eat till morning. We heard him mount the stairs directly; he did not proceed to his ordinary chamber, but turned into that with the panelled bed its window, as I mentioned before, is wide enough for anybody to get through; and it struck me that he plotted another midnight excursion, of which he had rather we had no suspicion. Is he a ghoul or a vampire? I mused. I had read of such hideous incarnate demons. And then I set myself to reflect how I had tended him in infancy, and watched him grow to youth, and followed him almost through his whole course; and what absurd nonsense it was to yield to that sense of horror. But where did he come from, the little dark thing, harboured by a good man to his bane? muttered Superstition, as I dozed into unconsciousness. And I began, half dreaming, to weary myself with imagining some fit parentage for him; and, repeating my waking meditations, I tracked his existence over again, with grim variations; at last, picturing his death and funeral of which, all I can remember is, being exceedingly vexed at having the task of dictating an inscription for his monument, and consulting the sexton about it; and, as he had no surname, and we could not tell his age, we were obliged to content ourselves with the single word, Heathcliff. That came true we were. If you enter the kirkyard, youll read, on his headstone, only that, and the date of his death. Dawn restored me to common sense. I rose, and went into the garden, as soon as I could see, to ascertain if there were any footmarks under his window. There were none. He has stayed at home, I thought, and hell be all right today. I prepared breakfast for the household, as was my usual custom, but told Hareton and Catherine to get theirs ere the master came down, for he lay late. They preferred taking it out of doors, under the trees, and I set a little table to accommodate them. On my reentrance, I found Mr. Heathcliff below. He and Joseph were conversing about some farming business; he gave clear, minute directions concerning the matter discussed, but he spoke rapidly, and turned his head continually aside, and had the same excited expression, even more exaggerated. When Joseph quitted the room he took his seat in the place he generally chose, and I put a basin of coffee before him. He drew it nearer, and then rested his arms on the table, and looked at the opposite wall, as I supposed, surveying one particular portion, up and down, with glittering, restless eyes, and with such eager interest that he stopped breathing during half a minute together. Come now, I exclaimed, pushing some bread against his hand, eat and drink that, while it is hot it has been waiting near an hour. He didnt notice me, and yet he smiled. Id rather have seen him gnash his teeth than smile so. Mr. Heathcliff! master! I cried, dont, for Gods sake, stare as if you saw an unearthly vision. Dont, for Gods sake, shout so loud, he replied. Turn round, and tell me, are we by ourselves? Of course, was my answer; of course we are. Still, I involuntarily obeyed him, as if I was not quite sure. With a sweep of his hand he cleared a vacant space in front among the breakfast things, and leant forward to gaze more at his ease. Now, I perceived he was not looking at the wall; for when I regarded him alone, it seemed exactly that he gazed at something within two yards distance. And whatever it was, it communicated, apparently, both pleasure and pain in exquisite extremes at least the anguished, yet raptured, expression of his countenance suggested that idea. The fancied object was not fixed, either his eyes pursued it with unwearied diligence, and, even in speaking to me, were never weaned away. I vainly reminded him of his protracted abstinence from food if he stirred to touch anything in compliance with my entreaties, if he stretched his hand out to get a piece of bread, his fingers clenched before they reached it, and remained on the table, forgetful of their aim. I sat, a model of patience, trying to attract his absorbed attention from its engrossing speculation; till he grew irritable, and got up, asking why I would not allow him to have his own time in taking his meals? and saying that on the next occasion I neednt wait I might set the things down and go. Having uttered these words he left the house, slowly sauntered down the garden path, and disappeared through the gate. The hours crept anxiously by another evening came. I did not retire to rest till late, and when I did, I could not sleep. He returned after midnight, and, instead of going to bed, shut himself into the room beneath. I listened, and tossed about, and, finally, dressed and descended. It was too irksome to lie there, harassing my brain with a hundred idle misgivings. I distinguished Mr. Heathcliffs step, restlessly measuring the floor, and he frequently broke the silence by a deep inspiration, resembling a groan. He muttered detached words also; the only one I could catch was the name of Catherine, coupled with some wild term of endearment or suffering; and spoken as one would speak to a person present; low and earnest, and wrung from the depth of his soul. I had not courage to walk straight into the apartment; but I desired to divert him from his reverie, and therefore fell foul of the kitchen fire, stirred it, and began to scrape the cinders. It drew him forth sooner than I expected. He opened the door immediately, and saidNelly, come hereis it morning? Come in with your light. It is striking four, I answered. You want a candle to take upstairs you might have lit one at this fire. No, I dont wish to go upstairs, he said. Come in, and kindle me a fire, and do anything there is to do about the room. I must blow the coals red first, before I can carry any, I replied, getting a chair and the bellows. He roamed to and fro, meantime, in a state approaching distraction; his heavy sighs succeeding each other so thick as to leave no space for common breathing between. When day breaks Ill send for Green, he said; I wish to make some legal inquiries of him while I can bestow a thought on those matters, and while I can act calmly. I have not written my will yet; and how to leave my property I cannot determine. I wish I could annihilate it from the face of the earth. I would not talk so, Mr. Heathcliff, I interposed. Let your will be a while youll be spared to repent of your many injustices yet! I never expected that your nerves would be disordered they are, at present, marvellously so, however; and almost entirely through your own fault. The way youve passed these three last days might knock up a Titan. Do take some food, and some repose. You need only look at yourself in a glass to see how you require both. Your cheeks are hollow, and your eyes bloodshot, like a person starving with hunger and going blind with loss of sleep. It is not my fault that I cannot eat or rest, he replied. I assure you it is through no settled designs. Ill do both, as soon as I possibly can. But you might as well bid a man struggling in the water rest within arms length of the shore! I must reach it first, and then Ill rest. Well, never mind Mr. Green as to repenting of my injustices, Ive done no injustice, and I repent of nothing. Im too happy; and yet Im not happy enough. My souls bliss kills my body, but does not satisfy itself. Happy, master? I cried. Strange happiness! If you would hear me without being angry, I might offer some advice that would make you happier. What is that? he asked. Give it. You are aware, Mr. Heathcliff, I said, that from the time you were thirteen years old you have lived a selfish, unchristian life; and probably hardly had a Bible in your hands during all that period. You must have forgotten the contents of the book, and you may not have space to search it now. Could it be hurtful to send for someonesome minister of any denomination, it does not matter whichto explain it, and show you how very far you have erred from its precepts; and how unfit you will be for its heaven, unless a change takes place before you die? Im rather obliged than angry, Nelly, he said, for you remind me of the manner in which I desire to be buried. It is to be carried to the churchyard in the evening. You and Hareton may, if you please, accompany me and mind, particularly, to notice that the sexton obeys my directions concerning the two coffins! No minister need come; nor need anything be said over me.I tell you I have nearly attained my heaven; and that of others is altogether unvalued and uncoveted by me. And supposing you persevered in your obstinate fast, and died by that means, and they refused to bury you in the precincts of the kirk? I said, shocked at his godless indifference. How would you like it? They wont do that, he replied if they did, you must have me removed secretly; and if you neglect it you shall prove, practically, that the dead are not annihilated! As soon as he heard the other members of the family stirring he retired to his den, and I breathed freer. But in the afternoon, while Joseph and Hareton were at their work, he came into the kitchen again, and, with a wild look, bid me come and sit in the house he wanted somebody with him. I declined; telling him plainly that his strange talk and manner frightened me, and I had neither the nerve nor the will to be his companion alone. I believe you think me a fiend, he said, with his dismal laugh something too horrible to live under a decent roof. Then turning to Catherine, who was there, and who drew behind me at his approach, he added, half sneeringlyWill you come, chuck? Ill not hurt you. No! to you Ive made myself worse than the devil. Well, there is one who wont shrink from my company! By God! shes relentless. Oh, damn it! Its unutterably too much for flesh and blood to beareven mine. He solicited the society of no one more. At dusk he went into his chamber. Through the whole night, and far into the morning, we heard him groaning and murmuring to himself. Hareton was anxious to enter; but I bid him fetch Mr. Kenneth, and he should go in and see him. When he came, and I requested admittance and tried to open the door, I found it locked; and Heathcliff bid us be damned. He was better, and would be left alone; so the doctor went away. The following evening was very wet indeed, it poured down till daydawn; and, as I took my morning walk round the house, I observed the masters window swinging open, and the rain driving straight in. He cannot be in bed, I thought those showers would drench him through. He must either be up or out. But Ill make no more ado, Ill go boldly and look. Having succeeded in obtaining entrance with another key, I ran to unclose the panels, for the chamber was vacant; quickly pushing them aside, I peeped in. Mr. Heathcliff was therelaid on his back. His eyes met mine so keen and fierce, I started; and then he seemed to smile. I could not think him dead but his face and throat were washed with rain; the bedclothes dripped, and he was perfectly still. The lattice, flapping to and fro, had grazed one hand that rested on the sill; no blood trickled from the broken skin, and when I put my fingers to it, I could doubt no more he was dead and stark! I hasped the window; I combed his black long hair from his forehead; I tried to close his eyes to extinguish, if possible, that frightful, lifelike gaze of exultation before anyone else beheld it. They would not shut they seemed to sneer at my attempts; and his parted lips and sharp white teeth sneered too! Taken with another fit of cowardice, I cried out for Joseph. Joseph shuffled up and made a noise, but resolutely refused to meddle with him. Th divils harried off his soul, he cried, and he may hev his carcass into t bargin, for aught I care! Ech! what a wicked un he looks, girning at death! and the old sinner grinned in mockery. I thought he intended to cut a caper round the bed; but suddenly composing himself, he fell on his knees, and raised his hands, and returned thanks that the lawful master and the ancient stock were restored to their rights. I felt stunned by the awful event; and my memory unavoidably recurred to former times with a sort of oppressive sadness. But poor Hareton, the most wronged, was the only one who really suffered much. He sat by the corpse all night, weeping in bitter earnest. He pressed its hand, and kissed the sarcastic, savage face that everyone else shrank from contemplating; and bemoaned him with that strong grief which springs naturally from a generous heart, though it be tough as tempered steel. Mr. Kenneth was perplexed to pronounce of what disorder the master died. I concealed the fact of his having swallowed nothing for four days, fearing it might lead to trouble, and then, I am persuaded, he did not abstain on purpose it was the consequence of his strange illness, not the cause. We buried him, to the scandal of the whole neighbourhood, as he wished. Earnshaw and I, the sexton, and six men to carry the coffin, comprehended the whole attendance. The six men departed when they had let it down into the grave we stayed to see it covered. Hareton, with a streaming face, dug green sods, and laid them over the brown mould himself at present it is as smooth and verdant as its companion moundsand I hope its tenant sleeps as soundly. But the country folks, if you ask them, would swear on the Bible that he walks there are those who speak to having met him near the church, and on the moor, and even within this house. Idle tales, youll say, and so say I. Yet that old man by the kitchen fire affirms he has seen two on em looking out of his chamber window on every rainy night since his deathand an odd thing happened to me about a month ago. I was going to the Grange one eveninga dark evening, threatening thunderand, just at the turn of the Heights, I encountered a little boy with a sheep and two lambs before him; he was crying terribly; and I supposed the lambs were skittish, and would not be guided. What is the matter, my little man? I asked. Theres Heathcliff and a woman yonder, under t nab, he blubbered, un I darnut pass em. I saw nothing; but neither the sheep nor he would go on so I bid him take the road lower down. He probably raised the phantoms from thinking, as he traversed the moors alone, on the nonsense he had heard his parents and companions repeat. Yet, still, I dont like being out in the dark now; and I dont like being left by myself in this grim house I cannot help it; I shall be glad when they leave it, and shift to the Grange. They are going to the Grange, then? I said. Yes, answered Mrs. Dean, as soon as they are married, and that will be on New Years Day. And who will live here then? Why, Joseph will take care of the house, and, perhaps, a lad to keep him company. They will live in the kitchen, and the rest will be shut up. For the use of such ghosts as choose to inhabit it? I observed. No, Mr. Lockwood, said Nelly, shaking her head. I believe the dead are at peace but it is not right to speak of them with levity. At that moment the garden gate swung to; the ramblers were returning. They are afraid of nothing, I grumbled, watching their approach through the window. Together, they would brave Satan and all his legions. As they stepped on to the doorstones, and halted to take a last look at the moonor, more correctly, at each other by her lightI felt irresistibly impelled to escape them again; and, pressing a remembrance into the hand of Mrs. Dean, and disregarding her expostulations at my rudeness, I vanished through the kitchen as they opened the housedoor; and so should have confirmed Joseph in his opinion of his fellowservants gay indiscretions, had he not fortunately recognised me for a respectable character by the sweet ring of a sovereign at his feet. My walk home was lengthened by a diversion in the direction of the kirk. When beneath its walls, I perceived decay had made progress, even in seven months many a window showed black gaps deprived of glass; and slates jutted off here and there, beyond the right line of the roof, to be gradually worked off in coming autumn storms. I sought, and soon discovered, the three headstones on the slope next the moor the middle one grey, and half buried in the heath; Edgar Lintons only harmonized by the turf and moss creeping up its foot; Heathcliffs still bare. I lingered round them, under that benign sky watched the moths fluttering among the heath and harebells, listened to the soft wind breathing through the grass, and wondered how anyone could ever imagine unquiet slumbers for the sleepers in that quiet earth. Colophon Wuthering Heights was published in 1847 by Emily Bront. This ebook was produced for Standard Ebooks by Sami Siddiqui and Robin Whittleton, and is based on a transcription produced in 1996 by David Price for Project Gutenberg and on digital scans from the Internet Archive. The cover page is adapted from Edith Villiers, a painting completed in 1862 by George Frederic Watts. The cover and title pages feature the League Spartan and Sorts Mill Goudy typefaces created in 2014 and 2009 by The League of Moveable Type. This edition was released on November 7, 2024, 856 p.m. and is based on revision 521cf93. The first edition of this ebook was released on July 18, 2018, 1049 p.m. You can check for updates to this ebook, view its revision history, or download it for different ereading systems at standardebooks.orgebooksemilybrontewutheringheights. The volunteerdriven Standard Ebooks project relies on readers like you to submit typos, corrections, and other improvements. Anyone can contribute at standardebooks.org. Imprint This ebook is the product of many hours of hard work by volunteers for Standard Ebooks, and builds on the hard work of other literature lovers made possible by the public domain. This particular ebook is based on a transcription from Project Gutenberg and on digital scans from the Internet Archive. The source text and artwork in this ebook are believed to be in the United States public domain; that is, they are believed to be free of copyright restrictions in the United States. They may still be copyrighted in other countries, so users located outside of the United States must check their local laws before using this ebook. The creators of, and contributors to, this ebook dedicate their contributions to the worldwide public domain via the terms in the CC0 1.0 Universal Public Domain Dedication. For full license information, see the Uncopyright at the end of this ebook. Standard Ebooks is a volunteerdriven project that produces ebook editions of public domain literature using modern typography, technology, and editorial standards, and distributes them free of cost. You can download this and other ebooks carefully produced for true book lovers at standardebooks.org. Wuthering Heights By Emily Bront. Uncopyright May you do good and not evil. May you find forgiveness for yourself and forgive others. May you share freely, never taking more than you give. Copyright pages exist to tell you that you cant do something. Unlike them, this Uncopyright page exists to tell you that the writing and artwork in this ebook are believed to be in the United States public domain; that is, they are believed to be free of copyright restrictions in the United States. The United States public domain represents our collective cultural heritage, and items in it are free for anyone in the United States to do almost anything at all with, without having to get permission. Copyright laws are different all over the world, and the source text or artwork in this ebook may still be copyrighted in other countries. If youre not located in the United States, you must check your local laws before using this ebook. Standard Ebooks makes no representations regarding the copyright status of the source text or artwork in this ebook in any country other than the United States. Nonauthorship activities performed on items that are in the public domainsocalled sweat of the brow workdont create a new copyright. That means that nobody can claim a new copyright on an item that is in the public domain for, among other things, work like digitization, markup, or typography. Regardless, the contributors to this ebook release their contributions under the terms in the CC0 1.0 Universal Public Domain Dedication, thus dedicating to the worldwide public domain all of the work theyve done on this ebook, including but not limited to metadata, the titlepage, imprint, colophon, this Uncopyright, and any changes or enhancements to, or markup on, the original text and artwork. This dedication doesnt change the copyright status of the source text or artwork. We make this dedication in the interest of enriching our global cultural heritage, to promote free and libre culture around the world, and to give back to the unrestricted culture that has given all of us so much. Table of Contents Titlepage Imprint I II III IV V VI VII VIII IX X XI XII XIII XIV XV XVI XVII XVIII XIX XX XXI XXII XXIII XXIV XXV XXVI XXVII XXVIII XXIX XXX XXXI XXXII XXXIII XXXIV Colophon Uncopyright Landmarks Wuthering Heights

I At Whose Hand? A hansom pulled up in front of 799, Park Lane, and a slim figure of a woman, dressed in deep mourning, ran up the broad flight of marble steps leading to the house. Her features were closely concealed by a thick veil, so that the footman who answered the ring could make nothing of the visitor. Her voice was absolutely steady as she asked to see Lord Ravenspur at once. That is impossible, madam, the footman protested; his lordship is not yet down, and besides There is no besides about it, the visitor said, imperiously; it is a matter of life and death. Once more the servant hesitated. There was something about this woman that commanded his respect. The hour was still early for Park Lane, seeing that it was barely nine oclock, and the notable thoroughfare was practically deserted. From the distance came the hoarse cries of a number of newsboys who were racing across the Park. One of them came stumbling down Park Lane, filling the fresh spring atmosphere with his shouts. Evidently something out of the common had happened to bring these birds of ill omen westward at so early an hour. With the curiosity of his class the footman turned to listen. Terrible murder in Fitzjohn Square! Death of Mr. Louis Delahay, the famous artist! Artist found dead in his studio! Full details! The welltrained servant forgot his manners for the moment. Good Lord! he exclaimed, it cant be true. Why, Mr. Delahay was a great friend of my master up to the last day or two I am Mrs. Delahay, the veiled woman said with quiet intentness. Please dont stand staring at me like that, but take me to your master at once. It is imperative that I should see Lord Ravenspur without a moments delay. The footman collected his scattered wits, and stammered out some kind of apology. There were other newsboys racing down the Lane now. It seemed as if London was ringing with the name of Louis Delahay. Then the great double doors of the big house closed sullenly and shut out the horrid sound. At any other time the veiled woman might have been free to admire the luxury and extravagant good taste of her surroundings. There were many people who regarded Lord Ravenspur as the most fortunate and talented man in London. Not only had he been born to the possession of a fine old title, but he had almost unlimited wealth as well. As if this were not sufficient, Nature had endowed him with a handsome presence and an intellect far beyond the common. Apparently there was nothing that Ravenspur could not do. He was a fine sportsman, and a large number of his forty odd years had been spent big game shooting abroad. What time he passed in England was devoted almost exclusively to artistic pursuits. As a portrait painter Ravenspur stood on a level with the great masters of his time. More than one striking example of sculpture had come from his chisel. He had as much honour in the Salons of Vienna and Paris as he had within the walls of Burlington House. In fine, Ravenspur was a great personage, a popular figure in society, and well known everywhere. His lavish hospitality was always in the best of good taste, and the entre to 799, Park Lane was accounted a rare privilege by all his friends. But the woman in black was thinking nothing of this, as she followed the footman along marble corridors to a sunny morningroom at the back of the house. The footman indicated a chair, but the visitor waved him aside with a gesture of impatience. Go and fetch your master at once, she said. For a few moments she paced up and down, weaving her way in and out amongst the rare objects of art like a wild animal that is freshly caged. She threw back her long, black veil presently as if the atmosphere of the place stifled her. Her face might have been that of a marble statue, so intensely white and rigid it was. It was only the rapid dilation of the dark eyes which showed that the stranger had life and feeling at all. She turned abruptly as Lord Ravenspur came into the room. His handsome, smiling face and prematurely irongrey hair afforded a strong contrast to the features of his visitor. He came forward with extended hands. This is an unexpected pleasure, Maria, he said. But what is wrong? Louis is all right, I suppose? Louis is dead! the woman said in the same cold, strained voice. He has been foully murdered. I could not say more if I spoke for an hour. Louis is dead! The speaker repeated the last three words over and over again as if she were trying to realise the dread significance of her own message. Ravenspur stood there with his hand to his head, shocked and grieved almost beyond the power of speech. This is terrible, he murmured at length. My dear Maria, I cannot find words to express my sympathy. Could you tell me how it happened? But perhaps I am asking too much. No, Mrs. Delahay replied, still speaking with the utmost calmness; I am ready to answer any question you like to put to me. I am absolutely dazed and stunned. As yet I can realise nothing. But, perhaps, before the reaction comes I had better tell you everything. To think that I should lose him in this way whilst I am still a bride! But I dare not pity myself as yet, there is far too much stern work to be done. There will be plenty of time later on for the luxury of grief. Wont you sit down? Ravenspur murmured. My dear friend, I couldnt. I must be walking about. I feel as if I could walk