The Three Impostors - Arthur Machen

7/28/2019 The Three Impostors - Arthur Machen

http://slidepdf.com/reader/full/the-three-impostors-arthur-machen 1/185



The Three Impostors

Arthur Machen

roduction notes:

ROLOGUE

DVENTURE OF THE GOLD TIBERIUS

HE ENCOUNTER OF THE PAVEMENT OVEL OF THE DARK VALLEY

DVENTURE OF THE MISSING BROTHER

OVEL OF THE BLACK SEAL

CIDENT OF THE PRIVATE BAR

OVEL OF THE IRON MAID

HE RECLUSE OF BAYSWATER OVEL OF THE WHITE POWDER

TRANGE OCCURRENCE IN CLERKENWELL

STORY OF THE YOUNG MAN WITH SPECTACLES

DVENTURE OF THE DESERTED RESIDENCE



Production notes:

he book "The Three Impostors" was first published in the UK

895, and as its author, Arthur Machen died in 1947 it is out oopyright in Australia. It is also out of copyright in the US as it wa

st published in that country in 1895 as well by Roberts Bros

oston.

he chapters "The Novel of the White Powder" and "The Novel of th

ack Seal" were scanned and proofed by Steve H

tp://www.HorrorMasters.com. The rest of the text was scanned anoofed by Celephicus [email protected]. The resultin

omposite text was finally proofed using the Everyman edition

The Three Impostors" (1995). The Everyman text is noted as bein

at of the original 1895 publication, as subsequent editions ha

everal minor changes and the ellision of the entire chapter "Th

ovel Of The Iron Maid".

he characters Dyson and Phillipps also appear in two subseque

ories written by Arthur Machen, "The Shining Pyramid" and "Th

ed Hand", the last is probably superior, and was the source of th

emorable quote in Lovecraft's "The Horror at Red Hook":

There are sacraments of evil as well as of good about us, ande live and move to my belief in an unknown world, a place

here there are caves and shadows and dwellers in twilight.

is possible that man may sometimes return on the track of

volution, and it is my belief that an awful lore is not yet

ead.

njoy one of the finest weird tales ever written!



HE THREE IMPOSTORS

RTHUR MACHEN



PROLOGUE

nd Mr. Joseph Walters is going to stay the night?' said the smoot

ean-shaven man to his companion, an individual not of the moharming appearance, who had chosen to make his ginger-coloure

oustache merge into a pair of short chin-whiskers.

he two stood at the hall door, grinning evilly at each other; an

esently a girl ran quickly down the stairs and joined them. She wa

uite young, with a quaint and piquant rather than a beautiful fac

nd her eyes were of a shining hazel. She held a neat paper parcone hand, and laughed with her friends.

eave the door open,' said the smooth man to the other, as the

ere going out. 'Yes, by -- -- -- ,' he went on with an ugly oath, 'we

ave the front door on the jar. He may like to see company, yo

now.'

he other man looked doubtfully about him.

it quite prudent, do you think, Davies?' he said, pausing with h

and on the mouldering knocker. 'I don't think Lipsius would like

What do you say, Helen?'

agree with Davies. Davies is an artist, and you are commonplac

chmond, and a bit of a coward. Let the door stand open, of cours

ut what a pity Lipsius had to go away! He would have enjoye

mself.'

es,' replied the smooth Mr. Davies, 'that summons to the west wa

ery hard on the doctor.'



he three passed out, leaving the hall door, cracked and riven wi

ost and wet, half open, and they stood silent for a moment under th

inous shelter of the porch.

Well,' said the girl, 'it is done at last. We shall hurry no more on th

ack of the young man with spectacles.'