about for years. But I will try and tell you how it happened. He came back to London yesterday afternoon, as you know, and put up at the Grand Hotel. You see, I had never been in London before, and so I know nothing at all about it. If we had only gone straight to our own house in Fitzjohn Square this dreadful thingbut why do I think of that? You know the house was not quite ready for us, and that was the reason why we went to the Grand. After visiting a theatre last night Louis announced his intention of going as far as our house. I understood him to say that he required something from his studio. There were no caretakers on the premises, but Louis had a latchkey, so that was all right. I went to bed about twelve oclock, thinking no evil, and not in the least alarmed because Louis had not come back. As you know, he had always been a terribly late man, and I thought perhaps he had met one of his old companions, or perhaps he had turned into the Garrick Club. Still, when I woke up this morning about six, and found that he had not returned, I became genuinely alarmed. I took a cab as far as Fitzjohn Square, and went into the house. One moment, Ravenspur interrupted. I dont quite understand how you managed to get into the premises. That was an easy matter, though the front door was closed. The latchkey was still in the lock. I only had to turn it to obtain admission. I went straight to the studio, and there on the floorbut I really cannot say any more. Strung up as I am I could not describe it to you. I suppose I cried out, and when I came back to a proper comprehension of things the place was full of police. For the last two hours I have been with them answering all sorts of questions. Then something told me to come to you, and here I am. And whatever you do, please dont leave me alone. I could not bear to be alone. I wish I could tell you how sorry I am, Lord Ravenspur murmured. This is a most extraordinary business altogether. You say that Louis left you not later than twelve oclock to go as far as Fitzjohn Square, and that, when he left the Grand Hotel, he had no other object in his mind. You are quite sure of this? I am absolutely certain, Mrs. Delahay replied. Well, that is a strange thing, Ravenspur went on. It so happens that I had an accident to my own studio a day or two ago, and until yesterday the workmen were in repairing the glass roof. I was engaged upon a small work which I was anxious to finish, and it occurred to me that I might just as well make use of your husbands studio, seeing that he was away from home and did not require it. I obtained a duplicate key from the house agent, and all yesterday I was working on my picture there. In fact it is in Louis studio at the present moment. After some friends who were dining with me last night left, I walked as far as Fitzjohn Square, and till nearly a quarter past one this morning I was at work there. I might have gone on all night, only the electric light failed suddenly, and I was left in darkness. Then I came home and went to bed. And I am prepared to swear that it had turned halfpast one before I left your house, and there was no sign of Louis up to that time. It is inexplicable, the woman said wearily. When I try to think my brain seems to turn to water, and everything goes misty before my eyes. I feel like a woman who has had no sleep for years. I feel as if I must get something to relieve this terrible pressure on my brain. Is there nothing that you can suggest? I think so, Ravenspur said quietly. I am going to take you back to your hotel, and call for a doctor on the way. You cannot go on like this. No human mind could stand it. II No. 1 Fitzjohn Square A few moments later and Ravenspurs brougham was being rapidly driven in the direction of the Grand Hotel. No words were spoken on the journey, but Ravenspur did not fail to notice how his companion shook and quivered as the shouts of the newsboys reached her ears. It seemed as if all London had given itself over to this last sensational tragedy. It was as if thousands of strange rough hands were pressing upon the still bleeding wound. To an intensely sympathetic nature like Ravenspurs, the relief of the destination was great. At his suggestion of food his companion shuddered. The mere idea of it turned her physically sick. Utterly worn out and exhausted she dropped into a chair. There was a light now of something like madness in her eyes. The doctor bustled in presently with something in his hand. Mrs. Delahay drank the medicine in a mechanical way, scarcely knowing what she was doing. Then, gradually, her rigid limbs relaxed, and the staring dark eyes were closed. Shell do now for some time, the doctor whispered. I have telephoned for a nurse who may be here now at any moment. Dont let me detain you. I have got my motor outside, and in any case I must remain till the nurse arrives. That is very good of you, Ravenspur murmured. As far as I am concerned I should like to make some inquiries. I have known Delahay now for the last five years; indeed, it was I who persuaded him to take up his quarters in London. It seems a terrible thing that so promising a career should be cut short like this. That man would have come to the top of his profession, and, so far as I know, he hadnt a single enemy in the world. Perhaps, by this time, the Scotland Yard people may have found a clue. Ravenspur drove straight away to Fitzjohn Square, and made his way through the crowd of morbid folks who had gathered outside. As he expected, he found the house in the hands of the police. Inspector Dallas came forward and greeted him respectfully. This is a terrible affair, my lord, he said. Ghastly, Ravenspur exclaimed. It was a great shock when Mrs. Delahay came round to me this morning. And the strange part of the whole business is that I was in this very house myself, quite alone, till halfpast one. Perhaps I had better explain the circumstances to you, as the knowledge might prove useful. And now you know all about it. Mind you, I saw nothing; I did not hear a sound. Indeed, I am quite convinced that there was no one on the premises when I left. But you had no means of making sure, the inspector protested. The miscreants might have been here all the time. They might have been hiding in a room upstairs waiting for you to go. They might have attacked me as far as that goes, Ravenspur replied. My word, the mere suggestion of it turns one cold. At any rate, they were not after your lordship, the inspector said, thoughtfully. Of course, I am assuming for the sake of argument that the murderer, or murderers, were actually here when you arrived last night. If so, the whole thing was carefully premeditated. These people had no quarrel with you, and, therefore, they did not molest you. All the same, they wanted to get rid of you, or they would not have cut off the light. But did they cut off the light? Ravenspur asked. That we can prove in a moment. I am going on the theory that these people wanted to get you out of the way, so they shortcircuited the current and left you in darkness. That was a very useful expedient, and had the desired effect. I am very glad you told me this because it may be the means of putting us on the track of important evidence. But let us go down to the basement, and examine the electric meter. Ravenspur followed his companion down the dark steps leading to the basement, and Inspector Dallas struck a light. Then, with a grim smile, he pointed to a cable which led from the meter to the different rooms on the upper floors. The cable had been clean cut with some sharp instrument, a fracture which must have been recently made, for the main wire to the cable gleamed like gold. So far, so good, Dallas said. We have proved by yonder demonstration that these people were here last night whilst you were actually at work in the studio. That puzzles me more than ever, Ravenspur replied. Why did they not get rid of me an hour before, which they could have done equally as well, by the same simple expedient? Simply because they could afford to wait till halfpast one. You may depend upon it that Mr. Delahays movements were absolutely known to them. They were perfectly well aware of the fact that he was not expected here till some time past halfpast one. It is not a nice insinuation to make, but when Mr. Delahay left his hotel at midnight, he had not the slightest intention of coming straight here. Doubtless he had important business which was likely to last him an hour and a half, and for some reason or other he did not want his wife to know what it was. Speaking as one man of the world to another, Mr. Delahays excuse for getting out strikes me as being rather a shallow one. Surely a married man, more or less on his honeymoon, does not want to visit an empty house after midnight. Surely he could have waited till daylight. Then you think he went out to keep an appointment? I feel quite convinced of it, your lordship. And, moreover, the appointment was a secret one of which Mrs. Delahay was to know nothing. I will go still further, and say that Mr. Delahay came here after you had gone this morning to keep an appointment. It is just possible that he might have been in the house during your presence here. It is just possible that he cut the cable himself. Ah, but that wont quite do, Ravenspur protested. When I came out of the house this morning I saw that the front door was carefully fastened, and I am prepared to swear that the latchkey which Mrs. Delahay found this morning was not in the lock then. No, no; I am quite sure that poor Delahay must have come here after I left. I am not prepared to contest your theory that my unfortunate friend came here to keep an appointment. Indeed, the presence of the latchkey in the door proves that he was in a hurry, and perhaps a little upset, or he would not have committed the mistake of leaving the key behind him. But after all, said and done, this is merely conjecture on our part. Have you found anything yourself that is likely to give you a clue? Inspector Dallas hesitated just for a moment. Perhaps I ought not to mention it, he said, but I am sure I can rely upon your lordships discretion. When I was called this morning I found Mr. Delahay lying on the floor of the studio quite dead. So far as we could see there were no marks of violence on the body except a small puncture over the heart, which appears to have been made with some very fine instrument. But, of course, we cant speak definitely on that point till we have had the inquest. As far as we can judge, something like a struggle must have taken place, because the loose carpets on the floor were in great disorder, and one or two articles of furniture had been overturned. You may say that this proves nothing, except that violence was used. But in the hand of the dead man we found something that might be useful to us. Perhaps you would like to see it. Lord Ravenspur intimated that he should. From a pocketbook Dallas produced a photograph, carte de visite size, which had been torn into half a dozen pieces. The photograph was considerably faded, and in the tearing the actual face itself had been ripped out of all recognition. Still, judging from the small fragments, it was possible to make out that the picture had been that of a woman. One scrap of card bore the words and Co., Melbourne. The rest of the lettering had apparently vanished. This must have been taken a long time ago, Ravenspur said. It is so terribly faded. Not necessarily, my lord, Dallas said. We know very little about that photograph as yet except that it was taken in Australia. Of course, it is fair to assume that the picture is an old one judging from the colouring, but your lordship must not forget that foreign photographs are always much fainter than those taken in this country, because the light is so much stronger and more brilliant. At any rate, the fact remains that we found those fragments tightly clenched in Mr. Delahays left hand, all of which points to some intrigue, with a woman at the bottom of it. Of course, I know nothing whatever about Mr. Delahays moral character Then Ill tell you, Ravenspur said sharply. My late friend was the soul of honour. He was a very quick, passionate man, and he inherited his temper from his Italian mother. But the man was incapable of anything mean or dishonourable. He was genuinely in love with his wife, and cared nothing for any other woman. How that photograph came into his possession I dont know. Probably we never shall know. But you can at once dismiss from your mind the suspicion that Delahay was mixed up in that vulgar kind of business. Now, is there anything more you can tell me? Well, no, Dallas said, after a short pause. There is nothing that strikes me, no suggestions that seem to need a doctors opinion. We shall find that the cause of death is the small puncture over the heart that I spoke of. To hazard an opinion, it might be caused by one of those glass stilettosthe Corsican type of weapon where the blade is snapped off in the wound. It leaves the smallest mark, and no blood followsa difficult thing to trace without great care. Of course, the postmortem III The Mark of the Beast A sudden quick cry broke from Ravenspurs lips. He fairly staggered back, his white face was given over to a look of peculiar horror. Then, as he became aware of the curious glances of his companion he made a great effort to regain his selfcontrol. II dont understand, he stammered. A stiletto made of glass! A long, slender blade like an exaggerated needle, I presume. Yet, now I come to think of it, I recollect that, when I was painting a Borgia subject once, my costume dealer spoke of one of those Corsican daggers. I did not take much interest in the conversation at the time. And so you have an idea that this is the way in which my poor friend met his death? Ravenspur was speaking quietly and easily now. He had altogether regained control of himself save for an occasional twitching of his lips. He paced up and down the room thoughtfully for some time, utterly unconscious of Dallas sharp scrutiny. I suppose there is nothing more you have to tell me? he said at length. This is evidently going to be one of those crimes which thrill a whole community for a week, and then are never heard of again. Still, if there is anything I can do for you, pray do not hesitate to ask for my assistance. I suppose we can do no more till after the inquest is over? Without waiting for any reply from his companion Ravenspur quitted the room, and went back to his brougham. He threw himself into a corner, and pulled his hat over his eyes. For a long time he sat there immersed in deep and painful thought, and utterly unconscious of his surroundings. Even when the brougham pulled up in Park Lane he made no attempt to dismount till the footman opened the door and addressed him by name. II beg your pardon, Walters, he said, this terrible business prevents my thinking about anything else. I am going into my own room now, and I am not to be disturbed by anybody. If I am dining out tonight, tell Mr. Ford to write and cancel the engagement. Oh, here is Ford himself. The neat, cleanshaven secretary came forward. Your lordship seems to have forgotten, he said. You are giving a dinner here tonight yourself. You gave orders especially to arrange it, because you were anxious for some of the Royal Academicians to meet the young Polish artist I had clean forgotten it, Ravenspur said, with something like a groan. Entertaining people tonight will be like dancing in fetters. Still, I must make the best of it, for I should not like that talented young foreigner to be disappointed. In the meantime, I am not at home to anybody. With this admonition Ravenspur passed up to his own private rooms, and carefully locked the door behind him. He took a cigar from his case, and lighted it, only to fling it away a moment later in disgust. He stood just for a moment with his hand on a decanter of brandy, and then with a smile for his own weakness poured out a glassful, which he drank without delay. I am a fool and a coward, he muttered. What can there be to be afraid of after all these years? Why do I hesitate in this way when boldness and decision would avert the danger? Ravenspur sat there, looking moodily into space. He heard the house resounding to the sound of the luncheon gong, but he made no movement. The mere suggestion of food was repulsive to him, clean as his habits were and robust as his appetite usually was. The Lane and the Park were gay with traffic now; the roar of locomotion reached the ears of Ravenspur as he sat there. Presently the noise of the newsboys came again, and the name of Delahay seemed to fill the air to the exclusion of everything else. Ravenspur rang his bell, and asked for a paper. The flimsy, illprinted sheet fairly reeked with the latest and most ghastly of London tragedies. Nothing else seemed to matter for the moment. Seven or eight columns were given over to an account of the affair. Before he set himself down to read it steadily through, Ravenspur glanced at the last paragraph, to find that the preliminary inquiry had been adjourned for a week. Most of the florid sensational paragraphs contained nothing new. The only point that interested the reader was the medical evidence. This was compact and to the point. Death had been undoubtedly due to a stab over the heart which had been inflicted by some long, pointed instrument, not much thicker, apparently, than a needle. So far as the police doctor could say, the weapon used had been an Italian stiletto. There was practically no blood. Indeed, the whole thing had been accomplished in a cool and deliberate manner by a man who was not only master of his art, but who must have possessed a considerable knowledge of anatomy. Evidently he had chosen a spot to inflict the wound with careful deliberation, for the deviation of half an inch either way might have produced comparatively harmless results. It was the opinion of the doctor that, had the fatal thrust been made through the bare skin, all traces of it might have been overlooked. It was only the adherence of the dead mans singlet to the tiny puncture that had caused sufficient inflammation to attach suspicion to the point of impact. All this pointed to the fact that the crime had been clearly premeditated and carried out coldly and deliberately. For the moment, however, the great puzzle was to discover how the murderer had been aware that he would be in a position to find his victim at Fitzjohn Square. It was proved conclusively enough that Louis Delahay had come back to England on the spur of the moment, and that equally on the spur of the moment he had made up his mind to visit his house, and, therefore, nobody could possibly have known besides his wife when he had left the Grand Hotel. On this point public curiosity would have to wait, seeing that Mrs. Delahay was in no condition to explain. In fact, she was in the hands of a medical man who had prescribed absolute quiet for the present. Ravenspur tossed the paper impatiently aside, and rang for his tea. The slow day dragged along until it was time for him to dress and prepare for the reception of his guests. He came down presently to the drawingroom, where one or two of the men had already assembled. His old pleasant smile was on his face now. He was once more the polished, courtly man of the world. He steeled himself for what he knew was coming. Practically the whole of his guests were artists of distinction. And the death of Louis Delahay would be the one topic of conversation. The blinds were down now, for the young spring night had drawn in rapidly and it was perfectly dark outside. The clock struck the hour of eight, and the butler glanced in inquiringly. Ravenspur shook his head. Not quite yet, Simmonds, he said; we are waiting for Sir James Seton. As he is usually the soul of punctuality he is not likely to detain us. You can take his place if necessary, one of the guests laughed. When I see Seton and our host together I always feel quite bewildered. Two such public men had no business to be so absurdly alike. There is no real resemblance, Ravenspur laughed, though people are constantly making absurd mistakes. It is excusable to mistake one for the other in the dark, but not in the daylight. Besides, Seton is a much taller man than I am, and much slimmer. We should hear nothing about this likeness, but for certain gentlemen of the Press who make their living out of little paragraphs. Well, they have got plenty to occupy their attention now, another guest remarked. This business of poor Delahays is likely to give them occupation for some time. Tell us all about it, Ravenspur. I hear that you were down at Fitzjohn Square this morning. Is there anything fresh? Ravenspur groaned in his spirit. All the same, his manner was polished and easy as he turned to the speaker. But before he had time to give any details there was a sound of excited voices in the hall outside, the banging of a door or two, and then a tall, elderly man staggered into the room, and fell into a seat. There was an ugly scar on the side of his face, a few drops of blood stained his immaculate shirtfront. Good Heavens! Ravenspur cried. My dear Seton, what is the matter? Simmonds, bring the brandy here at once. No, no, the newcomer gasped; I shall be all right in a minute or two. A most extraordinary thing happened to me just now. I was coming towards the Lane by the back of Lord Fairhavens house on my way here when a man came out from under the shadow of the trees, and commenced a violent attack upon me. Fortunately, I was able to ward him off with my stick, but not before he had marked me in the way you see. Somebody happened to be coming along, and my assailant vanished. Still, it was a nasty adventure, and all the more extraordinary because the fellow evidently mistook me for our friend Ravenspur. He actually called me by that name. All eyes were turned in the hosts direction, for a strange, choking cry burst from his lips. IV A Womans Face It was such an unusual thing for Lord Ravenspur to show his feelings so plainly. For the most part he passed as one of the most selfcontained men in London. He had always boasted, too, of perfect health. His nerves were in the best condition. And now he had started to his feet, his hand pressed to his heart, his face white, and wet with terror. More than one of the guests came forward, but Ravenspur waved them aside. I am behaving like a child, he said. I suppose the time comes when all of us begin to feel the effect of approaching age. I dont know why Setons misfortunes should have upset me so much. But, perhaps, coming on the horrors of this morning, it has been a little too much for me. It is a most scandalous thing that a gentleman cant go out to dinner without being molested in this fashion. What are the police thinking about? Ravenspur spoke in hot indignation; in fact, he was slightly overdoing it. He fussed about Seton, and insisted that the latter should go up to his room, which suggestion the guest waived aside. He was the far more collected of the two. Oh, nonsense, he said; a canful of hot water will repair all the damage. Dont you worry about me. You go in to dinner, and leave me to young Walter here. A door opened at that moment, and a young man entered, and came eagerly across the room in the direction of the speaker. Walter Lance might have been Lord Ravenspur as he had been twenty years ago. As a matter of fact, they were uncle and nephew, Lance being the son of Ravenspurs favorite sister, who had died some years before. For the rest, he was a barrister eagerly waiting his chance of success, and, in the meantime, occupied himself in the capacity of Ravenspurs private secretary. He seemed to have heard all that had taken place. He was warm in his sympathy as he piloted Sir James Seton to his own room. They were going down again almost before the dinner gong had ceased to sound, and by this time a knot of dinner guests were discussing ordinary topics again. To the casual observer there was no sign of trouble or tragedy here. Everything was perfect in its way. The oval table glittered with silver and old Bohemian glass. The banks of flowers might have been arranged by the master hand of an artist. Ravenspur sat there gaily enough now, his conversation gleaming with wit and humour, the most perfect host in London. There was no sign whatever of his earlier agitation. And yet, strive as he would, from time to time the name of Louis Delahay crept into the conversation. It was in vain that Lord Ravenspur attempted to turn the stream of thought into other channels. He was glad enough at length when the dinner came to an end, and the party of guests broke up into little groups. The host approached Seton presently with a request to know whether he would care to play bridge or not. No bridge, Sir James said emphatically. I am tired of the tyranny of it. I wonder that you should make such a suggestion, Ravenspur, seeing how you detest the commonplace. But, at any rate, I will have another of those excellent cigarettes of yours. It shall be just as you please, my friends, Ravenspur said wearily. Now let us go and have a coffee in the studio. It is much cooler there, and there is more space to breathe. The suggestion was received with general approval, and a move was immediately made in the direction of the studio. The apartment lay at the end of a long corridor, which cut it off from the rest of the house, the studio being in reality a huge garden room, which Ravenspur had built for reasons of privacy. He took a latchkey from his pocket and opened the door. I always keep this place locked, he explained. Some years ago my three Academy pictures were stolen just as they were finished, and since then I have taken no risk. The annoying part of the whole thing was that one of the missing pictures was the best thing I ever did. What became of it is a mystery. I remember the picture perfectly well, one of the guests remarked. It was the study of a woman. Do you recollect my coming in one night and you asked me my opinion of it? I think I can remember it, Ravenspur said. Well, it was a superb piece of work, the first speaker went on; anything more fascinating than the womans face I dont recollect seeing. I dont know who your model was, Ravenspur, but you had a rare find in her. I had no model, Ravenspur explained.

The face was more or less an ideal onecomposite, if you like, but resembling nobody in particular. However, the thing was a great loss to me, and I have never ceased to regret it. That is why I always keep this place locked up; even when the room is cleaned out, I am always present to see that nothing is disturbed. It is a whim of mine. As he spoke Ravenspur switched on the electric lights, until the whole of the beautiful apartment glowed to the illumination of the shaded lamps. The studio itself was circular in shape, and finished in a great dome of stained glass. The floor was littered with rare old Persian carpets, and lounges from all parts of the world were dotted about here and there. Round the walls was an almost unique collection of armour. From the centre of the floor rose a fine acacia tree, the vivid green foliage of which seemed to suffer nothing from being cut off from the outer light and air. Altogether the place was quite unique in its way, and striking evidence of Ravenspurs originality and good taste. On little tables here and there were hundreds of photographs, most of them signed, testifying to the great popularity which Ravenspur enjoyed amongst all classes of society. You will have to leave these to the Nation, a guest laughed. What a cosmopolitan gallery it isa prince on the one side, and a prominent socialist on the other! Yet, after all, photographs are very commonplace things. You might look over a thousand before your fancy is taken by a face like this. As he spoke the guest took up a portrait from one of the tables, and held it out at arms length, so that the light fell upon the features. Unlike the rest, the photograph was not framed, and, judging from the edges, it had had a certain amount of rough usage in its time. As to the picture itself, it presented the features of a young and beautiful girl, with a great cloud of hair hanging over her shoulders. There was something almost tragic in the dark eyes; they seemed to tell a story all their own. A beautiful face, the guest went on. The sort of face that a poet would weave an epic around. I dont want to be impertinent, Ravenspur, but I should like to know who she is. Where did you get that from? Ravenspur asked. His voice sounded hard and cold, so that the man with the photograph in his hand turned in some surprise. Where did you find it? My dear fellow, I took it up off this table, as you might have done. Of course, it is no business of mine, and I am sorry if any careless words I have spoken The apology is mine, Ravenspur put in quickly. I was annoyed, just for the moment, to think that that portrait should have been left about. I could have sworn that I had locked it carefully away in a safe. You are perfectly right, my dear Seymour, there is a tragedy behind that charming face. But you will quite understand that I cannot discuss the matter with anybody. Oh, quite, the offending guest said hastily. Still, it is a most lovely face. Now who does it remind me of? The likeness is plain enough, Seton put in. Why, it is the very image of our hosts young ward, Miss Vera Rayne. Is there any relationship between them, Ravenspur? Why, so it is! Walter Lance cried. Who can she be, uncle? Ravenspur had crossed the studio in the direction of a safe let into the wall. He placed his hand in one of the little pigeon holes there, as if seeking for something. Apparently he was unsuccessful in his search, for he shook his head doubtfully. Not there, Ravenspur said to himself. Most extraordinary lapse of memory on my part. Of course, I must have taken that photograph from the safe when I was looking for something else, and The speaker broke off abruptly. He slammed the door of the safe behind him, and returned to his guests. But the light had gone out of his eyes; he seemed to have suddenly aged. Let us have some coffee, he said. Is it true, Marrion, that there is likely to be a serious split in the cabinet? V Vera Rayne The conversation became more general now, so that it was possible a moment later for Ravenspur to slip out of the studio without his absence being observed. He went swiftly away to the library, where he hastily dashed off a note, which he handed over to a servant to be delivered immediately. He seemed to be somewhat easier in his mind now, for the smile had come back to his lips. The smile became deeper, and a shade more tender, as a young girl came into the room. She had evidently just returned from some social function, for she was in evening dress, with a light silken cloud thrown over her fair hair. Save for the brilliancy of her eyes, and the happy smile upon her lips, she bore a strong resemblance to the mysterious photograph, which had so disturbed Ravenspur a little time before. She crossed the room gaily, and kissed Ravenspur lightly on the cheek. So your friends have all gone? she asked. No; they are still in the studio. But, tell me, have you had a very enjoyable evening? And how is it that you are back so soon? A faint splash of colour crept into the girls cheeks. She seemed to be just a little embarrassed by the apparently simple question. Oh, I dont know, she said. One gets tired of going out every night. And it was rather dull. I daresay all this sounds very ungrateful when you give me everything I could desire. But I am longing to get into the country again. It seems almost a crime for people to shut themselves up in dusty London, when the country is looking at its very best. Do you know, I was far happier when I was down in Hampshire. Well, we cant have everything our own way, Ravenspur smiled. Still, we shall see what will happen later on. And now, I really must go back again to my guests. Vera Rayne threw herself carelessly down into a chair. A little sigh escaped her lips. She ought to have been happy enough. She had all the blessings that good health and great wealth could procure. And yet there were crumpled rose leaves on her couch of down. The thoughtful look on her face deepened. She sat there so deeply immersed in her own reflections, that she was quite oblivious to the fact that she was no longer alone. Walter Lance had come into the room. He addressed the girl twice before he obtained any response. Then she looked up, and a wistful, tender smile lighted up her beautiful face. I was thinking, she said. Do you know, Walter, I have been thinking a good deal lately. I suppose I am naturally more discontented than most girls, but I am getting very tired of this sort of life. Pleasure is so monotonous. Ungrateful, Walter laughed. He came and stood close to the speakers side so that he could see down into the depths of her eyes, which were now turned fully upon his. There are thousands of girls who envy your fortunate lot. I dont know why they should. You see, it is all very well for me to go on like this. It is all very well to be a fascinating mystery. The time has come when I ought to know things. For instance, I should like to know who I really am. What does it matter? Lance asked. What does it matter so long as Iso long as we all care for you. My dear girl, you pain me. And when you speak in that cold, not to say arbitrary way, as ifas ifreally, Vera! It isnt that I want you to be more worldly than you are But then you see, I am not worldly, Walter. And I really should like to know who I am, and where I came from. It is all very well to tell people that I am the daughter of an old friend of Lord Ravenspur, and that he adopted me when my father died. That is sufficient for our friends and acquaintances, and seems to satisfy them, but it does not satisfy me. When I ask Lord Ravenspur about my parents he puts me off with one excuse or another, and if I insist he becomes quite stern and angry. He is so good to me that I dont like to bother him. And yet I cant go on like this. Walter Lance looked somewhat uneasily at the speaker. What do you mean by that? he asked. My dear Walter, I mean exactly what I say, Vera said sadly. I am tired of this constant round of pleasure. Really, it seems to me that the lives of the rich are quite as monotonous as those of the poor. We go our weary round of dinner and dance and reception, varied by an occasional theatre or concert. We see the same faces, and take part in the same vapid conversationOh, Walter, how much nicer it would be to get ones own living! How would you get yours? Lance laughed. Well, at any rate, I could try. And that is what I am going to do, Walter. I have fully made up my mind not to stay here any longer. Dont think that I am ungrateful, or that I do not recognise Lord Ravenspurs great kindness to me. But you see I have no claim upon him, and if anything happened to him tomorrow what would my position be? I know he has a large income from his property, but that will go to his successor some day. Oh, I know you will think that this is very hard and cold of me, but there are reasons, many and urgent reasons, why it is impossible Vera broke off abruptly, and Walter could see that the tears had gathered in her eyes. There was something in those eyes, too, that caused his heart to beat a trifle faster, and brought him still closer to her side. Wont you tell me what it is? he whispered. We have always been such good friends, Vera. Forgive me asking you, but isnt this decision on your part rather a sudden one? Oh, I am quite prepared to admit that, the girl said candidly, and I wish I could explain. But you would not understandwas there ever a man yet who really understood a woman? The thing that you call impulse I know that Lord Ravenspur had his own ideas as to my future, the same as he has in regard to yours. Oh, indeed, Walter said drily; that is news to me. And in what way is my uncle interested in my welfare? Do you mean to say he hasnt told you? He has mentioned it to me at least a score of times. You are going to marry Lady Clara Vavasour. That much is settled. Really, now, that is very kind of my uncle. But, unfortunately, I have views of my own on the subject. Lady Clara is a very nice girl, and I understand that she is rich, but she does not appeal to me in the least. My dear Vera, surely you are mistaken. Surely my uncle must have guessed, he could not be so blind as not to seeVera, dearest, cannot you understand what I mean? Do you suppose that I could possibly have known you all this time withoutwithoutYou know, I am certain that you know. Oh, no, no, Vera cried; you must not speak like that. I cannot listen to you. I know that Lord Ravenspur has set his heart upon this marriage, and it would be the basest ingratitude on my part if Ibut what am I talking about? The girl broke off in some confusion. The faint pink on her cheeks turned to a deeper crimson. Her eyes were cast down; she did not seem to realise that Walter had her hands in his, that he had drawn her close to his side. I must speak, he said huskily. Even at the risk of your thinking me the most conceited man on earth, I must tell you what is uppermost in my mind now. My dear girl, I have known you ever since you were a little child. From the very first we have been the best of friends. I have watched you change from a girl to a woman. I have watched your mind expanding, and gradually I have come to know that you are the one girl in the world for me. I have not spoken like this before, because there seemed to be no need to do so. Everything was so natural, there did not appear to be any other end to a love like mine. But if I have been wrong, and if you tell me that you care nothing for me I couldnt, Vera whispered. Oh, Walter, if you only knew Then you do care for me, my dearest. Yes, I can see it in your face, there is always the truth in your eyes. And now I can speak more freely. You were going away from here out of loyalty to my uncle, and because you deem it your duty to sacrifice your feelings rather than interfere with his plans. But, my dear girl, dont you see what a needless sacrifice it would be? Dont you see that any such action on your part would be worse than useless? But I will speak to you about this tomorrow. I am quite sure he is not the man to stand between us and our happiness. Would that I had thought of this before. I am sure that it would have saved you many an anxious moment. Vera shook her head sadly. Walters arms were about her now, her head rested on his shoulder. Just for the moment they were absolutely oblivious to the world. They heard nothing of the sound of voices as Lord Ravenspurs guests drifted away; they were unconscious that he was standing in the doorway, now regarding them with stern disapproval. He hesitated just a moment, then he strode into the room. Walter had never seen his face so hard and cold before. I am sorry to intrude, he said, but there is something I have to say to you, Walter. It is getting late now, Vera, and quite time that you were in bed. The girl looked up with something like rebellion in her eyes. I am going into the drawingroom for half an hour, she said. Perhaps Walter will come and say goodnight to me when you have finished your conversation. I think you understand what I mean. And dont be too hard on me. If you only knew how I have tried to do whatwhat The tears rose to Veras eyes, as she turned slowly and sadly away. VI A Voice in the Dark Vera turned away and walked quietly from the room, leaving the two men face to face. Lord Ravenspur was the first to speak. I am sorry for this, he said; more sorry than I can tell you. Strange how one should be so wilfully blind. Strange how frequently even the cleverest man will overlook the inevitable. But I suppose I thought that you two had come to regard one another as brother and sister. Oh, I am not disputing your taste. There is not a more beautiful and fascinating girl in London than Vera. It is only natural that you should fall in love with her. But she knows the views I have for you. She knows to what an extent she is indebted to me. That being so it is her plain duty My dear uncle, Walter broke in eagerly, if there is anybody to blame, it is I. Vera knows her duty plainly enough, and she would have acted upon it but for me. When I came in here tonight I was struck by the unhappiness of her face, and, naturally, I began to ask questions. It seems an egotistical thing to say, but Vera is as deeply attached to me as I am to her, and that was the source of her trouble. She had made up her mind to go away. She had made up her mind to get her own living. And why? Simply because she knew that you had other views for me, and that she stood in the way of your plans. It was only by a mere accident that the whole thing came out. But I have spoken the words now that are beyond recall, even if I wished to recall them, which I do not. There will never be another woman in the world for me. But the thing is impossible, Lord Ravenspur broke out harshly. It is absolutely out of the question. I had other views for you, but I certainly should not have pressed them against your wishes. But all that is as nothing compared to thisthis tragedy. I blame myself bitterly for my want of foresight. My conduct has been almost criminal. But, be that as it may, there must be no engagement between Vera and yourself. Dont press me to tell you why, because my lips are sealed, and I dare not speak. But, as you value your future, I implore you to carry this thing no further. I know this sounds an outrageous request, but I am speaking from the bottom of my heart. It is the fashion of the world to regard me as one of the most fortunate and enviable of men. I tell you, with all the force at my command, that I would cheerfully change places with the humblest labourer on my estate. I have never dropped the mask before, and I probably never shall again. I am only doing it now so that you may be warned in time. Go back to Vera, and tell her what I say. Tell her that there are urgent reasons why a marriage between you is utterly out of the question. And if you will persist in having your own way, then let me ask you one final favour. Let the engagement be kept a secret. And now I have no more to say. Perhaps I have said too much as it is, only if you were aware what the last twentyfour hours has brought forth Ravenspur broke off abruptly as if fearful of saying too much. His whole attitude had changed; his features quivered with an almost uncontrollable emotion. Then he turned on his heel, and strode down the corridor in the direction of the studio. Walter could hear the latch of the door click as it closed behind him. Ravenspur was alone with his own troubled thoughts. For a long time he paced up and down the room, then he took up the photograph which had excited so much attention amongst his guests earlier in the evening. He laid it down on a little table, and gazed at the face there long and sadly. Amazing! Ravenspur muttered to himself. Absolutely inexplicable! I could have sworn that I had the photograph still under lock and key. When did I take it from the safe, and why? Beyond all question, it was not on the table yesterday. Is this a mere coincidence, or is it a menace and warning of the old trouble which has never ceased to be with me night and day the last twenty years? And how the whole thing works together! First of all, poor Delahay is found murdered in his studio, and now something like the same thing happens to one of my guests who was unquestionably mistaken for me in the darkness. And as if that was not enough, those two young fools must take it into their heads to fancy that they are in love with one another. Heaven only knows how I shall make my way out of this terrible coil, even if I have the good luck to escape the consequences of my folly! The most fortunate man in London! The most popular and most sought for! What a bitter travesty upon the truth it is! If they only knew! If there were only some power to lift the roof off of every house in London, what tragedies would be revealed! And how many friends would be left to me? Time was going on. A dozen clocks in different parts of the house struck twelve. As Ravenspur stood by the table, his moody eyes still bent upon the photographs, there was a sudden click and snap, and the whole place was plunged in darkness. The thing was so quick and unexpected that something like a cry of alarm broke from Ravenspurs lips. It all came to him in a flash that the tragedy of Fitzjohn Square was going to be repeated with himself in the role of the victim. This is just what had happened the previous evening, only there had been nothing to try his nerves then as they were being strained to breaking point now. Shaking and agitated in every limb he made his way across to where the switches were, but there was nothing wrong with them. He could hear no commotion in the house, such as would naturally follow the extinguishing of the light. Indeed, underneath the doorway he could see by the slit of light that the electrics in the corridor were still working. The full horror of it was almost more than he could bear. A wild desire for light and companionship came upon him. His unsteady hand fumbled at the latch, which seemed in some way to have gone wrong, for the door refused to open. Ravenspur was breathing thickly and heavily. But he was sufficiently in possession of his faculties to realise that he was no longer alone in the room. He could distinctly hear someone breathing close to him. Then he caught the sound of a low chuckle. Not so fast, a voice hissed in his ear; I havent come all this way for the benefit of your society to lose you like this. You neednt worry about the door, because you cant escape in that way. In a sudden frenzy of rage and anger and fear, Ravenspur stretched out his arm and encountered that of the mysterious stranger, whose dramatic entrance had so startled him. But, strong man as he was, and in the pink of good condition, Ravenspur could make nothing of his assailant. The man appeared to be not more than half his size, but his arms and body were tough and elastic as the finest whipcord. Gradually Ravenspur was borne backward. He dropped on his knees with a grip about his throat that caused him to gasp for breath, and brought a million stars dancing before his eyes. He wanted help more earnestly than he had ever required it in his life before, but his pride was stubborn still, and he tried to choke down the cry which rose to his lips. He must fight for himself to the end. So that is to be the end of it? Vera asked. It breaks my heart to speak like this, but after what Lord Ravenspur has said, there must be an end to the matter. But, my dearest girl, the thing is absurd, Walter cried. What have we done that we should be treated in this way? Surely our position is clear enough. We are to be parted for the sake of some ridiculous whim which is not even capable of an explanation. I am not going to leave matters here. I decline to obey until I know the reason why. At any rate, nothing can prevent our loving each other. And, as far as I am concerned, I am quite prepared to keep the matter secret between us. But I intend to have the matter out with my uncle before I sleep tonight. I am not a boy to be treated in this sentimental fashion. So long as I know that your feelings remain unchanged What is that? Vera cried. Didnt you hear anythinga kind of horrible muffled scream? There it is again. The sound came again and again, ringing through the silent house, horrible and insistent in its note of tragedy. Vera turned a pale, scared face to her companion. Where is it? she gasped. Where does it come from? The studio, Walter exclaimed. It is my uncles voice. Something terrible has happened to him. Without another word Walter dashed from the room, and flew along the corridor leading to the studio. Just for a moment there was a strained, tense silence; then, as the door of the studio was reached, a strange, muffled scream burst out again. With his hand on the lock Walter shook the door, which refused to give way to him. He called aloud on Ravenspur, but no reply came. He shook the door in a fit of angry exasperation, and once more from inside the room came that queer, choking noise, followed by a low chuckle. It was maddening, exasperating to a degree, to stand so close to the threshold of tragedy and yet to be so far away. There was only one thing for it, and that was to break down the door. Flinging himself full against the woodwork, Walter literally forced his way in. Then he stood just for a moment looking into the gloom and darkness, trying to see where the figure of the unhappy man lay. VII The Yellow Handbill The suggestion of tragedy brooding in the darkness held Lance back just for the moment. He was almost afraid to proceed lest he should find something even worse than he had expected. Then his hand fumbled along the wall with the switches, and the great room burst into a glow of light again. The place was absolutely empty, save for the figure of Lord Ravenspur huddled up upon the Persian rug. He was absolutely still and silent. As far as Lance could see he had ceased to breathe. Naturally enough the young man looked about him for a sign of the miscreant, but the studio contained no trace of his presence. The thing was puzzling to the last degree. There was no exit from the room beyond the door which Walter had broken down, and nobody could possibly have passed him that way. Besides, the switches were just inside the door, and the light had been turned on almost immediately. At any rate, there was nobody there now except the victim of the attack himself, and Walter feared that he was already past any explanation of the strange affair. That would have to keep for the present. Walter bent over and raised Lord Ravenspurs head and shoulders. He was still alive, for his eyes were wide open, though no words came from his lips. At the same time he seemed to be struggling for speech which would not come. Then he raised a shaking arm and contrived to pull Walters head down close to his lips. The words came at length in a faint whisper, a whisper so low, that Walter had the greatest difficulty in following it. Dont let anybody know. It is absolutely necessary that no one should know, Lord Ravenspur faltered. If there is any alarm, I pray you go and allay it at once. Say that I had fallen asleep and was suffering from nightmare. Say I had a horrible dream. Say anything, so long as you respect my secret. Now go. There was nothing to do but to obey this mysterious request. At the end of the corridor Vera was waiting with an anxious face. It was no nice thing to prevaricate, it would have to be done. Walter spoke as lightly as possible. There is no occasion for alarm, he said. Lord Ravenspur says that he fell asleep and had a horrible nightmare. At any rate, he seems to be all right now. You had better go to bed. I am sorry that you should have been so much alarmed. To Walters great relief, Vera asked no further questions. She turned away obediently enough, and he hurried back to the studio. Lord Ravenspur still lay on the Persian rug, but with Walters help he contrived to get into a chair. A little brandy brought some trace of colour to his face. He seemed more like himself again. They heard nothing in the house? he asked anxiously. Only Vera, Walter explained. She was terribly frightened, but she believed what I told her, and she has gone up to her room. And now, perhaps, you will tell me the truth. Do you think I have not already done so? My dear uncle, I am sure of it. I know it is possible for people to make the most hideous noises when they are suffering from nightmare, but this is quite another matter. You called aloud for help. You were in imminent danger of losing your life. Before I broke the door down I distinctly heard somebody give a low chuckle. Of course, you can make light of this in the morning. You can induce people to laugh at your absurd situation, but you cannot deceive me. I know there was someone in the room when I forced the door. Then where is he now, Walter? Lord Ravenspur asked. Ah, that I cannot tell; but he was here right enough. He passed you in the corridor? That he most certainly did not. Nobody came out that way. A faint smile came to Lord Ravenspurs lips. He indicated the room with a wave of his hand. I see exactly what you mean, Walter said. Of course, if you do not feel inclined to tell me the truth I cannot compel you to do so. But I have only to look at you, to see that you have lately been through a desperate struggle with someone who came here to take your life. You are absolutely exhausted with the severity of it. If I had my own way I would put the matter in the hands of the police. No, no, Ravenspur said vehemently. If you have the slightest regard for me you will not venture to say a word to a soul. I want the whole thing to be forgotten. If I remain in my room all tomorrow under the plea of indisposition, I shall be all right the next day. You are to give me your word of honour that you will say nothing of what you have seen tonight. If you wish it so, certainly, Walter said reluctantly. My dear uncle, wont you trust me? I would do anything to help you. And besides, how are you going to guard against this happening again? A bloodthirsty ruffian who can enter a house and vanish in this mysterious fashion, is not likely to be put off, if he knows you are going to take no steps to guard yourself against a further attack. But what has become of him? I havent the slightest idea, Ravenspur said wearily. I was sitting in my chair when the light suddenly went out and I heard the door locked. Then I had to fight for my life, and was nearly done for when I called out for assistance. And you saw nothing of him? Walter asked. Nothing whatever, Ravenspur went on. I could only feel him. And after that I recollect no more till you came. A most extraordinary thing, Walter said, somewhat impatiently. Surely you have some idea as to who the man is. Surely he must be the same man who mistook Sir James Seton for yourself tonight. No reply came from Lord Ravenspur. Evidently he desired to say no more. He seemed anxious to be alone. But Walter, angry and hurt, walked rapidly about the room seeking for a way whereby the late visitor had vanished. But he looked in vain. There was no possible means of exit other than the door, and the fireplace was too narrow to admit of anybody coming or going. As to the roof, it was of heavy stained glass, and as impregnable as the walls themselves. The mystery was maddening. And yet the one man who could have explained it all sat there silent, and moody, and tongue tied. Is there anything more that I can do for you before I go to bed? Walter asked. Are you sure I cant help you? I am afraid not, my boy, Ravenspur said in a dull, mechanical way. I know that you wont chatter about this thing. And, perhaps, a little later on, I shall be able to speak more plainly. I shall be glad if you will help me up the stairs and get me into bed. I have had a great shock tonight. It seemed almost cruel to pursue the subject further, and Walter refrained from questions as he noticed the ghastly whiteness of his uncles face. The latter was disposed of at length, and then Walter came downstairs again. He now had the house practically to himself. All desire for sleep had forsaken him. Besides that, it was no nice thought to reflect on the possibility of that ruffian being still on the premises. Walter had not the slightest doubt in his mind that the man had left the studio in some secret manner, and that he had come there through no ordinary channel. What was to prevent him returning again when the house was asleep and finishing his work? In itself, the fact of Lord Ravenspur possessing a bitter enemy was remarkable. And Lord Ravenspurs obstinate silence was more remarkable still. Walter had given his word to say nothing of these strange events, but that did not bind him from making inquiries on his own account. He returned to the studio once more and made a thoroughly searching examination of the place. Was there some secret door which Lord Ravenspur used, and of which nobody knew anything? It had never occurred to Walter till that moment that his uncle might have turneddown pages in his life, but that conclusion was inevitable now. Still, though Walter spent the best part of an hour in his search, he had nothing to show for his pains. He was about to give up the thing in despair when a piece of yellow paper, lying by the side of the Persian rug where Lord Ravenspur had fallen, attracted his attention. It was a small, shabby sheet of paper, folded in four and printed from wornout type, in fact, just the class of bill which is circulated amongst travelling circuses and shows of that kind. It was the last thing in the world that anyone would have looked for in the studio of so fastidious a man as Lord Ravenspur. Slowly and thoughtfully Walter unfolded and read the handbill. It was an advertisement of the nightly programme of the Imperial Palace Theatre. The name of the place sounded imposing enough, but the locality of Vauxhall Bridge Road somewhat detracted from the importance of it. So far as Walter could judge, the Imperial Palace Theatre was no more than a shady music hall giving two shows a night, and most of the names on the bill were absolutely unknown to fame. The star turn appeared to be one Valdo, who was announced as the flying man who had made such a sensation throughout the leading halls in Europe. I wonder if this is a clue, Walter murmured to himself. At any rate, I should like to see this Valdo. Ill go down to the Imperial Palace tomorrow night and enquire for myself. Walter folded up the shabby bill and placed it in his pocket, after which he went thoughtfully to bed. VIII The Mystery Deepens Nobody in the Park Lane house appeared to have the slightest suspicion that anything had been wrong.