We owe a great deal to you,' said Mr. Davies politely; 'the docto

aid so before he left. But having we not all three some farewells t

ake? I, for my part propose to say good-bye here, before th

cturesque but mouldy residence, to my friend, Mr. Burton, dealer

e antique and curious,' and the man lifted his hat with a

xaggerated bow.

nd I,' said Richmond, 'bid adieu to Mr. Wilkins the privat

ecretary, whose company has, I confess become a little tedious.'

arewell to Miss Lally, and to Miss Leicester also,' said the gi

aking as she spoke a delicious curtsy. 'Farewell to all occu

dventure; the farce is played.'

r. Davies and the lady seemed full of grim enjoyment, bu

chmond tugged at his whiskers nervously.

feel a bit shaken up,' he said. 'I've seen rougher things in th

tates, but that crying noise he made gave me a sickish feeling. An

en the smell; but then my stomach was never very strong.'

he three friends moved away from the door, and began to wa

owly up and down what had been a gravel path, but now lay gree

nd pulpy with damp mosses. It was a fine autumn evening, and

int sunlight shone on the yellow walls of the old deserted hous

nd showed the patches of gangrenous decay, the black drift of raom the broken pipes, the scabrous blots where the bare brick



ere exposed, the green weeping of a gaunt laburnum that stoo

eside the porch, and ragged marks near the ground where th

eking clay was gaining on the worn foundations. It was a quee

mbling old place, the centre perhaps two hundred years old, wi

ormer windows sloping from the tiled roof, and on each-side ther

ere Georgian wings; bow windows had been carried up to the fir

oor, and two dome-like cupolas that had once been painted a brigeen were now grey and neutral. Broken urns lay upon the path, an

heavy mist seemed to rise from the unctuous clay; the neglecte

hrubberies, grown all tangled and unshapen, smelt, dank and ev

nd there was an atmosphere all about the deserted mansion th

oposed thoughts of an opened grave. The three friends looke

smally at the rough grasses and the nettles that grew thick ovewn and flowerbeds; and at the sad water-pool in the midst of th

eeds. There, above green and oily scum instead of lilies, stood

sting Triton on the rocks, sounding a dirge through a shattere

orn; and beyond, beyond the sunk fence and the far meadows, th

un slid down and shone red through the bars of the elm-trees.

chmond shivered and stamped his foot.

We had better be going soon,' he said; 'there is nothing else to b

one here.'

o,' said Davies; 'it is finished at last. I thought for some time w

hould never get hold of the gentleman with the spectacles. He was ever fellow, but, Lord! he broke up badly at last. I can tell you, h

oked white at me when I touched him on the arm in the bar. Bu

here could he have hidden the thing? We can all swear it was n

n him.'

he girl laughed, and they turned away, when Richmond gave

olent start.



h!' he cried, turning to the girl, 'what have you got there? Loo

avies, look; it's all oozing and dripping.'

he young woman glanced down at the little parcel she was carryin

nd partially unfolded the paper.

es, look, both of you,' she said; 'it's my own idea. Don't you thinkll do nicely for the doctor's museum? It comes from the right han

e hand that took the Gold Tiberius.'

r. Davies nodded with a good deal of approbation, and Richmon

ted his ugly high-crowned bowler, and wiped his forehead with

ngy handkerchief.

m going'' he said; 'you two can stay if you like.'

he three went round by the stable-path, past the withere

lderness of the old kitchen-garden, and struck off by a hedge at th

ack, making for a particular point in the road. About five minute

ter two gentlemen, whom idleness had led to explore thesrgotten outskirts of London, came sauntering up the shadow

arriage-drive. They had spied the deserted house from the roa

nd as they observed all the heavy desolation of the place, the

egan to moralize in the great style, with considerable debts t

eremy Taylor.

ook, Dyson,' said the one, as they drew nearer; 'look at thospper windows; the sun is setting, and, though the panes are dusty

et --

he grimy sash an oriel burns.'

hillipps,' replied the elder and (it must be said) the more pompouthe two, 'I yield to fantasy; I cannot withstand the influence of th

otes ue. Here where all is fallin into dimness and dissolutio



nd we walk in cedarn gloom, and the very air of heaven goe

ouldering to the lungs, I cannot remain commonplace. I look at th

eep glow on the panes, and the house lies all enchanted; that ve

om, I tell you, is within all blood and fire.'