The stolid, welltrained servants accepted the explanation of the broken door quite as a matter of course. And when Vera had come down in the morning she appeared to have forgotten the incident entirely. Lord Ravenspur was not feeling particularly well, and he had decided to keep to his room for the day. The explanation was perfectly simple and quite natural. All the same, Walter was thankful that Vera should ask him no questions. It was no easy matter to preserve a cheerful and unconcerned face at the breakfast table, but he seemed to manage it all right. He was just a little quiet and subdued, but then there was nothing remarkable about that, especially in view of Lord Ravenspurs feelings on the subject of his engagement to Vera. The day dragged on, and Walter waited with what patience he had till the evening. He was not displeased to find that Vera was dining out with some friends in Sloane Square, for this would give him the opportunity he needed. He changed his dinner jacket presently for an old tweed coat and cap. Then he set out on his errand in Vauxhall Bridge Road. Walter was not alone on this occasion, for he was accompanied by a journalist friend whose particular study was the life and habits of the lower classes. It was this friend who had suggested the advisability of the humble garb, so that they could thus mix freely with the people around them. Walter congratulated himself upon his friends prudence when he saw the class of audience that filled the Imperial Palace Theatre. The place was large enough, and by no means lacked artistic finish. At one time it had been an actual theatre, run by some enthusiast with a view to the elevation of the masses and the production of highclass plays at popular prices. The experiment had ended in a ghastly failure, and now a shrewd, hardheaded publican in the neighbourhood was making a fortune by the simple expedient of giving his patrons exactly what they required. What part of the house shall we try? Walter asked. We cant do better than the pit, Venables replied. That will cost you sixpence, or perhaps, if you like to be extravagant, we can have a box for halfacrown. Still, we dont want to make ourselves conspicuous. The pit is quite good enough for me. You can smoke here, you know, and drink too, for the matter of that. But I should not advise you to try the latter experiment. The house was fairly well filled as the two friends entered and took their seats. The audience for the most part were respectable enough, but the whole place reeked with perspiring humanity, and the air was pungent with the smell of acrid tobacco. A constant fusillade of chaff went on between the stage and the audience. Indeed, the artistes, for the most part, appeared to be on the most friendly terms with the habitus of the theatre. A drearylooking comedian was singing one of the inevitable patter songs, full of the feeble allusions to drink without which songs of that kind never appear to be complete. The audience listened stolidly enough. Are they never going to tire of this kind of thing? Walter asked his companion. Is there nothing humorous in the world outside the region of too much beer? These people sadden me. Oh, they are all right, Venables said, cheerfully. They are quite happy in their own particular way. I have long ceased to look for anything fresh on the music hall stage. An original artist and an original manner wouldnt be tolerated. The dreary song came to an end at length; then it was followed by two socalled sisters, who, in short skirts and large picture hats, discoursed of the joys of country life in a peculiarly aggressive Cockney accent. The whole thing was dull and depressing to the last degree, and Walter began to regret his loss of time. He noticed from his programme that Valdo was down rather late, so there was nothing for it but to possess his soul in patience till the time came. It was a little past ten oclock before the stage was cleared, and the attendants, in their grimy uniforms, began to erect a series of fine wires running from the roof to the floor. Then there was an extra flourish from the aggressive orchestra, and a slim man, dressed entirely in black, came on to the stage. He was received with great enthusiasm and the smiting of glasses upon the tables. Evidently Valdo had established himself as a firm favourite with the patrons of the Imperial Palace Theatre. All Walters apathy had vanished, as he turned to the stage and scrutinised the acrobat long and carefully. So far as he could judge, Valdo was no Englishman with a foreign name, but a genuine foreigner, presumably of Italian birth. The man was not tall or particularly broad, but he was well proportioned, and gave the idea of one possessed of considerable physical strength. In particular, Walter noticed how long his arms were, and how the muscles stood out between his shoulders. As to the rest, the man looked mild enough, and his dark Southern face was wreathed in an amiable smile. He proceeded, with the aid of an attendant, to fasten two small curved canvas frames to his shoulders. These he thrashed up and down with his arms much as a cock flaps its wings before crowing. Then, with an agile leap from the stage, the man proceeded to sail up slowly from the floor to the flies. Thats clever, Venables exclaimed. It looks to me as if our friend has solved the art of the flying machine. But one never knows. I daresay it is no more than some ingenious trick. This speech appeared to be resented by a respectablelooking mechanic who was occupying the next seat to Venables. Nothing of the kind, the man said indignantly. Ive been here three nights now, and I know something about mechanics, too. If you think that wires are used you are just mistaken. A friend of mine is stage carpenter here, and he told me all about it. Depend upon it, that chap has got the knack right enough. The performer fluttered down again from the wings as lightly and easily as he had risen, and a tremendous outbreak of applause followed. When the din had died away, the stage manager came forward and invited any of the audience who chose to come up and see for themselves that everything was fair and legitimate, and that no mechanism had been employed. The intelligent mechanic turned to Venables with a defiant smile. Now is your chance, guvnor, he exclaimed. You go and smell it out for yourself. Venables would have declined the offer, but already Walter had risen eagerly from his seat. The opportunity was too good to be missed. Though he did not associate this man Valdo with the mysterious attack on Lord Ravenspurs life, he felt quite convinced that the artist was indirectly concerned in it. To waste a chance would be the height of folly. A moment or two later the two friends were on the stage. They stood there whilst the performer went through another series of graceful performances, but they could see absolutely nothing which suggested mechanical contrivance of any kind. The whole act came to an end at length, and Valdo stood there bowing and smiling when his wings were removed. Lets have a chat with him, Venables whispered. Apart from the thing being decidedly interesting, there ought to be some good copy here. Properly worked, Signor Valdo ought to be worth a couple of columns to me. At the suggestion of the Press, the stage manager pricked up his ears. He was not insensible to the value of a good advertisement. He suggested a move to his private office, where it would be possible for the visitors to interview quietly. Nothing I should like better, Walter said eagerly. Perhaps you will come with us, and join us in a bottle of champagne? They made their way behind the stage to a dingy little room, insufficiently lighted with one gas jet. The back of the stage was in a turmoil. It was almost impossible to hear for the din. Then very briefly and modestly Valdo told his history. He had found out his peculiar powers by a series of experiments with the parachute. The whole secret lay, he explained, in the enormously powerful muscles between his shoulders and the backs of his arms. The rest was worked by the amazing rapidity with which he had learnt to move his arms. So far the thing was effective enough, but the strain was so great that, hitherto, he had found it impossible to rise to a height of more than forty feet. This naturally prevented him from obtaining engagements in the larger theatres and halls where so limited a flight would have been far less imposing than it appeared to be when performed in a place like the Imperial Palace. There was nothing more to be said, and the two friends were turning away when a woman put her head into the door, and looked inquiringly at Valdo. He muttered something to the effect that he would be ready in a moment or two, and the woman vanished. Walter caught his lip in his teeth. It was hard work to conceal his surprise. There was no doubt whatever about it, no question as to the identity of the intruder. Strange as it appeared to be, Walter recognised the features of Mrs. Delahay. There was no mistaking that white, stern face. It was only for a moment, but that moment had been enough for Lance. IX The Confidential Agent All that evening and most of the next day Walter brooded over his startling discovery. He said nothing to anybody about it, though he had attempted the night previously to follow up the clue. The attempt had failed, however, for though Walter had waited outside the theatre, he saw no more of Mrs. Delahay. And as to the man Valdo he eventually went off by himself. There was nothing for it now but to wait and see what was going to happen. Meanwhile, public interest in the Fitzjohn Square tragedy had not abated in the least. Everybody was waiting eagerly enough for the inquest, which was to open at four oclock on the day following the mysterious attack upon Lord Ravenspur. The latter had come down somewhat late in the morning, looking but little the worse for his adventure. It was not expected that the inquest would be more than formally opened, and it was generally known that Lord Ravenspur would be an important witness. In view of the extraordinary interest taken in the affair the proceedings had been moved to a public hall. Long before the time arranged for opening the hall was packed to its utmost capacity. After the police and medical evidence had been taken, the first witness called was Lord Ravenspur. His fine, picturesque figure stood out in the strong light. He gave his evidence clearly and well, though his voice shook from time to time with emotion, which was only natural enough, seeing that the dead man had been so close a friend of his. After all, he had little to tell. He described his late visit to Fitzjohn Square, and how he had been at work on a picture there until such time as the lights were extinguished and he was forced to abandon his task. You thought nothing of the lights going out? the coroner asked. You saw nothing suspicious in that? Well, no, the witness replied. You see, it is no unusual occurrence for the supply of electric light to fail. The thing so easily happens. As the house has been empty for some time it occurred to me that perhaps there was a fault somewhere, or, perhaps, the workmen had not quite finished their job. Quite so, the coroner observed. Tell us, did you hear any noise in the house, or any suspicious sounds? Nothing whatever. Until the light went out there was nothing whatever to disturb me. In fact, I was so intent upon my work that I was quite lost to everything else. But you know now, the coroner went on, that the main cable leading to the meter was cut. That being so, somebody must have been in the house at the same time as yourself. What I want to get at is thisthe murderer was deliberately waiting for his victim. He had no quarrel with you, and his great idea was to get you out of the way. That appears to be obvious. It is obvious enough to me, Ravenspur replied. I came to that conclusion directly Inspector Dallas pointed out to me that the main cable had been deliberately cut. But you see I suspected nothing wrong at the time, and there was nothing else for me to do but to abandon my task directly the light went out. I am afraid that I can tell you nothing more. The deceased was a great friend of yours? the coroner asked. I presume you know a great deal about his life and habits. Was he at all the sort of man to make enemies? The last man in the world, the witness said emphatically. My friend was both upright and straightforward. Indeed, I regarded him as a man incapable of a mean action. One or two desultory questions followed, and then Lord Ravenspur sat down. To a certain extent his evidence had been dramatic enough, but, at the same time, he had not said a single word likely to throw any light on the mystery. The audience thrilled and bent forward eagerly as Mrs. Delahay stood up to give her evidence. She was just as deadly pale, just as calm and set, as she had been when she called upon Ravenspur in Park Lane with the dreadful news. She gave her evidence slowly and distinctly, speaking more like an automaton than a creature of flesh and blood. She told how she had become alarmed at her husbands prolonged absence, how she had gone down to Fitzjohn Square to see if anything had happened, how she found the dead body there, and how the police had come to her assistance. But more than that she could not say, more than that she did not know. So far as she knew her husband had always been a cheerful man. She had never heard him say an evil word of anyone. She had not been married long, in fact she was still a bride. Altogether she had known her husband for a little over three years. She was older than her husband, she proceeded to say. The coroner asked her age. I am fortythree, she said calmly. Really, the coroner murmured politely, I should not have taken you to be so much. I dont wish to ask you anything likely to cause you pain, but does it not occur to you that your husband might have been concealing something? Is it not rather strange that he should leave you at midnight and take an hour and a half in reaching a house to which he might have walked in ten minutes? I dont think so, Mrs. Delahay said. My husband was one of the most open of men. In fact, he was too fond of leaving his letters and private papers about. And as to the rest, he might have met a friend. He might have gone to one of his clubs. If I may be allowed to interrupt a moment, Inspector Dallas said, I may say that we have utterly failed to trace Mr. Delahays movements from the time he left the Grand Hotel till he reached Fitzjohn Square. Not one of his friends appears to have seen him on the night in question. That is rather unfortunate, the coroner murmured. I am sorry to have troubled you so far. You may sit down now. With something which might have been a sigh of relief Mrs. Delahay resumed her seat close to the table. Then Inspector Dallas put forward a witness who gave the name of John Stevens. He looked like a brokendown professional man in his greasy, shabby frockcoat and dingy linen. His watery eye glanced nervously over the court. The red tinge on his cheeks spoke quite plainly of the cause of his downfall. He proceeded to give his evidence so incoherently that the coroner had to reprimand him sharply once or twice. I cant hear half you say, that official said irritably. I think you said your name was John Stevens. What can you tell us about this case? Did you know Mr. Delahay? I knew him quite well, sir, the witness said. I have seen him scores of times when I have been watching in Fitzjohn Square. What do you mean by watching there? Well, sir, you see, I am a private inquiry agent. I work for one of the large firms of detectives, getting up evidence and that kind of thing. For months past it has been my duty to keep my eye on a certain house in the Square, especially at night. In that way I have got to know most of the inhabitants by sight, and also I have got to know a good deal about their habits. You are a professional spy, then? the coroner asked. Well, sir, if you like to put it like that, the witness said humbly. On the night of the murder about a quarter past one, I was in the Square gardens watching through the railings at the corner of John Street. I could see perfectly well what was going on because there is a large electric arc light where John Street and the Square adjoin. As I said, it was just about a quarter past one, because I looked at my watch to see what the time was. It was nearly time for me to leave, as my instructions The witness broke off abruptly, and glanced about the room with the air of a man who has recognised an acquaintance whom he had not expected to see. His rambling attentions were recalled by the coroner in a few sharp words. I am sure I beg your pardon. As I said, I was waiting there till my time was up, and I saw Mr. Delahay come round the corner. He stood there just a moment. As far as I could gather he seemed to be troubled about something. I was too far off to hear what he was saying, but it seemed to me What are you talking about? the coroner interrupted. Do you mean to say that Mr. Delahay was talking to himself? Oh, dear no, sir; he was talking to his companion. Companion! That is the first we have heard of that. Was the companion a man or a woman, might I ask? It was a lady, sir. She was a tall woman dressed in black. They stood opposite me for five or six minutes talking very earnestly together. Then Mr. Delahay turned away from the woman and went into the house. The woman seemed to hesitate a few moments, then she followed, and I saw her go into the house after Mr. Delahay. But she will be able to tell you all about it herself. I dont understand you, the coroner said, with a puzzled frown. How can the woman tell us all about it herself? You dont mean to say that she is in court? The witness slowly turned and pointed a dingy forefinger in the direction of Maria Delahay. Thats the lady, sir, he said. Thats the lady that I saw with Mr. Delahay the night before last. But that is absolutely impossible, the coroner cried. Dont you know that that lady is Mr. Delahays wife? X Ropes of Sand Something like a thrill of real excitement ran through the spectators. The remark was made so quietly and in such a natural tone, that nobody dreamt of questioning the word of the witness. Then it went home to all that Stevens was making against Mrs. Delahay what amounted to a serious accusation. All eyes were turned upon her. She glanced in the direction of the witness in the same, dull, steady way which had characterised her from the first. This is very remarkable, the coroner murmured. Do you quite understand what you are saying? Why, of course, sir, Stevens went on, as if absolutely unconscious that his words were creating a sensation. That is the lady whom I saw with Mr. Delahay that night. I daresay she will tell you herself when she comes to give evidence. One moment, please, the coroner went on. How long is it since you identified the lady opposite? The witness looked about him as if he hardly understood the question. He was clearly puzzled by what had happened. As a matter of fact, he said, I did not see her till the last few moments. You see, sir, I took her for a witness like myself. I cannot say any more than that. The coroner murmured something to the effect that there must be a mistake here. Then he turned to the witness again. This is a most important investigation, he said, and I want you to be very careful. Will you look at the lady again and see if you have not made a mistake? Surely you were in court when she gave her evidence. You must have seen her then. Indeed, I didnt, sir, the witness protested. I did not come into court until my name was called outside. The coroner turned sharply to Mrs. Delahay and asked her to be good enough to stand up. She rose slowly and deliberately, and turned her head in the direction of Stevens. A ray of light fell upon her features; they were absolutely dull and expressionless, as if all the life had gone out of her; as if she failed utterly to comprehend what was going on around her. It was only natural that she should have dissented vigorously from Stevens statement. She regarded him without even the suggestion of a challenge in her eyes. As a matter of fact, the man was making a serious charge against hera charge of wilful perjury at the very least, and yet, so far as she was concerned, Stevens did not even appear to exist. Well, what do you make of it? the coroner asked. Just as I told you before, the witness went on. I saw that lady with Mr. Delahay at a quarter past one on the morning of the murder. I saw her enter the house in Fitzjohn Square. Extraordinary! the coroner exclaimed. Mrs. Delahay has already sworn to the fact that she retired to bed at twelve oclock, and that she did not miss her husband till late the next morning; and now you say that you saw her with the murdered man. In the face of Mrs. Delahays evidence, are you prepared to repeat your first statement? A stubborn look came over Stevens face. His watery eyes became more clear and steadfast. I have no object in telling a lie, sir, he said. I came forward in what I considered to be the interests of justice, and at some loss to myself. I am prepared to stand up in any Court of Justice, and take my oath that Mrs. Delahay was with her husband at the time and place I have mentioned. The audience swayed again, for there was something exceedingly impressive in the speakers words. All eyes were turned upon Mrs. Delahay, who seemed at length to gain some understanding of what was going on. There was no sign of guilt or confusion on her face. It was as calm and stony as ever. The speaker is absolutely mistaken, she said. He must have confused me with somebody else. From twelve oclock at night till seven the next morning I was not out of my room. On the face of what has happened, we cannot possibly go any further, the coroner said. After all it will be an easy matter to test the correctness of both witnesses. It is just possible that Stevens has made a mistake. Stevens shook his head doggedly. He felt quite certain that there was no mistake so far as he was concerned. Then there was a little awkward pause, followed by a whispered consultation between the coroner and Inspector Dallas. The enquiry is adjourned for a week, the coroner announced. There is nothing to be gained by any further investigation till the extraordinary point which has arisen has been settled. The disappointed audience filed out until only a few of the authorities from Scotland Yard remained. As Mrs. Delahay walked slowly towards the door, Inspector Dallas followed her. You will excuse me, I am sure, he said, but I should like to come back to your hotel with you and make a few inquiries. You see, it is absolutely necessary to disprove John Stevens statements. Until we have done that, we cant carry our investigations any further. I hope you will be able to help us in this matter. How can I help you? the woman asked in the same dull, level voice. I tell you that man was mistaken. I am still so dazed and stunned by my loss that I am quite incapable of following things clearly. Something seems to have gone wrong with my brain. But I will try and help you. It is very strange that that man should have made such an extraordinary mistake. Very strange indeed, Dallas murmured. Will you permit me to call you a cab? Now tell me, have you any relations? For instance, have you a sister who is very like you? In one of the most important investigations I ever undertook, I was utterly baffled for months owing to the fact of there being two twin brothers mixed up in the case. If you have a sister So far as I know I have not a single female relative in the world, Mrs. Delahay responded. And as to the rest, you will find that my statement is absolutely true. I suppose you will believe the servants at the hotel? The hotel was reached at length, and Mrs. Delahay excused herself on the ground that she was tired and utterly worn out. So far as Dallas was concerned he had no desire to detain her. As a matter of fact, he wanted to pursue his inquiries alone, and on the production of his card the resources of the establishment were placed at his disposal. Nothing seemed to escape his eye. No detail appeared to be too trivial. He received his reward at length through the lips of one of the chambermaids who had something to say. As was only natural, there was not a servant on the premises who had not heard all about the Fitzjohn Square tragedy, or who was not deeply interested in Mrs. Delahay. It is your duty to look after the rooms on the same floor as Mrs. Delahays bedroom? he asked. What time did you retire on the night of the murder? Not before two oclock, the chambermaid replied. We were unusually late that night as the house was full. Quite so. I suppose when Mr. and Mrs. Delahay came in from the theatre they got the key of their bedroom from the office in the ordinary way? I suppose they had a dressing room and a bedroom? The chambermaid admitted that such was the fact. When asked if she knew what time Mrs. Delahay had retired for the night, she shook her head. She could not be quite sure. You see, it was like this, she said. I was rather interested in Mr. and Mrs. Delahaythey were such a distinguished looking couple. I was in the corridor when Mr. Delahay went out about twelve oclock, and half an hour later I went up to Mrs. Delahays bedroom to see if I could do anything for her. The key was in the door, which struck me as rather strange, because, as you know, in large hotels like this, it is the customary thing for people to lock their rooms. I knocked at the door and no reply came, so I went in. The bed and dressing room were both empty, and thinking, perhaps, that Mrs. Delahay had gone out as well as her husband, I turned the key in the door and took it down to the office. A thoughtful expression came over Inspector Dallas face. That was quite the proper thing to do, he said. I suppose you dont know what time the key was fetched again from the office? Oh, that I cannot tell you. You see, I went to bed about two oclock and I was up again at seven. When I took Mrs. Delahay up her cup of early tea she was in bed then. Really! Did you notice anything strange about her? There was nothing to notice. She appeared to be very bright and cheerful, and chatted to me in the friendliest possible way. She did say something to the effect that she was a little uneasy about her husband, who had not yet returned, and that she must go and look for him. But beyond that I saw nothing that was in the least out of the common. I think that will do, Dallas observed. I wont detain you any longer. I know how busy you are. Dallas went straight away downstairs and interviewed the clerk in the office. The latters memory was a little vague on the subject of the coming and going of the various hotel guests. There were hundreds of them in the course of a week, and it was the habit of most of them to leave the key of their rooms in the office every time they went out. The speaker had no recollection of Mrs. Delahay calling for her key very late on the night of the tragedy. He debated the point thoughtfully for a moment, then his face lighted up. I think I can help you, he exclaimed. XI The Express Letter Take your time, Dallas said, encouragingly. I dont want to hurry you. All I want are facts. It is beginning to come to me now, the clerk said thoughtfully. Yes, I remember it quite distinctly. You see, Madam Leona Farre, the great French actress, is staying in the house, and she did not come in till just two oclock. After I had given her her key Mrs. Delahay came up and asked who the lady was. She wanted her key, too, which she told me was missing from the door of her room. Oh, indeed, Dallas said softly. She had just come in, I suppose? Had she taken off her things? No, the clerk said. She had just come in from the street. I had to explain to her how it was that the key had found its way back into the office again. She did not appear to be annoyed at that? Not in the least. Indeed, she seemed to be rather amused at her own carelessness. No, I saw nothing suspicious in her manner. I think that is all I can tell you. Possibly, Dallas said. But there is one other little matter in which you may be of assistance. I suppose you can recollect the night that Mr. Delahay left the hotel. Did he happen to ask for letters or anything of that kind? It would be quite the usual thing to do. Of course, it is a small point There were no post letters, the clerk interrupted. But just as Mr. Delahay was going out a messenger boy brought an express letter for him, which he read hastily, and then asked the hall porter to call him a cab. No, I cant say that the message disturbed him at all, but it seemed to hurry him up a bit just as a telegram might have done. That was the last I saw of him. On the whole Inspector Dallas was not disposed to be dissatisfied with his mornings work. He had discovered some important facts, and, at any rate, it had impressed the detective with the truth of John Stevens evidence. As to the rest, it would not be a difficult matter to find out the name and number of the messenger boy who had brought the unfortunate Delahay that letter. There was nothing for it now but to take a cab and go off in the direction of the district office whence the messenger boy had come. As Dallas walked briskly down the steps of the hotel he met Lord Ravenspur coming up. I am just going to see Mrs. Delahay, the latter said. By the way, Inspector, that was remarkable evidence which the witness Stevens volunteered this morning. But, of course, he was mistaken. It is absolutely impossible that Mrs. Delahay could have been with her husband at the time he stated. Well, I am not so sure of that, my lord, Dallas replied. Really, I dont know what to make of it. At any rate, I have discovered an absolute fact that for two hours, between twelve and two, Mrs. Delahay was not in the hotel. I have it on the independent testimony of two witnesses who corroborate one another down to the minutest detail. I dont know what to make of it. All the healthy colour left Ravenspurs face. This is amazing, he said. Yet I cannot believe that Mrs. Delahay has been deliberately deceiving us. I will go up and see what she has to say for herself. I suppose I am at liberty to tell her what you have just said to me? I dont know why not, Dallas said after a thoughtful pause. You see, she is bound to know sooner or later. And I hope you will make her see the advisability of accounting for her movements. Nothing can be gained by trying to deceive us, to say nothing of the wrong impression which Mrs. Delahay is creating in the minds of other people. Really, if you come to think of it, she is standing in an exceedingly perilous position, my lord. Ravenspur was not destined to make any impression upon the widow of his unfortunate friend, for she refused to see him. One of the servants came down with a message to the effect that Mrs. Delahay could not see anybody. Even a letter hastily scribbled by Ravenspur failed to induce her to change her mind. With something like despair in his heart Ravenspur went off in the direction of his own house. For the rest of the afternoon he sat in the library, a prey to his own gloomy thoughts. Visitors came and went, but the same message was given to all of themLord Ravenspur was far from well. He could not see anybody this afternoon. It was nearly seven oclock before Walter Lance came into the library. I am sorry to disturb you, he said, but I have something serious to say to you. I have been reading todays evidence in the Delahay case, and I was so interested in the matter that I went to Scotland Yard and had a chat with Inspector Dallas. It seems to me that Mrs.

Delahay has placed herself in a very compromising position. What do you mean by that? Ravenspur demanded. Surely, my dear uncle, the thing is plain enough. Whatever your opinion of Mrs. Delahay may be you cannot get away from the fact that she was deliberately lying when she gave her evidence this morning. She swore that on the night of the murder she wasnt out of her bedroom after twelve oclock, and we know now that she was away from the hotel for over two hours. You know it, too, because Dallas told you. You will forgive my plain speaking, sir, but I think you could throw some light on this painful tragedy. Believe me, I should not dare to say so much if You are presumptuous, Ravenspur said angrily. Do you dare to insinuate that a man in my position I am not insinuating anything, Walter urged. But I have a feeling we are in some way connected with this tragedy. I have a strange instinct that there is some close connection between the death of Mr. Delahay and that mysterious murderous attack upon you in your studio. Oh, I know that common sense is all against my theory, but I am going to tell you something which will astonish you. After I saw you to bed the other night I searched the studio for some way whereby an assailant could have entered the roomI mean some secret door known only to yourself You can disabuse your mind of that idea, Ravenspur said, with the ghost of a smile. I give you my word that there is nothing of the sort. But go on with your story. Well, I couldnt find any means of entrance and exit except by the door, and then it occurred to me that I might possibly light upon a clue. Finally I found this lying on the floor, and I should like you to read it. You may find it interesting. With these words Walter took from his pocket the dingy yellow handbill, and laid it open on the table so that Ravenspur might read. The latter glanced at the printed words, and then turned to Walter with a questioning eye. What does it all mean? he asked. It conveys nothing whatever to me, and, even if it did, I am the last man in the world to patronise entertainments of that kind. You never heard of Valdo before, then? Walter asked. Not I, my dear boy. Who is the fellow? He is a kind of flying man. He is an individual with extraordinarily developed arms and muscles. He can move those arms almost as quickly as a fly does in its flight; with the aid of specially prepared wings he can flutter about a stage like a bird. I daresay there is some secret behind it all, but still the performance is very graceful and attractive, though, as yet, the man tells me his flight is limited to some thirty feet. He tells you! Ravenspur exclaimed. Do you mean to say that you have actually paid a visit to this theatre? Certainly I have, sir. You see, I regarded this bill as a kind of clue. I knew that you could not possibly have brought it into the house, nor were any of your friends likely to do so. Therefore I came to the not illogical conclusion the other night that your assailant must have dropped it. The man who got into the studio must have been an extraordinary climber or something exceedingly clever in the way of an acrobat. In fact, just the sort of fellow who would be connected with music halls and circuses and places of that kind. That is why I went down to the Imperial Palace Theatre together with a journalist friend of mine who takes an interest in such matters. The only item of the entertainment worth watching was this man Valdo, and, of course, up to a certain point I did not identify him with the outrage upon yourself. Why should you do so now? Ravenspur asked. I told you that I have never seen or heard of the man, nor does he answer to any acquaintance of mine. Why, then, should you go out of your way to suggest that he had even been here? I am coming to that, Walter said quietly. I was so interested in the performance that I went round to Valdos dressingroom afterwards, and had a long chat with him. Just before I came away a woman looked into the room, and asked the performer if he was ready, or something of that kind. She did not notice me; indeed, she did not even look in my direction. It was only just for a moment that I caught a glimpse of her face. It was only by a great effort that I concealed my feelings. And when I tell you that the woman I am speaking about was Mrs. Delahay Impossible! Ravenspur cried in great agitation. The thing is absolutely incredible. I cannot believe it. Nevertheless, I am stating nothing but the truth, Walter said. As sure as I am standing here I saw Mrs. Delahay. And now you know why I am sure that there is something more behind this than has yet come to light. XII A Speaking Likeness It was some little time before Lord Ravenspur replied. For a moment or two he seemed to be bereft of the gift of speech. It sounds almost incredible, he managed to stammer at length. You are absolutely certain you are not mistaken? No, I am not mistaken. Mrs. Delahays face is far too striking a one to be taken for that of anybody else. Of course, I am not asking you to give me any information. I am not seeking to pry into your secrets; but this mystery maddens me. The most extraordinary part of the whole affair is thisfor three years on and off I have known Mrs. Delahay intimately. I saw a great deal of her in Florence, also in Paris last year. And she has always given me the impression of being absolutely straightforward and single minded. And now, for some reason or another, she has taken it into her head to tell deliberate lies which appear to have no point or meaning. If she had only said that she went to call upon a friend after her husband had gone out, no further question would have been asked. Of course, I had not forgotten the evidence of the man Stevens. I must confess I should like to see him and ask him a few pointed questions. But apart from all that, you must see the necessity of getting Mrs. Delahay to tell the truth. It is just possible that she is shielding somebody. It is just possible that the whole thing is capable of explanation. But of that you are the best judge. It is a miserable business altogether, Ravenspur groaned. I am obliged to you for the straightforward way in which you have told me everything, and I will do my best with Maria Delahay. She refused to see me this morning, but I will go round after dinner and make another attempt to get an interview. It was somewhat later in the evening that Walter looked up his friend Venables again. As he expected, he found the journalist to be greatly interested in the Delahay case. Walter had debated the matter over in his mind. He could see no harm in telling Venables what he had discovered. It is certainly a curious case, the latter remarked. And professional interests apart, I should like to get to the bottom of this mystery. But I see you have some suggestion to make in connection with it. What is your idea? Well, I have been thinking it out as I came along, Walter explained; and it seems to me that we might get a good deal out of the witness John Stevens. He is the sort of man who would do anything for money, and a sovereign or two ought to loosen his tongue. I dont want to say anything unkind about Louis Delahay, because he was a great friend of ours; and, so far as I know, his past is a clean and honourable one. But then you never can tell. What is a man like that doing to make an enemy, who is prepared to run the risk of being hanged for killing him? And why does he want to go round to his studio at such an hour in the morning? I thought of all that, Venables said grimly. Depend upon it, your unfortunate friend had some secret chapters in his life of which the world will probably never know anything. But what has all this got to do with that fellow Stevens? I was just coming to that point. If I had been the coroner I should have asked Stevens a great many more questions this morning. As it was, the authorities seemed content to let him go after he had given evidence to the effect that he had seen Mrs. Delahay with her husband. He told the court that he had been prowling and spying about Fitzjohn Square for some months, and he gave a pretty plain hint to the effect that he could tell a story or two about some of the inhabitants there. Now, for six months or more before Delahay went to Florence to be married, he lived a bachelor life at this house; and all this time Stevens was prowling about the neighbourhood after dark. It is not a very pleasant thing to have to do, but I should like to talk the matter over with Stevens and see if he can give us any information as regards Delahay. If you will telephone to Scotland Yard and get them to give you Stevens address, we will go round to his rooms and interview him at once. It was no difficult matter to get the address in question, and presently the two friends reached the shabby house in the dingy street where Stevens lived. An exceedingly dirty child informed the visitors that Mr. Stevens was out at present, but that he always left his whereabouts behind him in case he might be required professionally. At the present moment, the precocious child informed the strangers, Mr. Stevens could be found at the Imperial Palace Theatre in Vauxhall Bridge Road. That is a bit of a coincidence, Venables remarked. However, we cant do better than go down to the theatre. There was some little trouble in finding Stevens, and the performance was nearly at an end before he was pointed out to Walter by one of the attendants. He appeared to be none too sober, judging by his flushed face and somewhat unsteady gait; though, since the morning, his wardrobe had undergone a decided change for the better. The greasy, seedy frockcoat had vanished. Also the dilapidated silk hat. In fact the man looked quite prosperous. I would suggest that we dont speak to him in here, Venables said. Let us follow him out into the road. Walter fell in at once with the idea. In the road Stevens paused as if waiting for somebody, and presently from the stage door there appeared the slim, graceful figure of Valdo. For some moments the two men stood in earnest conversation together, and from their attitude it was plainly evident that they were in hot dispute upon some point. The discussion lasted some little time. Then with a shrug of his shoulders, Valdo put his hand in his pocket and passed a coin or two over to his companion. Stevens was understood to say something to the effect that that would suffice for the present. Then he lounged off down the road and paused presently before a publichouse which glittered invitingly opposite. Catch him before he goes in there, Venables whispered hurriedly. If the fellow has any more to drink he will be perfectly useless to us for the rest of the evening. Stevens turned suspiciously as Walter spoke to him. I think your name is Stevens, the latter said. My friend here is a journalist and is greatly interested in the Fitzjohn Square mystery. We have been reading your evidence of this morning, and have come to the conclusion that you may be able to afford us some useful information. If you will answer a few questions we will make it worth your while. To the extent of a couple of sovereigns, Venables put in. Then I am your man, Stevens exclaimed with alacrity. Perhaps you wouldnt mind coming round as far as my rooms. I have got a pretty poor memory for things, so I always jot everything down in my diary. I put everything down pretty well, because you never know what information is likely to be useful. I once made fifty pounds out of the simple fact that I saw a footman reading some postcards he was posting. Since then I have neglected no trifles. What we want, Walter explained, is all you can tell us about Mr. Louis Delahay. You know him very well by sight, and you must be acquainted with some of his habits. Stevens laughed knowingly, and nodded his head. I could open your eyes about a few of them in that neighbourhood, he said. I havent been loafing about Fitzjohn Square all these months for nothing. If I were a blackmailer, which I am not, I could live on the fat of the land. That is too dangerous a game to play, and I prefer to get along as I am. The man was evidently in a condition when he was past concealing anything. He chattered away glibly until his rooms were reached. Then with a flourish he opened the door and invited his visitors to enter. He apologised for the fact that he had nothing whereon to entertain the strangers, which apology was duly accepted. It was, perhaps, on the whole, a fortunate thing that Stevens cellar was empty. He ushered his companions into a grimy room, stuffy from want of air, and reeking with the odour of stale tobacco smoke. You will excuse me for a moment, he said politely. I will go into my bedroom and get my diary. I suppose pretty well all you want to know has happened quite lately. It is the last six months with which we are chiefly concerned, Walter explained. Before that does not matter. Stevens turned away and closed the door behind him. He was gone some little time, so that his visitors had ample opportunity to take stock of their surroundings. There was nothing in the place of any value except a small circular picture in a handsome frame, depicting a beautiful face, which was evidently the work of some artist of repute. The painting was so glaringly out of place that it immediately attracted Venables attention. How did that get here? he asked. My word, you may well ask that, Walter cried in surprise. Here is another amazing discovery! You remember my uncle being robbed of some pictures a few years ago, one of which he declared was the best thing he had ever done? You dont mean to say, Venables exclaimed, that, that Indeed, I do, Walter said under his breath. I declare to you that the painting hanging up there is the one which my uncle always considered his masterpiece. XIII A Striking Likness Venables regarded the painting with deep interest. All his journalistic instincts were now aroused. It appeared to him that he was on the eve of tapping a perfect gold mine of sensational copy. Now are you quite sure you are not making a mistake? he asked. You have not been misled by some chance likeness, because this is rather an important matter for me. My people expect smartness, but they have a rooted objection to mistakes. I tell you there is no mistake here, Walter Lance said definitely. I am prepared to swear that that portrait was painted by my uncle. Of course, you remember the sensation there was at the time when the pictures were stolen. They vanished from the studio in the most mysterious fashion. Two of them were of comparative unimportance, but yonder work my uncle reckons to be the best thing he has ever done. And I quite agree with him. A portrait, I suppose? Venables asked. Well, my uncle always denies it. He says the face is more or less a fancy one. And while he is prepared to admit that it is coloured by recollection, he says it is not intended for anybody in particular. But I can see a likeness there. Of course you can, and a very strong one, too, Venables exclaimed. Do you mean to tell me that your uncle cannot see that that picture is Miss Vera Rayne? That is the point I have put to him more than once. He says he cant see it at all. And there are others who share the same opinion. On the other hand, there are certain friends of ours who take the same view of it as I do myself. And they are right, Venables said vigorously. My word, we appear to be only on the fringe of this mystery! It occurs to me that the thief who stole that picture did not steal it for the mere sake of gain, but merely because it is what it is. No doubt the other two works were merely stolen as a blind. I dont wish to appear curious, my dear fellow, but what relation is Miss Rayne to Lord Ravenspur or yourself? Ah, that I cant tell you, Walter replied. Strange as it may seem, my uncle has always refused to say anything about Miss Raynes antecedents. All I know is that she is well bred, exceedingly beautiful, and perfect in every way. Oh, of course, Venables said hastily. But here is Stevens back again. It wouldnt be a bad plan to ask him point blank where that picture comes from. Walter nodded his approval as Stevens came back into the room with a notebook in his hand. He started uneasily as Venables literally fired the question at him. But there was no time for the man to prevaricate. It doesnt belong to me, he said. As a matter of fact, it is the property of a man who used to lodge with me some time ago. Well, it is a very fine piece of work, Venables said, in a matteroffact voice. I suppose your friend is a poor man; otherwise he would not live in a place like this. Do you think he would like to sell the picture? Stevens replied, with obvious confusion, that he could not say. His friend was not an Englishman, and where he was to be found at that moment Stevens could not say. There appeared to be nothing more for it but to change the subject. Then, as he stood looking at the painted face, a sudden inspiration come to Walter. He wondered why he had not thought of it before. His mind went swiftly back to the moment in the studio when Lord Ravenspur had appeared so disturbed over the unexpected finding of the photograph by one of his guests. Here was the photo idealised. Could there be any connection between the thief of the picture and Lord Ravenspurs midnight guest? Perhaps I can stimulate your memory, he said. Isnt your friend an Italian? Hasnt he got something to do with the variety stage? Come, you can answer my question; surely it is an easy one. Isnt your friend in London at the present moment? Stevens stammered and hesitated. There was something like fear in his eyes as he glanced furtively at the questioner. Lance felt quite sure that he was on the right track now. Now, look here, he said. We have come on important business, and if you refuse to help us, we may find some other way of inducing you to tell the truth. On the other hand, there need be no unpleasantness, and there is no reason why you shouldnt put a fivepound note in your pocket. Now isnt that picture the property of a man named Valdo who is at present under engagement at the Imperial Palace Theatre? Now, yes or no. I dont know how you found it out, Stevens said, wriggling about uncomfortably. But it is true enough. Valdo was living with me about three years ago. He came back one night with the picture in his possession. Not in a frame, I suppose? Lance asked. He brought it rolled up. The frame was put upon it a day or two later by Silva himself. Silva! Venables exclaimed. I thought his name was Valdo. That is his stage name, Stevens explained. You see, Silva had not come to England very long. He was very poor then, and I understood that he was looking for some Englishman, who had promised him employment whenever he crossed the Channel. Was the Englishman ever found? Lance asked. That I cant tell you, Stevens went on. Silva is very close about his own affairs, and I believe that he belonged to some secret society. He told me the picture had been painted for him by a clever compatriot of his, who was trying to make a name for himself. Of course, it was nothing to me, and I asked no questions about it. When Silva went away to fulfil an engagement up in the North, he asked me to take care of the portrait, and it has been hanging on the wall opposite ever since. I hope there is nothing wrong about it. Indeed there is, Lance said significantly. Now, if you would like to help us, we will make it worth your while. If you dont, why, it is more than possible that you may find yourself in an awkward position. I dont mind telling you that that portrait was painted by Lord Ravenspur, and that it was stolen one night from his studio some three years ago. Stevens gave a sudden start. I recollect it, he cried; I recollect it perfectly. I remember that there was a great outcry at the time, and that a large reward was offered for the recovery of the pictures. Lord, if I had only known. And to think that all this time That reward would have been yours, Venables smiled grimly. You would not have allowed your friendship for this man Silva Friendship! Stevens said contemptuously. What is friendship where money is concerned? And, after all, Silva was no real pal of mine. Precious little use he was to me. Oh, youll find us useful enough if you play your cards correctly, Venables said. We happen to know that you are on good terms with this man Valdo, or Silva, whatever you call him. In fact, we know that he gave you money tonight. You are quite astute enough to see how much better it will pay you to be on our side. Therefore, you will see the advantage of saying nothing to this Italian about our visit here tonight. Here is a fivepound note to go on with, and if I want you again, as is exceedingly probable, I will write to you and tell you where to meet me. I dont think we need detain you any more at present. Then you dont want to know anything about Fitzjohn Square? Stevens asked. I can tell you a thing or two. I think that will keep for the present, said Lance. Good night, and remember that silence is your policy. Stevens grinned and nodded as he tucked the fivepound note into his waistcoat pocket. His recent visitors went off together in the direction of Venables rooms. That was a brilliant inspiration of yours, the latter said, presently. Now, what on earth put it into your head to ask if that man Valdo had any connection with the stolen pictures? To my mind, your question was almost an inspiration. Well, hardly that, Lance proceeded to explain. But, first of all, let me tell you the events which led up to our discovery tonight. I think you ought to know. I am quite sure that the secret is safe in your hands. Now listen, carefully. Venables listened carefully enough to Walters extraordinary story of the strange photograph, and of the mysterious attack on Lord Ravenspur in his studio, and the subsequent discovery of the yellow handbill. In the light of these disclosures everything was perfectly plain to a mind so astute as that of Venables. He shook his head gravely. This looks like a vendetta, he said. You may depend upon it that Miss Vera Rayne is the unconscious cause of all the mischief. Of course, I am treading on delicate ground now, but I suppose it is just possible that Miss Rayne may be Lord Ravenspurs daughter. We know that Ravenspur used to spend a great part of his time in Corsica, and everybody is aware of the fact that lovemaking out there is a dangerous business. It looks very much to me as if this man Valdo was working out a plan of revenge, either on his own behalf, or on behalf of some noble family, hailing from that picturesque corner of Europe. My theory is further strengthened by the mysterious way in which these things have come about. See how anxious your uncle is to keep everything out of the hands of the police. I feel quite sure now that the death of Louis Delahay is all part of the same drama. It wouldnt be a bad plan to mention Luigi Silvas name to your uncle, and ask him if he has ever heard of the man before. That is a good idea, Walter exclaimed. Ill ask my uncle the question before I go to bed tonight. XIV Retrospection Most of the lights in the houses in Park Lane were out when Walter reached his uncles residence. But as he entered the hall he could see that the studio was still ablaze. The door was closed, but a thin shaft of light penetrated from beneath. As Walter tried the door he found to his surprise that it was locked. With some feeling of apprehension he called to his uncle, and a moment later Ravenspur turned the key. His face was pale. There was in his eyes a look which spoke of some vague fear. I hope I am not disturbing you, Walter said. My dear boy, I am only too pleased to have a companion, Ravenspur said eagerly. Upon my word, my nerves are so much shaken by these terrible happenings that I am almost afraid to be alone. Sit down and have a cigarette. Walter took a cigarette from the silver box on a little table, nor did he fail to note the presence of a stand of spirits, which was a thing in which his uncle rarely, or never, indulged. I really needed a stimulant tonight, Ravenspur said, half apologetically. Where have you been all the evening? I have been out making discoveries, Walter said, as he threw himself down into a comfortable armchair, and one of my discoveries has been really remarkable. To be perfectly candid, Venables and myself have been doing a little private detective business together. Venables was by no means satisfied that that fellow Stevens had told all he knew at the inquest on poor Delahay, so we hunted Mr. Stevens up, and finally ran him to earth in his dingy lodgings. And did he give you any valuable information? Ravenspur asked eagerly. Was it worth your while? Indeed, it was, as you will see for yourself, sir. As soon as ever we got into the room I was struck by a picture there. One does not usually find great works of art in a bedsitting room at five shillings a week. And when you see a picture like that, worth a couple of thousand pounds at least, it naturally arouses your curiosity. And when, on the top of that, the picture is perfectly familiar to you, why, my dear uncle You mean you had seen the picture before? Where? In this very studio; you painted it here, sir. It is one of the three pictures which were stolen from you some time ago. Oh, you need not shake your head, uncle. I assure you that I have not made the slightest mistake. I leave you to guess which of the three pictures it was that I saw in that dreary bedsitting room. I think I can tell you, Ravenspur groaned. It was the fancy portrait. Some instinct tells me so. You are quite right, sir, Walter went on. It was the portrait, surely enough. But it did not belong to Stevens, as you will probably have guessed by this time. It had been left in his care by an Italian friend, who gave a very plausible reason for being in possession of so valuable a work. I understand that this Italians name was Luigi Silva. Have you heard of him? Lord Ravenspur rose from his chair, and walked agitatedly up and down the studio. It was some little time before he spoke, and then his words came slowly and painfully. I see you know more than I had expected, he said. For instance, you have formed the conclusion that this Luigi Silva stole that picture. In fact, that he came here on purpose to get possession of it, and that he took two other canvases at the same time to prevent us finding out his real motive. Till tonight I had not the remotest idea why this Luigi Silva wanted that portrait, because the loss of the other pictures utterly deceived me, as it was intended to do. Now I know better. But you did not answer my question, sir, Lance suggested. Oh, yes; you wanted to know if I was personally acquainted with this man. As a matter of fact, I am not, though I have heard far too much about him for my peace of mind. But tell me, how did you manage to ascertain the fellows proper name? That, of course, we got from Stevens, Walter explained. Silva is in England ostensibly as a music hall artist; in other words, he is Valdo, the flying man that I told you about a little time ago. But dont you think we are getting rather from the point, uncle? I want to know the history of this man. Once more Ravenspur commenced his walk up and down the room. He seemed to be hovering between two minds. Perhaps it would be wiser if I were to tell you everything, he said. I did not intend to do so, but to a certain extent you have forced my hand, and it would be much more prudent for you to know where you stand. You asked me just now what I knew of this man Silva. Eighteen years ago he was in the employ of a great friend of mine, Count Boris Flavio. My unfortunate friend is forgotten now, but at the time of which I am speaking he enjoyed almost a European reputation. To begin with, he was an exceedingly rich man. He had one of the most beautiful places on the Continent, situated not far from Florence. Had he been poor, Flavio would have shone in any line he chose to take up. He was a fine artist, a notable sculptor, and one or two of his books attracted great attention. In addition to this, he had few rivals as an allround sportsman. His conversation was brilliant, his appearance and manners left nothing to be desired. Out of the scores of notable men I have met in my time, there is not one of them to whom I was so deeply attached as I was to Boris Flavio. His views, his sympathies, his extraordinary grasp of character all appealed strongly to me. So far as I know, he had no secrets from me, and it came almost as a shock one day when I had a letter from him saying that he was about to be married. Naturally one expected such a man to make a brilliant match, but, on the contrary, Flavio chose a wife from people of whom one had hardly heard. On the score of family, Carlotta Descarti had nothing with which to reproach herself. And here comes in the strange part of the affair. The Descartis and the Flavios had estates which touched one another, and between the two families there had been a feud for centuries. It was a veritable Montague and Capulet business, and I daresay it was this factor in the case that so strongly appealed to my friend Flavio. Mind you, I did not learn these facts till long after, and it so happened that circumstances prevented my attending Flavios wedding, and I never saw his wife. Two years later I received an urgent and mysterious message from Flavio to go and see him secretly, and meet him in the grounds of his estate without letting a soul know that I was there. I never saw a man so changed as my unhappy friend. It appeared that he had married a woman who was a perfect fiend. She had made more than one attempt upon his life, and he felt certain that the end was not far off. When I asked him why he tolerated such a state of things, he told me it was for the sake of his little girl, to whom he was passionately attached. And then he bound me to an extraordinary promise. Mind you, I would not have made that rash promise to any other friend, but such was the charm and magnetism of the man that I never even hesitated. And this is what I had to do. If anything happened to my friend, if he died mysteriously, I was to go to Italy at once, and, by fair means or foul, get the child away from the baneful influence of her mother. Oh, you may look at me with astonishment, Walter, but stranger things happen every day. I went away fully intending to keep my promise if occasion arose, and I was not surprised to hear a few months later that poor Flavio had been found dead in his room. It was proved that he had been poisoned, and suspicion immediately fell upon his wife. On and off, the case lasted three or four years, and caused a tremendous sensation throughout Europe. Beyond all question the wife was guilty enough, but she managed to prove an extraordinary alibi, which so puzzled the jury that they disagreed no fewer than five times. After that the authorities recognised the futility of further proceedings, and the countess was released. What became of her I dont know, for she disappeared, and, as far as I can tell, has never been seen from that day to this. But most assuredly she would have been convicted had it not been for the devotion of a servant of hers whom she had brought from her old home with her. This servants name was Luigi Silva. It was he who saved his mistress. I am firmly convinced it was he who engineered that marvellous alibi, and coached his witnesses so cleverly that there was no flaw in their evidence. I was not present at any of the trials, because I could not manage to get away, but I read enough to convince me that this Luigi Silva had talents and courage far above the common. And the child? Walter asked, with pardonable curiosity.