ADVENTURE OF THE GOLDTIBERIUS

he acquaintance between Mr. Dyson and Mr. Charles Phillipp

ose from one of those myriad chances which are every day doin

eir work in the streets of London. Mr. Dyson was a man of letter

nd an unhappy instance of talents misapplied. With gifts that mig

ave placed him in the flower of his youth among the most favoure

f Bentley's favourite novelists, he had chosen to be perverse; h

as, it is true, familiar with scholastic logic, but he knew nothing e logic of life, and he flattered himself with the title of artist, when h

as in fact but an idle and curious spectator of other men

ndeavours. Amongst many delusions, he cherished one mo

ndly, that he was a strenuous worker; and it was with a gesture

upreme weariness that he would enter his favourite resort, a sma

bacco-shop in Great Queen Street, and proclaim to anyone whared to listen that he had seen the rising and setting of tw

uccessive suns. The proprietor of the shop, a middle-aged man

ngular civility, tolerated Dyson partly out of good nature, and part

ecause he was a regular customer. He was allowed to sit on a

mpty cask, and to express his sentiments on literary and artist

atters till he was tired, or the time for closing came; and if no fresustomers were attracted, it is believed that none were turned awa

y his eloquence. Dyson was addicted to wild experiments

bacco; he never wearied of trying new combinations; and on

vening he had just entered the shop, and given utterance to his la

eposterous formula, when a young fellow of about his own ag

ho had come in a moment later, asked the shopman to duplicat

e order on his account, smiling politely, as he spoke, to M

yson's address. Dyson felt profoundly flattered, and after a fe



hrases the two entered into conversation, and in an hour's time th

bacconist saw the new friends sitting side by side on a couple

asks, deep in talk.

My dear sir,' said Dyson, 'I will give you the task of the literary man

phrase. He has got to do simply this -- to invent a wonderful stor

nd to tell it in a wonderful manner.'

will grant you that,' said Mr. Phillipps, 'but you will allow me to insi

at in the hands of the true artist in words all stories are marvellou

nd every circumstance has its peculiar wonder. The matter is of litt

onsequence; the manner is everything. Indeed, the highest skill

hown in taking matter apparently commonplace and transmuting

y the high alchemy of style into the pure gold of art.'

hat is indeed a proof of great skill, but it is great skill exerte

olishly, or at least unadvisedly. It is as if a great violinist were t

how us what marvellous harmonies he could draw from a child

anjo.'

o, no, you are really wrong. I see you take a radically mistaken vie

life. But we must thresh this out. Come to my rooms; I live not fa

om here.'

was thus that Mr. Dyson became the associate of Mr. Charle

hillipps, who lived in a quiet square not far from Holbor

henceforth they haunted each other's rooms at intervals, sometime

gular, and occasionally the reverse, and made appointments t

eet at the shop in Queen Street, where their talk robbed th

bacconist's profit of half its charm. There was a constant jarring

erary formulas, Dyson exalting the claims of the pure imaginatio

hi le Phillipps, who was a student of physical science an

omething of an ethnologist, insisted that all literature ought to havecientific basis. By the mistaken benevolence of deceased relative



oth young men were placed out of reach of hunger, and so

editating high achievements, idled their time pleasantly away, an

velled in the careless joys of a Bohemianism devoid of the shar

easoning of adversity.