Oh, I had almost forgotten the main part of my story, Ravenspur proceeded. The more I read of that case, the more convinced I was that I should be doing right in carrying out my promise to my dead friend. It was not a difficult matter. It only meant a journey to Italy and back, and the little one was in my safe custody. I leave you to guess what that child is called now. Vera Rayne, of course, Walter said. Quite so. From that day to this she has been with me always. But, mind you, I was not blind to the risk I was taking. If ever the truth came out, my life was not worth much. I knew that I should be tracked and followed, and finally lose my life, even if the search took twenty years. But, gradually, as the time wore on, I became easy in my mind. I had taken the utmost precautions to blind my trail, and the only accomplice I had was my old nurse, who has been dead for some years. Besides, Vera was growing up, and it seemed to me impossible to identify her with the baby not quite two years old. She is not in the least like her father, either, and that is why I made a mistake. I had quite forgotten that she might be very like her mother, and she I have never seen. XV Dallas Makes a Discovery The danger would certainly lie there, Walter said thoughtfully. My dear boy, that is just where the danger comes in, Ravenspur replied. I havent the remotest idea whether Vera is like or unlike her mother, but I fear that she must be, otherwise that man Silva would never have got on my track, as I have felt quite sure lately that he has done. Doubtless in some of his wanderings he has seen the girl, he has recognised the likeness, and made up his mind that he has found the object of his search at last. You see, he has only to make a few inquiries amongst the servants, who would tell him that Vera is my ward, and that, as to the rest, she is more or less of a beautiful mystery. One can understand now why he should come to my studio and steal that portrait. I think I can see a better theory than that, Walter said. Wasnt the portrait exhibited before it came back to the studio again? I seem to remember something of the kind. Of course it was, Ravenspur exclaimed. I had quite forgotten that. Silva must have got his inspiration from the picture. I suppose that is why he made that murderous attack upon Sir James Seton the other night, taking him, of course, for me. But that is not the first warning I have had of the impending danger, and I am afraid it wont be the last. Walter listened to this desponding view with impatience. But, surely, you are not going to take it like this, sir? he expostulated. By greatest good fortune we have discovered who your mysterious foe is. I think it has been a wonderful slice of luck, and we ought to take advantage of it. Surely you couldnt do any less than place the matter in the hands of the police, telling them all that has happened. At any rate, you can do nothing else. They can drive this man Silva out of the country. If I may be allowed a suggestion, you will let Inspector Dallas know without delay. If you dont care to tell him yourself, let me broach the matter. Indeed, it seems my imperative duty to do so. If you fell by the hand of this man now I should feel morally responsible for your death. And, besides, if anything happens to you, what are we going to do about Vera? She is not yet of age. She might at any moment be claimed by her mother, who you say is a perfect fiend. And, besides, though this is a minor matter, I am deeply attached to Vera myself Oh, I know, I know, Ravenspur groaned. The thing is hedged round with troubles and difficulties. You know why I was against your marriage with Vera, and how greatly distressed I was when I found everything out. If there had been nothing in the way, nobody would have been more delighted at a match like that than myself. But you see the danger, though you little know how deep and farreaching those Corsican vengeances are. How do I know that if you marry Vera you would not be marked down for the same fate as myself? I am prepared to risk that, Walter said grimly. Still, at the present moment, we have far more important things to talk about. And Vera must know nothing of this. My dear boy, of course not. I should never dream of telling her. But sooner or later she must discover everything for herself, I am afraid. I have been thinking over what you said just now, and perhaps it would be as well to let the police know. You will do it at once? asked Walter eagerly. Well, no, I dont propose to do it at all. You have been so clever and coolheaded in this matter that I have decided to leave everything to you. The whole problem is so complicated that I am utterly unable to grasp it. I can see no connection between the two, but I am perfectly certain that the death of poor Delahay is all part of the coil. I feel that, too, Walter said. But we need not concern ourselves about that at present. By the way, have you seen anything of Mrs. Delahay today? She wont see me, Ravenspur replied. She obstinately refuses to see anybody. She remains wilfully blind to the fact that she is in a serious position. You see, she declared in her evidence in chief that she had not been outside the hotel on the night of the murder, and yet on the testimony of three independent witnesses we have it that she was away upwards of three hours. Of course, that man Stevens is a very suspicious character, but he could have nothing to gain by swearing that he saw Mrs. Delahay with her husband very early in the morning in Fitzjohn Square. Moreover, the mans evidence was not in the least shaken. What to make of it I dont know. I wish you would try and see her. You know her far better than I do, because you were a deal in Italy before Delahays marriage, and I think she likes you. Of course, she might have some strong reasons for leaving the hotel and for keeping the thing a secret, and she may be utterly and entirely innocent. But, really she ought to tell her best friends what is the meaning of this mystery. Walter glanced at his watch. It still wanted some minutes to eleven oclock, and it was no far cry to the Grand Hotel. A hansom took him there in ten minutes. Mrs. Delahay had not yet retired for the night, and Walter sent up his card, with a few urgent words pencilled on it. A maid came down presently with the information that Mrs. Delahay would see him for a moment. She came into her sittingroom perfectly calm and selfpossessed, though the deadly whiteness of her face and the scintillating of her eyes told of the torture that was going on within. I wish you would let me help you, Walter said as they shook hands. I wish you would be advised by me. My uncle tells me that you refused to see him altogether. I was bound to, Mrs. Delahay said in a low voice. Oh, I know exactly what you want. I am the victim of a set of extraordinary circumstances. My innocent lie may get me into serious trouble. I am not blind to that knowledge, but at the same time I cannot speak. I must allow people to think the worst. But I swear to you if it is the last word I ever utter, that I was not with my husband. I was not the woman the witness identified as the person he had seen with Louis Delahay in Fitzjohn Square that terrible morning. The words were quietly, almost coldly, uttered, but Walter believed them as he would perhaps have refused to believe a passionate outburst on the speakers part. But surely, he argued, you can give some account of your movements. You can say why you went out and what for? I cannot, Maria Delahay went on in the same even tones. There are the most pressing reasons why I should keep silent. My dear Mr. Lance, I am grateful from the bottom of my heart for all your sympathy and kindness, but nothing can move me from my determination. After all said and done, the police can prove nothing against me. For the rest of my life I shall be a person to be shunned and avoided, but I shall know how to bear my punishment uncomplainingly. And in conclusion, I am quite convinced of thisif I told you everything, you would say that I was perfectly justified in the course I am taking. Further argument is useless. Walter saw the futility of it, too. He saw in the womans averted head and outstretched hand, the sign that he was no longer needed, and that the interview was at an end. By no means satisfied he made his way down to the vestibule intent upon seeing Inspector Dallas without further delay. He was not surprised to find the object of his search engaged in discussion with the clerk. You are the very man I want to see, he said. If you have ten minutes to spare, I think I can give you some useful information. I have just been having a long conversation with Lord Ravenspur, and he has asked me to lay certain facts before you. I can come with you now, Dallas said. We can talk as we go along the road. Now, sir. It is rather a long story, Walter said. I suppose you Scotland Yard people keep yourselves au fait with most of the sensational crimes which take place on the Continent? I suppose, for instance, you remember the death by poisoning of Count Boris Flavio, and how his wife was charged no fewer than five times with the crime? Dallas fairly started. That is a most extraordinary thing, he said. I dont mind telling you that within the last day or two, or rather within the last few hours, we have blundered upon a startling light on that crime. It so happens that an Italian detective, who has come here to take a prisoner back to Rome, has interested himself in the Fitzjohn business, more or less because Mrs. Delahay is Italian herself. This detective Berti was not in court during the inquest, but he came round here an hour or two ago and expressed a casual wish to see Mrs. Delahay. He managed to do so for a moment, and then he made a statement that fairly took my breath away. But come with me as far as Scotland Yard and you shall hear him tell the story himself. I wont spoil it for him. A little while later Walter found himself in the presence of a slim, diminutive man, with a fierce moustache and an exceedingly mild, insinuating manner. This is my friend Berti, Dallas explained. And this, Berti, is Mr. Walter Lance, nephew of Lord Ravenspur. He mentioned the Flavio case to me just now with a view to getting a little information. I told him that you had had the whole business in hand, and you had better let him know that you are in a position to place your finger upon the Countess Flavio at any moment. Oh, that is an easy matter, Berti said. I had the privilege of seeing the Countess this evening; but she does not call herself countess now. She is Mrs. Louis Delahay. XVI Strong Measures You have made a most extraordinary mistake, Walter said. On and off I have known Mrs. Delahay for some considerable time. I am quite certain that she is no relation whatever to Countess Flavio. And I, sir, am equally positive, the Italian detective replied. I think my friend Inspector Dallas told you just now that I had the Flavio case in hand from the first. Indeed, I have had many conversations with the Countess. So positive am I that I am right that I will be prepared to make an affidavit of the facts. This is very strange, Lance murmured. I cannot but believe that you have been deceived by a strong likeness between two different women. I know all about Mrs. Delahay. She comes from a very good Italian family, though I believe they were poor; they were exceedingly proud and exclusive, and until the death of her parents, Mrs. Delahay lived a life of almost monastic seclusion. Perhaps you wouldnt mind telling me her name? Berti asked. It might facilitate matters. Certainly, Walter Lance replied. Before she was married Mrs. Delahay was Signora Descarti. A peculiar smile flitted over his face. That is assuredly a point in my favour, he said, seeing that Countess Flavio also was Signora Descarti. Lance began to feel less sure of his ground. It appeared to him that the mystery was deeper than he had anticipated, and the more he came to investigate, the more bewildering the puzzle was. Certainly he had known Maria Delahay for the last three years on and off, but when he came to think over matters it struck him for the first time with peculiar force that, really, he knew little or nothing of Maria Delahays antecedents. He well recollected the time when Louis Delahay announced his approaching marriage. He recalled that evening perfectly. Delahay had been a selfcontained sort of man, and one of the last persons in the world to associate with matrimony, but he seemed to have found his fate at length, and had quite come out of his shell, discussing his future wife with Lance. And what was it that he had told him after all? In the first instance, Signora Descarti was no longer in the bloom of her youth. In the second place, she was shy and retiring, possibly because, up to a certain time, she had lived such a secluded life. Despite the fact that she was of excellent family, she was earning a precarious living with her brush, and Delahay had hinted that there had been a romance in her early days which had coloured her life. Really, beyond this, Walter Lance had no knowledge of this unhappy womans past, and he did not forget that the Flavio affair was nearly twenty years old. Except by the police, the thing was absolutely forgotten. It was almost impossible that anybody besides these authorities would recognise Carlotta, Countess Flavio, at this moment. It came upon Lance with quite a shock that his unfortunate friend, after all, might have married a woman who had been tried five times on the capital charge. Eighteen years is a long span in a human life, and many changes can happen in that time. Lance put aside the uneasy thoughts that rose to his mind, and turned to Berti again. That is distinctly a point in your favour, he said. I confess that the fact that both ladies possessed the same maiden name comes as a shock to me. And yet, even now, I cant altogether abandon the idea that this is nothing more than a coincidence. But, tell me, what opinion did you form of Countess Flavios character? The Italian smiled and shrugged his shoulders. Enigma, he said, the woman seemed to be without feeling altogether, from the time that I arrested her until her final acquittal I never knew her display any feeling at all. Even when I had to announce to her that she was at liberty, she gave no sign of pleasure or relief. She was like a creature who had been deprived of all the emotions, like some people you see who are deeply addicted to the drug habit. I have seen her execrated by a mob of excited people, and taking no more notice of them than if she were deaf. Yes; she was a most extraordinary woman. Did you believe her guilty? Lance asked. Ah, there you puzzle me, Berti replied. Upon my word, I dont know. Opinion was so equally divided; in each case the jury was balanced for and against. Sometimes I thought the woman was guilty, and sometimes I thought she was innocent. Of course, it was that extraordinary alibi which saved her life. There was no getting away from it, for the testimony in the womans favour was given by people who were total strangers to her. On the other hand, all the household servants came forward one after the other, and gave their mistress a very bad name, indeed. On their testimony she would have been executed, without a doubt. If only half they said was true, the Countess Flavio was a fiend. Did no servant testify in her favour? Lance asked. Well, one. And he was a manservant who had accompanied the Countess from her own home. According to his account, his mistress was a perfect angel, and the Count was no more nor less than a disgrace to humanity. This testimony passed for very little, seeing that Count Flavios neighbours and tenants came forward and spoke of him as a man of singular charm and virtue. I have heard that, Lance said, thoughtfully. You see, Lord Ravenspur, my uncle, was a great friend of the Count. I understand that he never met the Countess, though he had an interview with the Count not long before his death. According to what Lord Ravenspur says, at that time the Count walked in fear of his life. He was very fearful lest his wife should try to destroy him. And now you tell me that the Countess Flavio was no less than the wife of my friend Delahay. I dont know what to think about it. I presume that Inspector Dallas will take steps to assure himself that Mrs. Delahay is the woman you take her to be. Well, yes, Dallas said grimly; I dont see how the matter can rest here. We know perfectly well that Mrs. Delahay was away from her hotel for upwards of two hours on the night of her husbands death. It has been proved that she was seen in his company. And yet, at the first outset, she declares that she has not been outside her bedroom. One doesnt like to come to conclusions; they are fatal things to form in our profession. But it seems to me pretty obvious that there is one person who could clear up this mystery, and she happens to be the dead mans wife. Lance had nothing to say in objection to this. Still, at the same time, there was a haunting doubt in the back of his mind that circumstances were shaping themselves against Maria Delahay apart from any faults of her own. You havent enough to justify an immediate arrest, I suppose? he asked. You see what I mean? Oh, I see perfectly well what you mean, sir, Inspector Dallas replied. There is nothing to gain by such a course. It is impossible for the woman to get away. Indeed, we should take immediate steps to prevent her leaving the country. If she is the guilty party, she will be much more use to us as a free woman than she would be as a suspected criminal under lock and key. But, unless I am mistaken, Mr. Lance, you came here to tell me something. I had clean forgotten all about it, Lance exclaimed. But as it is getting late now, if you dont mind I will leave it till the morning. It is a long story. A few moments later and Lance was retracing his steps in the direction of the Grand Hotel. He was going to do wrong; he was going to do something which, sooner or later, might land him in serious trouble, but that did not deter him for a moment. In the hall of the hotel he scribbled a hasty note, and sent it up to Mrs. Delahay. A message came down in a moment or two to say that Mrs. Delahay would be pleased to see Mr. Lance. He found her waiting in the sittingroom, just as cold and pale and impassive as before. You have something very important? she asked. Indeed, I have, Lance exclaimed. I want you to believe that I am actuated entirely by the friendliest motives, and if I speak plainly you will understand that I am not wanting in feeling. I have been with Inspector Dallas tonight and he introduced me to an Italian detective whose name is Berti. The latter assures me that his name is quite familiar to you. He is quite mistaken, Mrs. Delahay said in her cold, even voice. I dont know anybody of that name. As to a policeman, I never had the honour of speaking to one in my life. You are quite certain of that? Absolutely. If it were true, what should I have to gain by denying it? If you have anything to say to me, it will be far better to speak quite plainly. The woman spoke quietly enough. It was impossible to believe that she was wilfully deceiving her questioner. Very well, then, Lance said, I may as well tell you that this man Berti was the detective who had the Flavio case in hand. You will remember, of course, what an extraordinary sensation that drama caused in Italy many years ago. Did it? Mrs. Delahay said indifferently. I never had the slightest interest in that kind of thing. So far as this particular case is concerned, I never heard of it before. Lance could only stare in astonishment. She was speaking and acting now just as, according to Berti, the Countess Flavio had behaved before and during the trial. Was she the sport of circumstance, or was she the woman she denied herself to be? XVII Looking Backwards That is very strange, Lance murmured. I am told that the trial in question was the talk of Europe for two or three years. I believe the papers were full of it at the time. And yet you dont seem to have heard of it. Isnt the name of Flavio familiar to you at all? It is not a common name. As Lance spoke he saw a swift and subtle change pass over the face of his companion. A flame of colour stained either cheek; then it was gone, leaving her still more ghastly white than before. I have not told you quite the truth, the woman said; but in twenty years one forgets even the keenest of sorrows. Now I come to think of it, the name of Flavio reminds me of one of the most unhappy experiences in my existence. There was a certain Count Flavio whose estates joined those of my father. For some generations there had been a deep and bitter feud existing between the Flavios and the Descartis. The head of the Flavios was a very old man, who had two sons. Not to make a long story of it, the young people met, and fell in love with each other the young people on one side being my sister and myself. The intrigue was found out, of course, and for the next ten years I was practically a prisoner in my fathers house. He had a gloomy old fortress somewhere up country, and there I was detained. I might have been there still had my parents lived. And your sister? Lance asked. What of her? Again the woman hesitated. Again the look of pain and suffering swept like a wave across her face. They told me my sister was dead, she murmured. I had to take their word for it. And you believed it? You believe it still? I hope you will pardon me for my persistent questions, but it is quite necessary that I should put them. Do you feel quite convinced? Once more Mrs. Delahay hesitated. Once more she seemed to shrink as if in physical pain. How can I know? How can I tell? she asked. Did I not say that I had been a prisoner all those years? This would account for the fact that I know nothing about that Flavio tragedy. Are you going to tell me that it is one and the same family to whom my sister and myself were attached? Indeed, I do, Lance went on. Your Count Flavio had two sons. When he died his elder son came into the title and estates. That was the man who was afterwards poisoned by his wife; at least, a great many people think so. And his wifes name was Carlotta. Her surname was Descarti. My dear Mrs. Delahay, it is impossible to believe that this is a coincidence. I quite agree with you, Mrs. Delahay said, in a low voice. They seem to have deceived me about my sister, and my parents told me that she was dead. I suppose they meant that she was dead to the family. She must have made her escape, and married her lover after all. I was less fortunate. But what you say absolutely overwhelms me. The man that my sister loved was a splendid specimen of humanity; he was kindhearted and generous; in every sense of the word he was a gentleman. And I can vouch for my sisters many good qualities. To say that she poisoned him is absurd. Why, she simply worshipped him. But, tell me, what opinion did the world form as to the merits of this extraordinary case? I want to spare you as much pain as possible, Lance murmured. But your sister was held up to execration as a fiend in human form. One servant after another gave evidence to this effect. They seemed to think that your sister was not altogether sanebut why should I torture you with these details? What I really came here to tell you is this. The Italian detective, Berti, who had the case in hand, is in England at the present moment, and he has seen you. He declares that you are Countess Flavio. You can see how seriously this accusation may tell against youlater on. Lance uttered the last two words reluctantly enough, but Mrs. Delahay saw their full significance. Oh, I know what you mean, she said. You mean that I have placed myself in a perilous position. But there is one thing I can assure youI am not the Countess Flavio. If necessary, when the time comes, I can prove this in a manner which would set even that Italian policemans suspicions at rest. It is very kind of you to take all this trouble on my behalf. I suppose you want me to tell the whole truth, and say why I denied being away from the hotel the other night, when three people can come forward and show that my statement is false. Well, it was false. I dont mind going as far as that. But more I cannot and will not say, except that I am an innocent woman who has been a prey to cruel misfortune all her life. There was determination as well as sadness in the words. Lance could see that he was merely wasting his time. Think it well over, he said; give it every consideration. I will call and see you again in the morning. No reply came from Maria Delahay. She merely held out her hand, and Lance took his leave without another word. Then the woman dropped into a chair, and covered her face with her hands. Why did Fate persecute her in this way, she asked herself. Why had her life been such a misery for the past twenty years. Surely all this was a terrible price to pay for a childish indiscretion. And yet, though the years had been long and burdensome, it seemed but a brief step back to the happy, sunny days when she and her sister had been children playing in the woods at home and getting every drop of enjoyment out of life. Then they had hardly comprehended the feud that existed between the Descartis and the Flavios. Indeed, they had looked upon it as rather a silly business altogether and a distinct nuisance to mutual friends and neighbours. They had begun to notice, too, that the sons of old Flavio were good to look upon, and finally one day a slight adventure in the woods had thrown the young people together. The thing had begun in a harmless fashion enough. They met again, and yet once more. They fell in the way of discussing the family quarrel and making light of it. From then on the path was pleasant and easy enough, and one day the two girls awoke to the fact that they were both deeply in love with the sons of their hereditary enemy. It was at this point that stern old Descarti discovered the great secret. What happened after that Maria Descarti hardly knew. There was a terrible storm of rage and passion, sleepless nights, and tearbedewed pillows, and then such a life of greyness and despair that the girls had never dreamt of. When at length she ventured courage to ask after her sister, she was told that the latter was dead. She took this statement literally, and she resigned herself to the inevitable. The prison doors were open at length, but only on the death of her parent, and there she was at forty years of age, helpless and friendless, with no knowledge of the world, and nothing to aid her besides her brush and pencil. The struggle was indeed a hard one, and it looked like ending at length when she came in contact with Louis Delahay. She had no strong passion to give him, nothing but the tranquil affection of approaching middle age. She had been perfectly candid in the matter, and Delahay knew exactly what he had to expect. Perhaps the prospect of tranquil happiness was far better than the rosy dreams of youth. And all this was now shattered by the unexpected tragedy. Maria Delahay had reached this point in her thoughts; then her mind wandered on to what Lance had recently told her. And so, after all, her sister was alive. This knowledge had not reached Maria Delahay tonight. She had suspected it for some days, and it had come about in quite a prosaic way. She could see it now quite clearly in her mind. The pleasantmannered chambermaid had come into the sittingroom soon after Delahay had gone out on that fatal evening. She had evidently taken a liking to her visitor. Maria could see her now as she fussed about the room. Is there anything you want? she asked. You seem to have forgotten me, the girl said. I waited upon you when you were here last spring. Last spring! Mrs. Delahay exclaimed. Why, surely, you have made a mistake. I have never been here before. Oh, madam, the girl said reproachfully, you are making fun of me. You came here by yourself, and stayed for the best part of a week. You had very few visitors, and you used to talk to me a good deal. Only the name is different. You used to have Carlotta, not Maria, on the envelopes I brought up to you. Mrs. Delahay started. With difficulty she restrained her feelings, for the chambermaids innocent words had let a flood of light in a dark place. In the happy old days people were constantly mistaking her for her sister. Was it possible that her sister was still alive? Was it possible that she had been deceived all this time? A little dissimulation might be the means of getting the truth from the voluble chambermaid. You have sharp eyes, she said, and, no doubt, a good memory. How long did I stay here, and where did I go afterwards? It was a little over a week, the girl said. And then you went away to Number Seventeen, Isleworth Road, Kensington. I remember the address because I have a sister in service who used to live next door. Perhaps madam does not want to be remembered? There are many reasons why it is prudent not to know too much. I am glad to see you are so discreet, Mrs. Delahay smiled. There is no reason to mention this to anybody else, you understand? XVIII After Many Years Left alone to herself, Maria Delahay had summed up the situation clearly and logically. Beyond all doubt her sister was still alive. Beyond all doubt Carlotta had been staying at the Grand Hotel within the past twelve months. She, too, seemed to have had her misfortunes, misfortunes more keen and cruel than even those of her younger sister. It was very strange that Maria should learn the truth in this fashion. It was stranger still that she should discover the house to which Carlotta had gone on leaving the hotel. Up to this moment Maria had no idea of going out herself. She intended to go straight to bed and await her husbands return. Now a strange restlessness came over her. She felt it impossible to remain imprisoned within those four walls. There was no likelihood of Louis Delahays return for the next two hours. Why, then, should she not go out and take a cab as far as Isleworth Road? It was very late, of course, but then London was a late place, and a midnight call no novelty. Allowing herself to act on the impulse of the moment, Maria walked downstairs, and out into the Strand. Hailing a cab, she was driven to Isleworth Road, where she gave orders for the driver to stop. The locality was a respectable one, and there were lights in a good many of the houses; but at number seventeen Mrs. Delahay met with disappointment. The house was not empty, though the blinds were down, and there was not a light to be seen. The dingy nature of the steps and the tarnished look of the brasswork testified to the fact that neither had received any attention of late. As Maria stood there ringing the bell for the third time, in the faint hope of making somebody hear, a policeman came along. You are wasting your time there, lady, he said civilly enough. The people are not at home. I think they are coming back at the end of the week, because my instructions to keep a special eye on the house dont go beyond Saturday. Maria thanked the officer and went back in a cab. She would have liked to have asked more questions, but she restrained her natural curiosity. After all, it was not a far cry to Saturday, and even then she might meet with a disappointment. In all probability her sister had left London long ago. Maria was thinking all these things over now that Walter Lance had gone. She wondered that her sister had so completely passed out of her mind. But, then, she had had so many terrible anxieties to weigh her down. She could not sleep for thinking of the tragedy. She paced up and down the room in a vain attempt to get away from herself.

The clocks outside were striking the hour of midnight, but the roar of the Strand was going on still as if it were high noon. A sudden resolve came to the woman. She would go out at once and try her luck at Isleworth Road again. She took no cab this time. She knew the way. As she walked along she was conscious of the fact that she was being followed. She smiled bitterly to herself. What had those people to be afraid of? Did they think she was going to run away? Her heart gave a great leap as she saw the lights gleaming behind the drawn blinds at No. 17. She had only to ring once, then the door was promptly opened by a typical English servant, who waited for the visitor to speak. I think there is a lady here I want to see, Maria stammered. At least she was here for some time in the spring. You see, she is my sister, and we have not met for twenty years. It may appear strange, but I dont even know her name. It seemed to Maria that this was a proper precaution on her part. Though her explanation sounded weak enough, to her great relief she saw the servant smile and open the door a little wider. That is all right, madam, the servant said. I can see that you are my mistresss sister by the likeness. Will you please come this way. The next five minutes seemed like an hour to Maria. Then the door opened, and a tall, dark woman came in. The two looked at one another for quite a minute in absolute silence. It was so strange to meet after all these years, so sad for both to see how the other had altered. Then Maria Delahay moved forward, and the two women kissed each other almost coldly. Why did you come here? the Countess said. How did you manage to find me out? I thought you were dead. I thought you were dead, too, till the other night, Maria said. I was told that twenty years ago. I should not be here at all but for an amazing chance. You will remember that you were staying at the Grand Hotel some time in the spring, and it so happens that my rooms are on the same floor as yours, and that the same chambermaid is still there. When she welcomed me as an old customer I guessed by instinct that you were still alive. And if you only knew it, there is a providence behind this thing. Countess Flavio appeared to be listening in a dull, mechanical kind of way. There was no disguising the fact that she was both distressed and disconcerted to find herself face to face with her longlost sister again. You know nothing of my history? she asked. Not till tonight, Maria said. I have recently been listening to it. I knew nothing. How could I know anything? When our dream of happiness came so suddenly to an end I became practically a prisoner in that dreadful old house of ours near Naples. I was told that you were dead, and I believed the story. I knew nothing of your existence till a day or two ago. I was utterly ignorant of the fact that you had had such a dreadful time. Not that I would believe anything they say, Carlotta, because I know what you were in the old days. But however dreadful your experiences have been, you, at any rate, snatched a brief happiness. You married the man of your choice. How did you manage to escape? Oh, dont ask me, Carlotta Flavio said bitterly. If you only knew everything you would see that you were far better off in your prison than I was with my liberty. Do you know that I was five times tried for my life? Do you know that for four years I was the most execrated woman in South Italy? But I am not going into that now. I want to know what brings you here this evening. Why you should come at such an inconvenient time? But why inconvenient? Mrs. Delahay protested. We were fond of one another in the old times. And what more natural than I should seek out my sister at the first opportunity? But you are changed. Doubtless your misfortunes have soured you. I have had my misfortunes, too. Of course you have heard lately a good deal about Mr. Louis DelahayI mean the unfortunate artist who was found murdered in his studio the other night? Countess Flavio started. Her lips grew white. Who has not heard of it? she said. The papers are full of the tragedy. People are talking about nothing else. But you are not going to tell me that there is any connection Indeed, I am, Maria went on. As I said just now, for years I was no better than a prisoner. I should be a prisoner still if our parents had lived. Then, finally, when I found my freedom, I made a discovery that there was absolutely no money left. I was forced to get my own living. I had nothing beyond my brush, and things were going from bad to worse with me when I made the acquaintance of Louis Delahay. We always liked one another from the first, and when he asked me to marry him I gladly consented. It seemed to me that the way was opening up for a happy middleage. It seemed to me that Fate had got tired of persecuting me at last. I married Louis Delahay and we came back to England. You married Delahay? the Countess said mechanically, and you came back to England? I am trying to realise it. I read the account of the inquest. I know that people are saying that Delahays wife is responsible for his death; but I did not dream then that it was my own sister whom folks were condemning. I cannot believe it now. But why did you go out that evening. If you had remained in your room nobody would have been I left the hotel to come here, Maria replied. But I found that you were not in London. And now I am going to tell you why it is that I have refused to speak, why it is that I have allowed people to regard me as a perjurer. You say you read the account of the inquest. Do you recollect what a poor creature called Stevens said? He swore, and, what is more, he believed every word he said, that he saw Louis and myself together in Fitzjohn Square early on that fatal morning. Come, if you read the paper carefully, you must have seen that. It was the most sensational piece of evidence given at the inquest. The man picked me out in court, and said positively that he had seen me with Louis. But he didnt, as you know perfectly well. As I know perfectly well? the Countess stammered. What have I got to do with it? Where do I come in? Maria Delahay threw up her hands with an impatient gesture. There was a steady gleam in her eyes now. She had lost all her listless manner. I was not there, she said, because I was somewhere else. That James Stevens saw someone with my husband on that morning is absolutely certain. It is absolutely certain, too, that he did not see me. Then who did he see whose likeness to me is so great as to deceive a pair of keen eyes under a brilliant electric light? It was you, you, Carlotta, who were walking with my husband at that hour in the morning. Now tell me what it all means. XIX Carlottas Story Oh, this is terrible, the Countess stammered. Of course it is, Maria Delahay cried. Why dont you be candid with me? I have told you what my name is, and, besides, you already knew. When you saw my husband on that fatal night your likeness to me would have struck him at once, and explanations would have followed. Then why are you trying to deceive me now? I hardly know what I am saying, the Countess replied. The whole thing is such a terrible complication. I dont want to deceive you, Maria, and I will tell you all I can. You might believe me or not, but when I read of the death of Louis Delahay, for the moment I had quite forgotten you. You see it was a great shock to me when you came in just now, especially as I had not seen you for so many years. But I am getting muddled up again. I am beginning to wonder which of us is which. It seems to me that all this miserable business is merely the result of the strong likeness which exists between us. Never mind that, Mrs. Delahay cried. If you will remember, in my evidence I said my husband had gone out, that he did not return all night, and that I found him dead in Fitzjohn Square in the morning. I was out of the hotel for nearly two hours trying to find you, after I had been so strangely put on your track by the chambermaid. Perhaps it was a foolish thing on my part to conceal my absence, but, of course, I never guessed the result of my folly. It never occurred to me till afterwards that my absence from the hotel could be so easily proved. Even that did not matter so much. And when the witness Stevens swore that he saw me with my husband at a time when I had said I was in my hotel, things began to look serious for me. I know perfectly well that I may be arrested at any moment on a charge of murdering my husband. How true that charge will be I leave you to judge for yourself. But the mystery was no longer a mystery to me when Stevens told the court most positively that he had seen me with my husband. I did not know that Louis was acquainted with you. He never mentioned your name, but directly Stevens had finished I knew that it must have been you who was with my husband; and now I must ask you to give me an explanation. That is an easier matter than it seems, Countess Flavio said. I knew Louis Delahay, though he had no acquaintance with me. That sounds impossible, Maria murmured. Oh, I know it does, but it is true all the same; and to make my story plain I shall have to go back nearly eighteen years. The events which led to my making Louis Delahays acquaintance took place near Florence at the time I mentioned. That is strange, Mrs. Delahay murmured. I was in Florence about then, too. Yes, I know I told you that I was practically a prisoner all those years, but there were times when I had a certain latitude. I was very ill about that time, and the doctor ordered me to Florence, saying that it was good for me to see people and mix with crowds. I was supposed to be there by myself, but there was no movement of mine which was not noted. I never took even the shortest walk without being dogged and spied upon. The people who called themselves my servants were, in reality, my gaolers. But why do I worry you with these trivial details when there is so much of importance to say? Go on with your story. Well, as I was saying, the Countess explained, I was in Florence with my husband. We had been married then something like three years. We had rather a lonely villa on the outskirts of the town. Ours was not a happy life; indeed, it was most miserable. I daresay there were faults on my side, too; but one night we had a violent quarrel, and, on the spur of the moment, I made up my mind to run away. I managed to get all my jewels together. I managed to leave the house in darkness and steal through the grounds to the road. I was dressed all in black, and I remember the night was very thick. Just as I was congratulating myself on my escape my husband overtook me. He was beside himself with passion. He laid violent hands upon me. I believe he would have killed me if I had not managed to wrench myself free and make for the road. What we said I do not know, but I suppose our voices must have carried far, for I had only got a little down the road, with my husband in hot pursuit behind me, when a man emerged from the cottage and caught me by the arm. At first I thought he was one of my husbands tools, but the first words that he said reassured me. Do not be afraid, he whispered. I was trespassing on the Counts property just now, and I heard all that was said. That man is dangerous, and it is necessary that I should protect you for the present. Come in here with me. He did not wait for me to consent. He fairly lifted me from the ground into the blackness and seclusion of the cottage. It was all done in less time than it takes to tell. A moment later I heard my husband go raging down the road, and then I knew that my life was saved. Mind you, it was altogether too dark to see my rescuer. It would have been imprudent to strike a light. I stayed for some little time until I regained my composure, after which I made up my mind to return home again. It would never do for people to think that a Descarti was a coward, and, besides, there were other considerations. I would go back home again and give my husband one more chance, especially as I had a friend in the house in the person of Luigi Silva, who had followed me on my marriage. At the same time, I did not forget the dictates of prudence. It might be still necessary for me to seek an asylum, and my instinct told me that I could trust the man by my side. On the spur of the moment I implored him to take care of my jewels for me. He demurred for a time on the score that he was a perfect stranger to me, then, finally, he consented, at the same time taking from his pocket a card, which he said contained his name and address. And thus the strange interview ended, thus we parted, never to meet again till that fatal night we came together in Fitzjohn Square. I know the story sounds incredible. Not to me, said Mrs. Delahay, sadly. Nothing could be incredible to a woman who has gone through what I have. But go on. You went back home again, after entrusting your jewelry to a perfect stranger whose face you had never seen. Indeed, I did. And we should never have known one another even if we had met. I went back to the villa, and afterwards we returned to our estate. But it was not for long. A month or two later my husband was found dead in bed, and it was proved beyond question that he had been poisoned. Then began a time for mea time of terror and anxiety so great that I sometimes marvelled that I retained my reason. For four years the torture lasted, and then, at length, I was free. I was in so strange and morbid a condition that the sight of a human face was hateful to me. I wanted to go off and live on some distant island until I recovered my nerve and strength again. I succeeded at length in finding the place I needed, and for twelve or thirteen years I led a life of absolute seclusion in a little cottage high up the Italian Alps. I had taken a certain amount of money with me, but I woke up to the fact one day that my means were exhausted. You must know that I fled straight away, as soon as the last trial was finished, and that all those years I never saw a single face that was familiar to me. But by the end of that period I was quite myself again. I felt a strange longing to go into the world and see what life was like once more. Besides, there was my child to consider. Your child? Mrs. Delahay cried. This is the first time you have mentioned a child. Do you mean to say that you could part with your own flesh and blood in that callous way? The Countess expression hardened for a moment. She was his child as well as mine, she whispered. Well, what of that? I fail to see that it makes any difference. Your husband might have been a passionate man, but, apart from that, everybody spoke exceedingly well of him. He was immensely popular. He was clever and generous. He had hosts of friendsI know that through an English nobleman, who was greatly attached to the Count. Everybody spoke well of him. Oh, I know, I know, the Countess said, with a bitter smile. The catalogue of his virtues was trumpeted high enough at the trial, and I was no more than an inhuman wretch, not fit to live, certainly not fit to have a husband like Count Boris Flavio. But you shall hear my story presently. You shall hear what my witness has to say. At any rate, I hated my husband with a deep and abiding hate, so that I could not bear to look upon the face of his child. You may say that all this is unnatural and inhuman, but you little know what I had to put up with. Still, twelve or fourteen years will heal most wounds, and when I came back into the world I was possessed with a longing to see my daughter. I did not like to go back to the old place again, so I sent to make inquiries. Imagine my feelings when I heard that my daughter, Vera, had been kidnapped during the time of the first trial, and that she had never been seen again. That is two years ago now. I managed to communicate with Luigi Silva, and he was just as astonished and surprised as I was. Naturally, he thought that I had made arrangements with Vera, and that she was with me all the time. One of my reasons for coming to England was to try and find my child. My other reason was to see Mr. Louis Delahay and get my jewels back from him. This was quite imperative, as I am at my wits end for money. XX Valdo in a New Light How did you know my husband was in England? Maria asked. I didnt, the Countess confessed. I looked for him all over the Continent. I should have written to him, only I had mislaid his card, which I found at length after a long search. Seeing that the address was Fitzjohn Square, I thought I would come and interview Mr. Delahay. It was quite late at night that I found that he was staying at the Grand Hotel, and as things were very pressing indeed, I sent him an express letter asking for an interview early in the morning. In response I received a telegram saying that he would see me at once, and if I could manage to be at the corner of Fitzjohn Square at one oclock in the morning. I told you just now that things were very urgent, because I had taken this house furnished, and I had already had one or two unpleasant interviews with the landlord, who naturally wanted his money. The telegram seemed to be reasonable enough. Artists are very late people, and, besides, it occurred to me that Mr. Delahay had probably had those jewels in his house. At any rate, I met him. You can imagine how astonished he was when he saw my face. Of course, he naturally concluded that I was your sister, but he seemed to think that you had told him that I was dead. I suppose that was so. Certainly it was, Mrs. Delahay said. I was definitely told that you were dead. And when I related our unhappy story to my husband, I always spoke of you as one who was no more. Yes; I quite see. Well, we went along very pleasantly together to the house, and it seemed to me that all I had to do was to get those jewels and come and call upon you. Naturally, I had not heard of you for years. Indeed, I regarded you as dead, much the same as you were under the impression that I no longer lived. But when we reached the studio, a light was burning there, and, looking in, I saw a man painting, a handsome man whom your husband told me was Lord Ravenspur. You can imagine that neither of us wanted to be seen. There was no occasion to raise any doubts in the intruders mind, and so we waited till he was gone. Then my case of jewels was handed over to me, and I came straight back here. Not till late the next afternoon did I know what had happened. Then there is nothing more you can tell me? Mrs. Delahay asked. I am sorry to say there is not. But since you have been here certain suspicions have begun to grow in my mind which fill me with dread. It would not be fair to utter them yet, until I am more certain of my facts. Still, I am glad you have come now, because I think you will be of assistance to me. You heard me speak just now of Luigi Silva, but, of course, you will remember him perfectly well? I recollect him, Mrs. Delahay said. A queertempered man, with strange and wayward moods, but he was sincerely attached to us. I should like to see him again. You shall see him, the Countess said. And if you have half an hour to spare it shall be this very night. When I discovered that my daughter had been stolen I got in touch with Silva, who, as I told you just now, was under the impression that I had taken Vera away and placed her in safe custody, lest the authorities should interfere and remove her from my influence. When he found that I had barely given Vera a thought all these years, he was furiously angry with me. Indeed, his rage knew no bounds. He had always been so faithful; he had always worked so hard for me, that I was astounded. He refused to have any more to do with me. He went off without leaving his address, and for some little time I have been searching for him in vain. Quite by accident I found him the other night. He seems to have turned his athletic powers to advantage, for he is performing in London now as a kind of flying man. I have seen the performance, and it is exceedingly clever. But that isnt what I want to talk to you about. I know where Silva, or Valdo, as he now calls himself, is to be met with. Within a few moments I want you to come along and add your persuasion to mine. I will do anything you like, Mrs. Delahay said; anything to get to the bottom of this singular mystery. The Countess started up at once, and proceeded to don her hat and cloak. Then she led the way to the back of the house. There is a way out here, she said, which leads into a lane. Now, come along. We have not very far to go. They turned out of the lane presently into a quiet, secluded thoroughfare, where the Countess stopped. They had not long to wait, for presently two figures came down the road, talking earnestly together. The light was not good, but it was quite sufficient to show Mrs. Delahay that one of the men was James Stevens. The witness, Stevens, she whispered. He must not see us together. There are many reasons why it is inadvisable that he should learn the truth. The other man looks like Silva; only it is difficult to be sure after all these years. Let me stand in this doorway till you have managed to get rid of Stevens. The Countess nodded her approval, and Maria Delahay slipped into the shadow of the door. From where she stood it was quite possible to see what was going on. She saw her sister approach the two men. She did not fail to note Stevens start as he recognised, or thought he recognised, the woman who was known to him as Maria Delahay. On the still air she could catch a word or two. Very well, she heard Silva say sullenly. I have one or two things to say to my friend here, and then Ill come back to you. The two men came past where the woman was standing in the doorway. They were conversing in deep whispers, so that the listener could catch only a word or two, yet those words filled her with vague apprehension. She caught the name of Ravenspur as it came hissing from Silvas lips. Then there was something she could not follow, and, finally, clearly enunciated the one word tonight. A moment later and Stevens was shuffling off down the street, while Silva returned to Countess Flavio. As Mrs. Delahay joined them, the little Italian glanced from one to the other. So you are both here, he said. There was something in the insolence of his manner that moved Mrs. Delahay to anger. I should hardly have known you, she said; certainly I should not have known you from the tone in which you are addressing us. Have you quite forgotten what you owe to your late masters children? I have forgotten nothing, Silva said. Why do you come here persecuting me like this? Why cannot you let me alone? But for me your sister would have been in a dishonoured grave by now. I saved her life. I saved the good name of the family. And how am I repaid? What does she care so long as she saves herself. And yet I remember her a sweet and innocent child, just as I remember her own little one. Ah, I was fond of her, and she was fond of me. I could never have gone off and hidden myself, and left little Vera to the tender mercies of the world. I, a man, no relation, couldnt have done that. But that her mother could have done such a thingah, it seems unnatural, unwomanly. You will find her for me? the Countess said timidly. I have found her, Silva whispered fiercely. But whether I have found her for you or not is quite another matter. I was your good friend once. I was your devoted slave and servant. I would have laid down my life for you both, and you know it. But all that I felt for you was as nothing compared to my love for your little one. And when you told me that you had left her without another thought, my blood fairly boiled with passion. I thought you had taken her with you. I fondly imagined that you were devoting the rest of your life to her welfare and happiness. And then, one day, you come coolly to me and ask me where you can find your child. You go your own way, and leave me to go mine. I suppose you have found out that I come this way home, and so have waylaid me. But you will never get me to raise a finger on your behalf again. Still, it does not much matter. I know where the child is. I shall know how to act when the time comes. My vengeance is ready, when I care to stretch out my hand to take it. The words poured from the speakers lips in a torrent of passionate vehemence. He fairly quivered with rage. He seemed to be beside himself with anger. There was something almost akin to madness in his eyes. Oh, calm yourself, the Countess said. My good Silva, I make every allowance for your feelings, but you are going altogether too far. You, above all men, ought to know how I longed to get away from anything that reminded me of my husband. Dont forget that she was his child as well as mine, and that she had her fathers eyes and charm of expression. Besides, I was barely responsible for my actions then. Consider what I had had to go through. Consider my mental torture and degradation. And yet you say it was my duty day by day to watch my child and see the hateful pleasantness of her fathers smile looking at me from behind her innocent features. Oh, I couldnt do it. I tried to persuade myself that it was my duty, but all to no avail. I was in such a state of nervous exhaustion then, so near the borderland of insanity, that I believe I should have taken the life of the child if she had gone with me. And, naturally, I thought that she was with friends. I knew that you would see that she was all right. And, in addition to all this, she was her fathers heiress. But who was interested in taking her away? Mrs. Delahay asked. I dont see how anybody could gain anything by saddling themselves with a child like that. XXI To Be in Time It is plain enough to me, Silva growled; but then I am acquainted with the facts of which you two know nothing. With all his faults, Count Flavio was passionately attached to his little girl. Through her he could see a means of stabbing his wife to the heart, and he was never the man to hesitate where a piece of refined cruelty was concerned. He arranged that kidnapping himself. Incredible, Mrs. Delahay cried. And why? Have I not just told you so? Silva went on. You remember Count Flavio and his brother twenty years ago? You recollect what a handsome man he was? No one was more popular or sought after. No one was more pleasing and fascinating. But behind that fair exterior was the nature and disposition of a devil. Oh, I knew it before that unhappy marriage took place. And that was why I insisted upon accompanying Signora Carlotta when she fled with the count. It was not long before she found him out. It was not long before he began to employ the petty tyrannies which poisoned her life and made existence almost unendurable. I have stood behind his chair when guests have been present. I have seen his clever simulation of affection, whilst all the time he was saying things that wound sensitive women and drive them to despair. Many a time I have been tempted to thrust a knife between his shoulders. More than once I have had my hand upon a blade. But if I stayed here all night I could not sum up the catalogue of that mans diabolical cruelties. And when at length he paid the penalty of his crime, I stood by my mistress, and saved her from a felons grave. It was hard work, for everything was so cunningly laid that my mistress stood convicted from the very first. Perhaps Count Boris reckoned upon an untimely end. At any rate, all his servants, and the greater part of his tenantry, followed one another in the witnessbox and gave him the character of a saint, whilst his wife was painted in the blackest colours. But for a little scheme of mine, she would have been convicted beyond the shadow of a doubt. Still, we are getting away from the point. I was going to prove to you how I knew that the Count had arranged for his daughter to be kidnapped before his death. Some time previous to his marriage one of his greatest friends was an English nobleman, called Lord Ravenspur. Quite by accident, a few months before the tragedy, I saw a letter which the Count had written to Lord Ravenspur imploring the latter to give him a secret interview at once. In that letter the most horrible charges were levelled against the Countess. But we need not go into those now. I managed to get hold of the reply to the letter, and I had no scruples in reading it. Mind you, I did not think then that there was a plot on foot to kidnap the child, and I was prevented from attending the interview owing to the cunning of the Count, and within a few weeks afterwards I had plenty of things to occupy my attention, so that those letters were forgotten. And so things went on for years, until I heard from the Countess again, and I found that she knew nothing of her child. Oh, I have made no secret of my feelings in that matter. I have spoken quite freely tonight. Silva paused for a moment, and wiped his heated face. From that time forward, he went on, I have devoted myself almost exclusively to my search for the child. It did not occur to me till comparatively recently that Lord Ravenspur had had anything to do with it. In fact, that noblemans name had quite gone out of my mind. I heard him spoken of from time to time as a great artist. I am fond of pictures myself, and about three years ago I went into a private view in Bond Street, and there I saw a face which attracted my attention. It was the head of a young girl precisely what little Vera would have been by that time. The more I studied those features, the more convinced was I that here was the object of my search. And when I asked the name of the artist, I was told that it was none other than Lord Ravenspur. Then it came upon me like a flash that my search was at an end. The recollection of those letters came to me; then I knew as plainly as possible that, at the instigation of the Count, Lord Ravenspur had taken the child away. Those two were in league together. But the one who still lives shall not escape his punishment. I will see to that. But are you quite sure? the countess asked eagerly. Have you seen Vera? Does she live with Lord Ravenspur? That I dont quite know, Silva said. I have hung about the house; I was determined to find out things for myself without raising suspicions in the minds of the servants. I gradually discovered what the household consisted of. On and off for the last two years I have watched and waited, but I saw no sign of anybody resembling the girl of whom I was in search. And gradually I began to think that I had made a mistake. Business took me away to the North for some months, and when I came back again I put in a day or two more in Park Lane in the faint hope that I might be rewarded at last. And I was. At length I saw her. And now you know where your daughter is to be found if you want to see her again. I am perhaps wrong to tell you this But where had she been? the Countess exclaimed. Ah, it is easy to be wise after the event, Silva said. She had been at school on the Continent for the past three years, and that is why all my efforts ended in failure. I did not mean to tell you this. I meant to have kept it to myself as a punishment for your heartless conduct all these years. But I must own that your arguments impressed me. I can see now how the child would have reminded you of her father. And that is why I have said so much. But, at the same time, this thing has been an indignity to the family which I cannot overlook. Lord Ravenspur will have to pay the price of his audacity. Blood is thicker than water Silva appeared as if he would have said more. But he checked himself, and his words died away in low mutterings. In some respects it seemed to Mrs. Delahay that the man was sane enough.