ne night in June Mr. Phillipps was sitting in his room in the calm

tirement of Red Lion Square. He had opened the window, and wamoking placidly, while he watched the movement of life below. Th

ky was clear, and the afterglow of sunset had lingered long about

he flushing twilight of a summer evening vied with the gas-lamps

e square, and fashioned a chiaroscuro that had in it somethin

nearthly; and the children, racing to and fro upon the pavement, th

unging idlers by the public-house, and the casual passers-by ratheckered and hovered in the play of lights than stood out substanti

ngs. By degrees in the houses opposite one window after anothe

apt out a square of light; now and again a figure would shape itse

gainst a blind and vanish, and to all this semi-theatrical magic th

ns and flourishes of brave Italian opera played a little distance o

n a piano-organ seemed an appropriate accompaniment, while th

eep-muttered bass of the traffic of Holborn never ceased. Phillipp

njoyed the scene and its effects; the light in the sky faded an

rned to darkness, and the square gradually grew silent, and still h

at dreaming at the window, till the sharp peal of the house-be

used him, and looking at his watch, he found that it was past te

clock. There was a knock at the door, and his friend Mr. Dyso

ntered, and, according to his custom, sat down in an arm-chair anegan to smoke in silence.

ou know, Phillipps,' he said at length, 'that I have always battled fo

e marvellous. I remember your maintaining in that chair that on

as no business to make use of the wonderful, the improbable, th

dd coincidence in literature, and you took the ground that it warong to do so, because as a matter of fact the wonderful and th

m robable don't ha en, and men's lives are not reall sha ed b



dd coincidence. Now, mind you, if that were so, I would not gra

our conclusion, because I think the "criticism-of-life" theory is a

onsense; but I deny your premiss. A most singular thing ha

appened to me to-night.'

eally, Dyson, I am very glad to hear it. Of course, I oppose you

gument, whatever it may be; but if you would be good enough to tee of your adventure, I should be delighted.'

Well, it came about like this. I have had a very hard day's wor

deed I have scarcely moved from my old bureau since seve

clock last night. I wanted to work out that idea we discussed la

uesday, you know, the notion of the fetish worshipper?'

es, I remember. Have you been able to do anything with it?'

es; it came out better than I expected; but there were grea

fficulties, the usual agony between the conception and th

xecution. Anyhow, I got it done about seven o'clock tonight, and

ought I should like a little of the fresh air. I went out and wanderether aimlessly about the streets; my head was full of my tale, and

dn't much notice where I was going. I got into those quiet places t

e north of Oxford Street as you go west, the genteel residenti

elghbourhood of stucco and prosperity. I turned east again witho

nowing it, and it was quite dark when I passed along a sombre litt

y-street, ill-lighted and empty. I did not know at the time in the leahere I was, but I found out afterwards that it was not very far fro

ottenham Court Road. I strolled idly along, enjoying the stillness; o

ne side there seemed to be the back premises of some gre

hop; tier after tier of dusty windows lifted up into the night, wi

bbet-like contrivances for raising heavy goods, and below larg

oors, fast closed and bolted, all dark and desolate. Then the

ame a huge pantechnicon warehouse; and over the way a gri

ank wall, as forbidding as the wall of a gaol, and then th



eadquarters of some volunteer regiment, and afterwards a passag

ading to a court where waggons were standing to be hired; it wa

ne might almost say, a street devoid of inhabitants, and scarce

ndow showed the glimmer of a light. I was wondering at th

range peace and dimness there, where it must be close to som

aring main artery of London life, when suddenly I heard the noise

ashing feet tearing along the pavement at full speed, and from arrow passage, a mews or something of that kind, a man wa

scharged as from a catapult under my very nose, and rushed pa

e, flinging something from him as he ran. He was gone, and dow

nother street in an instant, almost before I knew what ha

appened; but I didn't much bother about him, I was watchin

omething else. I told you he had thrown something away; well,atched what seemed a line of flame flash through the air and f