In other matters she was convinced that he was little better than a dangerous lunatic. Were they on the eve of another dreadful tragedy, she asked herself, or was this man merely uttering vapouring threats when he spoke in this fashion of Lord Ravenspur? You will do nothing rash? she said. A queer smile flickered about the corners of Silvas lips. His eyes were glittering like stars. Oh, I will do nothing rash, he said significantly. I have been brought up in the wrong school for that. When we South Italians take our vengeance, we strike and strike hard. But it is done in the dark, so that the right hand does not know what the left is doing. But we never forget, and we never forgive. Silva turned on his heel, and walked slowly and thoughtfully away. The Countess called for him to come back, but he took no heed. He might have been deaf to the sound of her voice. It doesnt matter, she said; at any rate, I shall know where to find him again. But are you not coming back with me? I think not, Mrs. Delahay said. It is getting very late, and I must be returning to my hotel. But, if you like, I will come and see you again, only it must be stealthily and in the dark. You will quite see the advisability of our not being much together till this cruel mystery has been cleared up. They parted at the corner of the street, and Mrs. Delahay continued her way slowly, always keeping the figure of Silva in sight. An impulse to follow him had suddenly seized her, though she had said nothing of this to her sister. She recollected vividly enough now the words that had passed between Silva and Stevens as to Lord Ravenspur, and the things that were going to happen tonight. For all she knew to the contrary, she might be the means of preventing another tragedy. She felt almost sure of this presently as Silva turned into Park Lane, and pulled up before Lord Ravenspurs house. The street was quite deserted, so that the man had no great need for caution. He stood there just a moment longer; then coolly entered the garden by way of a side gate. Apparently he had come prepared for this. He let himself into the garden with a key. Very cautiously Maria Delahay followed. She noticed how dark the garden was, the shadows being all the more dense by reason of the blaze of light which came filtering through the glass dome of the studio. Though the glass was stained, and it was impossible to see through, the light inside was strong and steady. Half hidden behind a bush the watcher waited developments. Presently she heard Silva creep cautiously to the side of the studio. Then, a moment later, to her amazement, she saw that he was slowly climbing to the top of the dome, by means of one of the ribs in the roof. The man appeared to be as lithe and active as a cat. The smallest foothold seemed to suffice him. He made his way to the top of the dome, and Mrs. Delahay could see him peering in curiously. He stood just for a moment debating. There was no time for further hesitation. It was very late now. Probably all the household had gone to bed, and doubtless Lord Ravenspur was alone in the studio. She knew something of his habits from her husband. Without a moments hesitation she flew back into the road, and ran to the front door of the house. She pressed the button of the bell. She could hear the ripple right through the house. It seemed to her as if no one was ever coming. Then presently there was the sound of a footstep inside, and the door was flung open by Walter Lance. Not a moment, she gasped. Get to the studio at once. XXI The Worth of a Name The great house in Park Lane was brilliantly lighted up, and passersby asked themselves what distinguished company Lord Ravenspur was entertaining tonight. Inside the house the master of it all was counting the moments till he should be alone. He was only giving an informal dinner, but the guests numbered upwards of thirty all the same. And now they were disported all over the house. Ravenspur sat in the great hall, with its mosaic floor and wonderful marble pillars. It was one of the show places of London, the envy of many whose means were greater than Ravenspurs. The veiled lights shone through palm and fern. The sultry evening seemed to be rendered cooler by the murmur of the fountains. It was possible to sit there and see the fish darting hither and thither, so that the effect of being somewhat far away in the seclusion of the woods was complete. A tall, fair woman, marvellously attired, was languidly singing the praises of the place to her host. There is nothing like it, she said. It is absolutely unique. We have tried the same effect in America, but, somehow or another, it seems so artificial, so wanting in repose. You are the most fortunate of individuals, Lord Ravenspur. So my friends tell me, Ravenspur smiled. But you must not always judge by appearances. If his guest only knew, Ravenspur thought. If she could only guess what his feelings were at that moment. The beauty of the place had been a delight to him at one time. He had enjoyed the planning and building, but now he would have changed it for the meanest cottage, if only he could approach to peace and comfort thereby. The house seemed full of omens. Danger seemed to lurk everywhere. No doubt those banks of palms behind the water gave a charming effect to the hall, but, then, an assassin might have hidden behind them, for they afforded plenty of cover. The genial smile was still on Ravenspurs face. No one would have guessed the grey tenor of his thoughts. Even the pretty woman by his side had no idea how anxiously he was watching the clock in the gallery. Meanwhile, the guests flitted from place to place, and Ravenspur could hear the click of the balls in the billiardroom. Somebody was playing brilliant music in the drawingroom. Usually, Ravenspurs guests were loth to leave, and tonight was no exception to the rule; but presently they began to drift away, until, at length, Ravenspur was alone. He heaved a deep sigh of relief. He rose and turned in the direction of the studio. As he did so a slim, white figure came down the broad stairs, and Vera Rayne stood before him. She was looking her very best tonight. There was an extra dash of colour in her cheeks, a sparkle in her eyes. The look that Ravenspur turned upon her was half affectionate and half sad. You did very well tonight, he said, considering this is the first time you have done me the honour to act as hostess to my guests. You played your part quite to the manner born, Vera. We shall have no occasion to call in the services of Lady Ringmar any more. You will find yourself paragraphed in the papers now. Vera did not appear to be listening. Her beautiful face had a grave look upon it now. She hesitated for a moment before she spoke. There was no hurry about her words, but Ravenspur could not fail to see that she was palpably nervous. It will not be for long, then, she said. My dear guardian, can I have a few moments conversation with you? It is not so very late, and one so seldom gets an opportunity. How grave you are, Ravenspur smiled. We will go as far as the library, if you like, and then I can smoke a cigar and listen to your weighty utterances. Come along. It was cosy enough in the library, and much more inviting of confidences than the stately splendour of the pillared hall. Ravenspur threw himself back in an armchair and lighted a cigar. Then he signified to Vera to proceed. Her lips were trembling now. Something bright and diamondlike twinkled under her lashes. You have been very kind to me, she said unsteadily. Have I really, my dear? Nothing out of the common, I am sure. And what have I done? Given you a good education and found you a comfortable home; and from first to last you have never caused me a moments anxiety. I have become as fond of you as if you were my own child. It will be a genuine grief to me when the right man comes along and takes you away from here. There is not much fear of that, Vera smiled wistfully. Of course, you may think me ungrateful. You may say that I am showing a great deal of dissatisfaction My dear girl, you are not dissatisfied, surely? I am afraid I am. You see, things cannot go on like this. I hate to have to talk in such a fashion, but the time has come when I must speak. All these years you have been showering benefits upon me. You have been treating me as if I were your own flesh and blood. The money alone that I must have cost you is enormous; and, so far as I know, I have not a penny. You will have when I die, Ravenspur said lightly. Oh, please dont talk like that; it makes my task all the more difficult. I have realised for a long time now that I cannot stay here, a dependant on your bounty. I can never feel sufficiently grateful for what you have done for me in the past. I could not possibly put my feelings into words; but I have made up my mind that I must get my own living in the future. It is a very hard thing to say, but I am going to leave you. Did anybody ever hear anything so foolish? Ravenspur cried. Why, this is your home. Is it your fault that you are utterly incapable of getting your own living? When I brought you herea child in armsI gave your father a solemn assurance that you should be my own daughter in future. I have made provision for you in my will. Some day you will be rich, as things go. And now you talk of leaving me in this coldblooded fashion. Dont you see that I cannot do without you? But let me try and touch that gratitude of which you spoke. Surely, after watching over you so carefully all these years, you are not going to leave me at the very moment when you can make something like an adequate return? You are practically mistress of the house now, and my welfare is entirely in your hands. Need I say any more after that? Oh, you try me sorely, Vera cried; and yet my path is quite plain. Even at the risk of incurring your displeasure, I cannot remain here. And now I come to the point. Before I go I want you to tell me who I am, and who my parents are. Yes; I think you have a right to know that, Ravenspur said thoughtfully; but, if you dont mind, we will not go into that tonight. It is too late, and the story is too long. Believe me, you will be the happier for asking no questions. There is a dark tragedy behind your young life which is now forgotten, and I am perfectly sure you would bitterly regret it if you stirred the scandal up again. Let sleeping dogs lie, Vera. Be content to know that you are of good family, and leave the rest alone. The girls face grew a shade paler. Her eyes had a suggestion of pain in them as she turned to the speaker. I think I understand, she murmured. If my suspicions are correct, this is a great blow to me; but, having said so much, I think I must know the rest. And now, now you see how impossible it is that I can remain here much longer. Ravenspur was silent for a moment. He had forgotten the little scene which he had witnessed some time ago between Vera and Walter Lance. So that was why she was going. She had given her heart to Walter, and only too late she had discovered that a marriage between them was out of the question. The same subject was uppermost in Veras mind. They were both looking at the same thing from a different point of view; and it seemed to Vera that if Ravenspurs words meant anything, it meant that she was not even entitled to the name she bore. Every drop of blood appeared to have left her heart. She stood there, white and breathless. Yet, amidst all her storm of thoughts, one dominant idea possessed her. The time had come to strike now. There must be no further delay. She must leave the house. She must go out into the world to get her own living. She would stay here no longer under these shameful conditions. You have spared my feelings, she began. I almost wish now that I had not asked you any of these Vera broke off abruptly as the door opened, and Walter Lance came into the room. He looked uneasy and anxious. He started to say something to Ravenspur, then he paused, as he saw that Vera was standing there. In spite of the girls utter misery and dejection, she did not fail to see that she was in the way now. I am just going, she said. I am going as far as the drawingroom. When you have finished with your uncle I should like to have a few words with you, Walter. You had much better go to bed, Ravenspur said, with a sudden stern inflection in his voice. It is getting late, and I am sure that you must be tired, Vera. The girl made no reply. She walked through the door on the far side of the library and made her way into the drawingroom. Uncle and nephew stood there facing one another; they could hear the sound of Veras piano softly played. XXIII The Next Move Well, and what is it now? Ravenspur asked. You look as if you had seen a ghost. Is there anything new in this ghastly business? Have the police solved the problem? On the contrary, the problem gets more bewildering every hour, Walter said. As you know, I was going to talk over our side of the puzzle with Inspector Dallas, and he gave me some startling information. As soon as ever I mentioned the Flavio business he told me that he had made a discovery which connected it closely with the death of poor Louis Delahay. It appears that there is in England at the present moment an Italian detective, called Berti, who had the Flavio affair in hand. I recollect the name perfectly well, Ravenspur murmured. It appears that Berti has seen Mrs. Delahay since the inquest. He was rather interested in the affair, and he contrived to get a sight of Mrs. Delahay. And now comes the most extraordinary feature of the story. Berti is absolutely certain that Mrs. Delahay is no other than Carlotta, Countess Flavio. Impossible, Ravenspur cried. The man is mistaken. He is prepared to swear to his statement, any way, Walter said. And, after all, I dont see why it should be impossible. In fact it is not in the least impossible, and Ill tell you why. After this amazing thing came out I thought it my duty to go back to the hotel and see Mrs. Delahay. I told her what Berti said, and taxed her with being a principal in the Flavio tragedy. And she denied it promptly, of course? She did. She told me quite calmly that she had never heard of the Flavio affair. I confess her words staggered me, because they were so calm and selfpossessed. I watched her narrowly when I was speaking, and she never so much as changed colour. Even when I told her the story she appeared to be as mystified and puzzled as ever. She said, as she has always said, that for the best part of her life she has been more or less a recluse, and altogether out of touch with the worlds happenings. You see, Berti was so confident, and Mrs. Delahay so selfpossessed, that I was utterly puzzled. There is nothing to be puzzled about, Ravenspur said. The Italian detective has made a mistake. His recollections of Carlotta Flavios features after eighteen years have become blurred. For goodness sake, dont let us harp upon this absurdity. Surely, there are enough complications without this! So I thought at first, Walter said. But you will recollect telling me the story of your friend Count Flavio and his unhappy marriage. There were two DescartisCarlotta, who married your friend, and Maria, who disappeared and was not heard of for years. Now isnt it rather significant, bearing in mind what Berti says, that Mrs. Delahays name should be Maria? Ravenspur looked up with a startled expression. Well, yes, he exclaimed. But I see you have more to tell me. Will you please go on? I am coming to the interesting part now, Walter said. Though I was prepared to believe that Mrs. Delahay knew nothing of the Flavio affair, I was by no means satisfied. I felt that there must be something in the Italians story. I was certain of it when Mrs. Delahay admitted that her maiden name was Descarti. Oh, please let me finish. It was Mrs. Delahays sister Carlotta who was the wife of your friend the Count. Hence the very natural mistake made by Berti. He had not seen the Countess, but her sister. The strong likeness between them would account for the misunderstanding. And this is really a fact? Ravenspur cried. Strange that it should not have come out before. But why should it, my dear uncle? You say that you never saw Count Flavios wife. You have not the slightest idea what she was like. All you know is that she was an exceedingly bad woman, and that you rescued her child from a questionable future. On the other hand, Maria Delahay is secluded from the world for eighteen years. She is told by her parents that her sister is dead. She knows nothing of the terrible Flavio scandal. This is a fact, because she told me so herself. Indeed, we had it all out. She has to come back to the world again when her parents die. She is compelled to get her own living. It is only natural that she should change her name, and there you are. Lord Ravenspur pondered over the matter for some time in silence. You saw a great deal more of the Delahays than I did, he said. Practically I have not seen them together at all. Now how do they strike you? I mean, before their marriage, did you think that the woman really cared anything for our poor friend? I am sure she did, Walter said emphatically. Of course, there was no passionate attachment between them; they were too old for that. But I am quite certain that Maria Delahays affection was sincere enough. After what I have seen the last day or two, I decline to believe that she had anything to do with her husbands death. I believed her when she said she never saw him from the time she left the hotel till she found him dead in the studio. And that opens up another theory, Ravenspur exclaimed. If it wasnt Maria Delahay the witness Stevens saw that night in Fitzjohn Square, then it must have been her sister Carlotta. My word, that never occurred to me! Walter cried. And yet the solution is as simple as it is probable. I wonder if it is possible to obtain a photograph of the Countess? There were plenty of them published at the time of the trial, Ravenspur said. Of course, I mean in the illustrated papers. I have got the whole of them somewhere upstairs. Not that I pay much attention to newspaper photographs, as they are rarely any use. Ill go and see if I can find one. Ravenspur turned hurriedly and left the room. He was gone some considerable time, leaving Walter to stand there and ponder over the result of his nights adventure. The more he thought the matter over, the more complicated it became. He put the thing away from him almost petulantly. He was suddenly conscious of the fact that the music in the drawingroom was very soft and soothing. Then it flashed across him that Vera had something to say. Ravenspur might be a little time longer, and there was no opportunity like the present. Only a portion of the drawingroom lights were on, together with the piano candles, and Vera sat there half in the shadow, a pathetic looking figure enough, in her white dress. As Walter approached he could see that her face was very pale, and that her eyes showed signs of recent tears. What is the matter? he asked. What fresh trouble is this? Veras hands fell away from the keys. She rose from her seat. It is not altogether a fresh trouble, she murmured; it is only the old one become more acute. Do you remember my telling you the other day that I felt how impossible it is for me to remain here any longer? But I must go away. My dearest girl, why? Walter asked. You know perfectly well how much I care for you. You know perfectly well that you could not look me in the face and declare that you do not love me as well as I love you. Now, could you? That is what makes it all the harder, Vera whispered. Oh, I am not going to prevaricate about it. We have always been good friends, Walter, and in the last few months I have realised that friendship has given way to a more tender attachment. Perhaps it was that which opened my eyes. Perhaps it was that that made me ask myself some questions. I felt quite sure that Lord Ravenspur had guessed nothing of our secret. In fact, it was a secret to me till one afternoon in this very room. I am not likely to forget, Walter said tenderly. Well, then, you see I began to think. No father could have been kinder to me than Lord Ravenspur. I owe him a debt that I can never repay. But, though he has taken me into his house, and brought me up as if I belonged to his own flesh and blood, it does not follow that he considers me good enough for his nephew, the future holder of the title. And when he did find out not long ago, I saw at once what a dreadful disappointment it was to him. I am afraid it was, Walter said grudgingly. But he did not set his face against it when I placed the thing before him in a proper light. He merely stipulated that our engagement must be a secret between us for the present. I am sure he is much too just a man, much too kindhearted to spoil our happiness. You are too sensitive, Vera; your sense of honour is too high. The girls lips quivered piteously. Perhaps I am, she whispered. But there is another thing which I have learned tonight, a thing which prevents me from remaining here an hour longer than is necessary. It is the question of my birth. I learned that tonight for the first time. Oh, do not humiliate me any further. Do not force me to speak any more plainly. If you knew the shameful story of my parents you would realise at once how unfitted I am to become The girl said no more. She covered her face with her hands, and burst into tears. As to Walter, he was too astonished to speak. In the tense silence that followed the hall bell rang violently again and again. Vera looked up swiftly. You had better go yourself, she said. It may be important. (She was deeply grateful for the interruption.) Go yourself; everybody else is in bed. XXIV A Blood Relation Walter choked down an ugly word that rose to his lips. He resented the intrusion just at a moment when he particularly desired to be alone with Vera. Who was it, he wondered, who came so late? And who rang so imperiously and persistently for admission? He flung back bolt and chain, and opened the door. With her nerves all unstrung, and with a certain intuition of impending calamity upon her, Vera had followed him into the hall. She had dried her eyes now; she showed little sign of her recent agitation. She heard Walters exclamation as he recognised the intruder. Good heavens, it is Mrs. Delahay! he cried. What can you want here at this hour? The studio, Mrs. Delahay gasped. Get to the studio at once. If your uncle should happen to be there You can reassure yourself on that point, Walter said. Lord Ravenspur is at present in his bedroom. Maria Delahay pressed her hand to her heart. She gave a little gasp of relief. She was too breathless to explain. All she needed now was a chair to support her failing limbs. As Walter stood there it flashed upon him that something wrong must be taking place in connection with the studio. He had not forgotten the vivid incident of the other night. Perhaps at this very moment the clue to the puzzle was in his hands. He turned round, and his gaze fell upon Vera, who was watching Mrs. Delahay curiously. Take this lady into the drawingroom, he said, and wait till I come back. I shant be very long. Vera came forward with a sympathetic smile upon her face. A light was shining on her features. Maria Delahay could see how fair and sweet she was. And so this, she thought, was her sisters child. This was the girl from whom her mother had voluntarily separated herself for upwards of eighteen years. It seemed impossible, incredible to believe, but there it was. And the girls hand was under Mrs. Delahays arm now. She was being gently assisted as far as the drawingroom. I am sure you are Mrs. Delahay, Vera said, in her most sympathetic voice. If all had gone well we should have met before now. I cannot tell you how sorry I am for you. I do hope this dreadful mystery will be cleared up before long. And now can I get you anything? I suppose you came to see Lord Ravenspur? Maria Delahay hesitated for a moment. There was no occasion to tell this beautiful child the dread import of her presence there. It seemed a wicked thing to bring her within the range of the trouble. I should like to see Lord Ravenspur, yes, she said. So you are his ward, Vera Rayne? Really, I cannot see any likeness between you and your father. The words had slipped unconsciously from Maria Delahays lips before she had time to think what she was saying. It was only when she noted the startled look in Veras eyes that she realised the full extent of her imprudent speech. Did you know my father? Vera cried. What am I saying! Mrs. Delahay exclaimed. My head is so dazed and confused that I dont know what I am talking about. Just for a moment I was filled with a foolish idea that you were Lord Ravenspurs daughter. It would be strange if you bore a likeness to him, seeing that he is only your guardian. Vera was silent for a moment. Mrs. Delahays impetuous speech had filled her with misgivings. She did not know, she could not feel sure that, after all, Lord Ravenspur might stand in closer relationship to her than that of a guardian. But she put the trouble out of her mind now. She had other things to occupy her attention. And after all said and done, the poor creature by her side was in deeper grief and anxiety than herself. I think I will go up and tell my guardian you are here, she said. I know he will be glad to see you. Vera was spared the trouble, for at that moment Ravenspur came into the room with a bundle of papers in his hand. He started as he caught sight of Mrs. Delahay. You here at this hour! he exclaimed. I hope No; there is nothing particularly wrong, the woman said. I should like a few words with you if I am not intruding. Vera discreetly left the room, and walked off towards the library. There was a stern expression on Ravenspurs face as he looked at his visitor. He waited for her to speak. I daresay you will think this is rather singular of me, she faltered, but I came here tonight because your life is in danger. I believe that the man called Luigi Silva is under your roof at the present moment. You know who I mean? I know perfectly well, Ravenspur replied. It would be absurd to pretend to misunderstand you. And so it turns out after all that you are the sister of my poor friend Flavios wife. Did Delahay know your identity before he married you? He knew all there was that was worth knowing, the woman said, a little defiantly. He knew the story of my miserable youth, for instance. I dont want you to misunderstand me. I dont wish to pretend that I had any ardent passion for my husband. But my affection was deep and sincere, and my loss is almost more than I can bear. Oh, I know what you are going to say. You are going to ask what I know about that wretched Flavio affair. I repeat in all sincerity that I knew nothing till the other day. I did not even know that my sister was alive, not until I visited her tonight at her house in Isleworth Road. I was not aware that she had married Boris Flavio. I did not know that she had a child Do you know who the child is? Ravenspur asked swiftly. Yes; I know now, was the significant reply. I have just been talking to her. What a beautiful girl she is! How sweet and natural! How open and candid is her face! It seems almost incredible to me that my sister could have forgotten her child all these years. I could not have done so. No; nor any other woman worthy of the name, Ravenspur said grimly. But though you lived with your sister till early womanhood, you had no real conception of her character. I never met her myself, for which I am devoutly thankful. But I learnt enough, and more than enough, of her character from Flavios letters to me. If ever a man was cursed with a fiend incarnate in the shape of a wife, Flavio was that man. Oh, I dont wish to give you pain, for you have suffered enough of late. But I know what I am talking about. The mere fact that you alluded to just now is proof positive that your sister is incapable of affection for her child. More or less by accident you have made this discovery tonight. By sheer chance you know that your sisters daughter is under my roof. For a long time past I have known that some agency has been at work to deprive me of the girl, an agency so utterly unscrupulous that my very life is in danger. I suppose that man is acting for your sister, who has a sudden whim to gain possession of her child once more. And now I am going to ask you a favour. You are to say nothing of what you have found out tonight. I have told you what your sister is, and no doubt my words will prove true before long. I am going to ask you to give me a solemn promise that It is too late, Mrs. Delahay exclaimed. Whatever my sister may be is all beside the point. She knows where her daughter is, and Luigi Silva knows also. He told us everything not long ago. I found out by accident that he was coming here. I saw him enter the house a few moments ago. I believe he is in your studio at the present moment. That is why I rang the bell so furiously; that is why I prayed I should not be too late. Ravenspur started violently. Oh, this is intolerable, he cried. One could hardly believe it possible that this is London in the twentieth century. I had thought that those insane vendettas had died out before this, even in Corsica. I must go at once and see As the speaker turned away Maria Delahay held out a detaining hand. Her face was pale and pleading. Your life is too valuable to be risked in that headstrong fashion, she said. Besides, I have already warned your nephew, who appears to know everything. He went off to the studio at once. I have no doubt that he has scared Silva away by this time. But why dont you put this matter in the hands of the police? Why run this risk when a few words would prevent any danger? And there need be no scandal. Silva could be warned. He would have to leave the country, and then there would be an end And this from you who are a half Corsican yourself, Ravenspur said reproachfully. I could free myself from Silva, no doubt, but before many months had passed another man would take his place and my danger would be greater than ever. You see I have the advantage of knowing my present assailant. To quote the old saying. Better a devil you know than a devil you dont know. Maria Delahay had nothing to say in reply. She was turning the matter rapidly over in her mind. It seemed to her that she could see a way out of the difficulty. I think, she began, that perhaps The words were never finished, for suddenly the tense silence of the house was broken by a quick cry and the tinkling sound of broken glass. Then, in the distance somewhere, a door banged sullenly, and silence fell over the house once more. XXV Bred in the Bone Meanwhile, Walter Lance had lost no time in reaching the studio. It did not need any elaborate explanation on the part of Maria Delahay for him to know that, in some way, the danger came from the man whom he knew as Valdo. Walter did not doubt that this was not the first time that the Corsican had visited the studio, though, as yet, he was utterly unable to grasp how it was that the attempt had been so successful. There was danger here, and Walter knew it perfectly well, but he was too filled with indignation to think of anything else. So far as he could see, nothing had as yet taken place. The studio was absolutely empty, and the full blaze of the electric lights disclosed no danger. Watching eyes were probably not far off, and it behooved Walter to be circumspect. He whistled an air. He strolled from place to place, ever and again glancing upwards to the roof.