uivering over the pavement, and in spite of myself I could not he

aring after it. The impetus lessened, and I saw something like

ight halfpenny roll slower and slower, and then deflect towards th

utter, hover for a moment on the edge, and dance down into

ain. I believe I cried out in positive despair, though I hadn't the lea

otion what I was hunting; and then, to my joy, I saw that, instead

opping into a sewer, it had fallen flat across two bars. I stoope

own and picked it up and whipped it into my pocket, and I was ju

bout to walk on when I heard again that sound of dashing footstep

don't know why I did it, but as a matter of fact I dived down into th

ews, or whatever it was, and stood as much in the shadow a

ossible. A man went by with a rush a few paces from where I waanding, and I felt uncommonly pleased that I was in hiding. I couldn

ake out much feature, but I saw his eyes gleaming and his tee

howing, and he had an ugly-looking knife in one hand, and I thoug

ings would be very unpleasant for gentleman number one if th

econd robber or what you like, caught him up. I can tell yo

hillipps, a fox-hunt is exciting enough, when the horn blows clear owinter morning, and the hounds give tongue, and the red-coa



harge away, but it's nothing to a man-hunt, and that's what I had

ght glimpse of tonight. There was murder in the fellow's eyes as h

ent by, and I don't think there was much more than fifty second

etween the two. I only hope it was enough.'

yson leant back in his arm-chair, relit his pipe, and puffe

oughtfully. Phillipps began to walk up and down the room, musinver the story of violent death fleeting in chase along the pavemen

e knife shining in the lamplight, the fury of the pursuer, and th

rror of the pursued.

Well,' he said at last, 'and what was it, after all, that you rescued fro

e gutter?'

yson jumped up, evidently quite startled. 'I really haven't a notion

dn't think of looking. But we shall see.'

e fumbled in his waistcoat pocket, drew out a small and shinin

bject, and laid it on the table. It glowed there beneath the lamp wi

e radiant glory of rare old gold; and the image and the letters stoout in high relief, clear and sharp, as if it had but left the mint a mon

efore. The two men bent over it, and Phillipps took it up an

xamined it closely.

mp. Tiberius Caesar Augustus,' he read the legend, and the

oking at the reverse of the coin, he stared in amazement, and

st turned to Dyson with a look of exultation.

o you know what you have found?' he said.

pparently a gold coin of some antiquity,' said Dyson coolly.

uite so, a gold Tiberius. No, that is wrong. You have found the goberius. Look at the reverse.'



yson looked and saw the coin was stamped with the figure of

un standing amidst reeds and flowing water. The features, minut

s they were, stood out in delicate outline; it was a face lovely an

et terrible, and yet Dyson thought of the well-known passage of th

d's playmate, gradually growing with his growth and increasing wi

s stature, till the air was filled with the rank fume of the goat.

es,' he said; 'it is a curious coin. Do you know it?'

know about it. It is one of the comparatively few historical objects

xistence; it is all storied like those jewels we have read of. A whol

ycle of legend has gathered round the thing; the tale goes that

rmed part of an issue struck by Tiberius to commemorate afamous excess. You see the legend on the reverse: "Victoria". It

aid that by an extraordinary accident the whole issue was throw

to the melting-pot, and that only this one coin escaped. It glin

rough history and legend, appearing and disappearing, wi

tervals of a hundred years in time, and continents in place. It wa

iscovered" by an Italian humanist, and lost and rediscovered. It ha

ot been heard of since 1727, when Sir Joshua Byrde, a Turkeerchant, brought it home from Aleppo, and vanished with it a mont

ter he had shown it to the virtuosi, no man knew or knows wher

nd here it is!'

ut it into your pocket, Dyson,' he said, after a pause. 'I would not l

nyone have a glimpse of the thing if I were you. I would not tabout it. Did either of the men you saw see you?'

Well, I think not. I don't think the first man, the man who was vomite

ut of the dark passage, saw anything at all; and I am sure that h

ould not have seen me.'

nd you didn't really see them. You couldn't recognize either the onthe other if you met him in the street to-morrow?'



o, I don't think I could. The street, as I said, was dimly lighted, an

ey ran like madmen.'

he two men sat silent for some time, each weaving his own fancie

the story; but lust of the marvellous was slowly overpowerin

yson's more sober thoughts.

is all more strange than I fancied,' he said at last. 'It was quee

nough what I saw; a man is sauntering along a quiet, sobe

veryday London street, a street of grey houses and blank walls, an

ere, for a moment, a veil seems drawn aside, and the very fume o

e pit steams up through the flagstones, the ground glows, red-ho

eneath his feet, and he seems to hear the hiss of the infernaldron. A man flying in mad terror for his life, and furious hat

essing hot on his steps with knife drawn ready; here, indeed,

orror; but what is all that to what you have told me? I tell yo

hillipps, I see the plot thicken; our steps will henceforth be dogge

th mystery, and the most ordinary incidents will teem wi

gnificance. You may stand out against it, and shut your eyes, buey will be forced open; mark my words, you will have to yield to th

evitable. A clue, tangled if you like, has been placed by chance

ur hands; it will be our business to follow it up. As for the guil

erson or persons in this strange case, they will be unable to escap

s, our nets will be spread far and wide over this great city, an

uddenly, in the streets and places of public resort, we shall in som

ay or other be made aware that we are in touch with the unknow

iminal. Indeed I almost fancy I see him slowly approaching th

uiet square of yours; he is loitering at street corners, wanderin

pparently without aim, down far-reaching thoroughfares, but all th

hile coming nearer and nearer, drawn by an irresistible magnetism

s ships were drawn to the Loadstone Rock in the Eastern tale.'

certainly think,' replied Phillipps, 'that if you pull out that coin an



ourish it under people's noses as you are doing at the prese

oment, you will very probably find yourself in touch with the crimina

a criminal. You will undoubtedly be robbed with violence

therwise, I see no reason why either of us should be troubled. N

ne saw you secure the coin, and no one knows you have it. I, for m

art, shall sleep peacefully, and go about my business with a sens

security and a firm dependence on the natural order of things. Thvents of the evening, the adventure in the street, have been odd

ant you, but I resolutely decline to have any more to do with th

atter, and, if necessary, I shall consult the police. I will not b

nslaved by a gold Tiberius, even though it swims into my ken in

anner which is somewhat melodramatic.'

nd I, for my part,' said Dyson, 'go forth like a knight-errant in searc

adventure. Not that I shall need to seek; rather adventure will see

e; I shall be like a spider in the midst of his web, responsive t

very movement, and ever on the alert.'

hortly afterwards Dyson took his leave, and Mr. Phillipps spent th

st of the night in examining some flint arrow-heads which he haurchased. He had every reason to believe that they were the wo

a modern and not a palaeolithic man; still he was far from gratifie

hen a close scrutiny showed him that his suspicions were we

unded. In his anger at the turpitude which would impose on a

hnologist, he completely forgot Dyson and the gold Tiberius; an

hen he went to bed at first sunlight, the whole tale had faded utterom his thoughts.



THE ENCOUNTER OF THEPAVEMENT

r. Dyson, walking leisurely along Oxford Street, and staring wit

and inquiry at whatever caught his attention, enjoyed in all its rar

avours the sensation that he was really very hard at work. H

bservation of mankind, the traffic, and the shop windows tickled h

culties with an exquisite bouquet; he looked serious, as one look

n whom charges of weight and moment are laid; and he wa

tentive in his glances to right and left, for fear lest he should misome circumstance of more acute significance. He had narrow

scaped being run over at a crossing by a charging van, for he hate

hurry his steps, and indeed the afternoon was warm; and he ha

st halted by a place of popular refreshment, when the astoundin

estures of a well-dressed individual on the opposite pavement he

m enchanted and gasping like a fish. A treble line of hansomsarriages, vans, cabs, and omnibuses was tearing east and wes

nd not the most daring adventurer of the crossings would hav

ared to try his fortune; but the person who had attracted Dyson

tention seemed to rage on the very edge of the pavement, now an

en darting forward at the hazard of instant death, and at eac

pulse absolutely dancing with excitement, to the rich amusement e passers-by. At last a gap that would have tried the courage of

reet-boy appeared between the serried lines of vehicles, and th

an rushed across in a frenzy, and escaping by a hair's-breadt

ounced upon Dyson as a tiger pounces on her prey.

saw you looking about you,' he said, sputtering out his words in h

tense eagerness; 'would you mind telling me this! Was the maho came out of the Aerated Bread Shop and jumped into th



ansom three minutes ago a youngish-looking man with da

hiskers and spectacles? Can't you speak, man? For heaven

ake, can't you speak? Answer me; it's a matter of life and death.'

he words bubbled and boiled out of the man's mouth in the fury

s emotion, his face went from red to white, and the beads of swe

ood out on his forehead; he stamped his feet as he spoke, anre with his hand at his coat, as if something swelled and choke

m, stopping the passage of his breath.

My dear sir,' said Dyson, 'I always like to be accurate. You

bservation was perfectly correct. As you say, a youngish man --

an, I should say, of somewhat timid bearing -- ran rapidly out of th

hop here, and bounced into a hansom that must have been waitin

r him, as it went eastwards at once. Your friend also wor

pectacles, as you say. Perhaps you would like me to call a hansom

r you to follow the gentleman?'

o, thank you; it would be a waste of time.' The man gulped dow

omething which appeared to rise in his throat, and Dyson waarmed to see him shaking with hysterical laughter; he clung hard t

lamp-post, and swayed and staggered like a ship in a heavy gale

ow shall I face the doctor?' he murmured to himself. 'It is too hard

il at the last moment.' Then he seemed to recollect himself; h

ood straight again, and looked quietly at Dyson.

owe you an apology for my violence,' he said at last. 'Many me

ould not be so patient as you have been. Would you mind adding t

our kindness by walking with me a little way? I feel a little sick; I thin

s the sun.'

yson nodded assent, and devoted himself to a quiet scrutiny of thrange personage as they moved on together. The man wa



essed in quiet taste, and the most scrupulous observer could fin

othing amiss with the fashion or make of his clothes; yet, from h

at to his boots, everything seemed inappropriate. His silk ha

yson thought, should have been a high bowler of odious patter

orn with a baggy morning-coat, and an instinct told him that th

llow did not commonly carry a clean pocket-handkerchief. The fac

as not of the most agreeable pattern, and was in no way improvey a pair of bulbous chin-whiskers of a ginger hue, into whic

oustaches of like colour merged imperceptibly. Yet, in spite o

ese signals hung out by nature, Dyson felt that the individual besid

m was something more than compact of vulgarity. He wa

ruggling himself, holding his feelings in check; but now and aga

assion would mount black to his face, and it was evidently by upreme effort that he kept himself from raging like a madma

yson found something curious and a little terrible, in the spectac

an occult emotion thus striving for the mastery, and threatening t

eak out at every instant with violence; and they had gone som

stance before the person whom he had met by so odd a hazar

as able to speak quietly.

ou are really very good,' he said. 'I apologise again; my rudenes

as really most unjustifiable. I feel my conduct demands a

xplanation, and I shall be happy to give it to you. Do you happen t

now of any place near here where one could sit down? I shou

ally be very glad.'

My dear sir,' said Dyson solemnly, 'the only cafe in London is clos

y. Pray do not consider yourself as bound to offer me an

xplanation, but at the same time I should be most happy to listen t

ou. Let us turn down here.'

hey walked down a sober street and turned into what seemed

arrow passage past an iron-barred gate thrown back. The passag

as paved with flagstones, and decorated with handsome shrubs



ots on either side, and the shadow of the high walls made

oolness which was very agreeable after the hot breath of the sunn

reet. Presently the passage opened out into a tiny square,

harming place, a morsel of France transplanted into the heart

ondon. High walls rose on either side, covered with gloss

eepers, flower-beds beneath were gay with nasturtiums, an

arigolds, and odorous mignonette, and in the centre of the squarfountain, hidden by greenery, sent a cool shower continua

ashing into the basin beneath. Chairs and tables were disposed

onvenient intervals, and at the other end of the court broad doo

ad been thrown back; beyond was a long, dark room, and th

rmoil of traffic had become a distant murmur. Within the room on

r two men were sitting at the tables, writing and sipping, but thourtyard was empty.

ou see, we shall be quiet,' said Dyson. 'Pray sit down here, Mr. --

?'

Wilkins. My name is Henry Wilkins.'

it here, Mr. Wilkins. I think you will find that a comfortable seat

uppose you have not been here before? This is the quiet time; th

ace will be like a hive at six o'clock, and the chairs and tables w

verflow into that little alley there.'

waiter came in response to the bell; and after Dyson had politequired after the health of M. Annibault, the proprietor, he ordered

ottle of the wine of Champigny.

he wine of Champigny,' he observed to Mr. Wilkins, who wa

vidently a good deal composed by the influence of the place, 'is

ourainian wine of great merit. Ah, here it is; let me fill your glass

ow do you find it?'



deed,' said Mr. Wilkins, 'I should have pronounced it fine Burgund

he bouquet is very exquisite. I am fortunate in lighting upon such

ood Samaritan as yourself: I wonder you did not think me mad. B

you knew the terrors that assailed me, I am sure you would n

nger be surprised at conduct which was certainly mo

njustifiable.'

e sipped his wine, and leant back in his chair relishing the drip an

ckle of the fountain, and the cool greenness that hedged in this litt

ort of refuge.

es,' he said at last, 'that is indeed an admirable wine. Thank yo

ou will allow me to offer you another bottle?'

he waiter was summoned, and descended through a trap-door

e floor of the dark apartment and brought up the wine. Mr. Wilkin

a cigarette, and Dyson pulled out his pipe.

ow,' said Mr. Wilkins, 'I promised to give you an explanation of m

range behaviour. It is rather a long story, but I see, sir, that you aro mere cold observer of the ebb and flow of life. You take, I think,

arm and an intelligent interest in the chances of your fellow

eatures, and I believe you will find what I have to tell not devoid

terest.'

r. Dyson signified his assent to these propositions; and though h

ought Mr. Wilkins's diction a little pompous, prepared to intere

mself in his tale. The other, who had so raged with passion half a

efore, was now perfectly cool, and when he had smoked out h

garette, he began in an even voice to relate the



NOVEL OF THE DARK VALLEY

am the son of a poor but learned clergyman in the west of England

But I am forgetting, these details are not of special interest. I wiefly state, then my father, who was, as I have said, a learned ma

ho never learnt the specious arts by which the great are flattere

nd would never condescend to the despicable pursuit of se

dvertisement. Though his fondness for ancient ceremonies an

uaint customs, combined with a kindness of heart that wa

nequalled and a primitive and fervent piety, endeared him to h

oorland parishioners, such were not the steps by which clergy these in the Church, and at sixty my father was still incumbent of th

tle benefice he had accepted in his thirtieth year. The income of th

ing was barely sufficient to support life in the decencies which ar

xpected of the Anglican parson; and when my father died a fe

ears ago, I, his only child, found myself thrown upon the world with

ender capital of less than a hundred pounds, and all the problem xistence before me. I felt that there was nothing for me to do in th

ountry, and as usually happens in such cases, London drew me lik

magnet. One day in August, in the early morning, while the dew st

ttered on the turf, and on the high green banks of the lane,

eighbour drove me to the railway station, and I bade good-bye t

e land of the broad moors and unearthly battlements of the wirs. It was six o'clock as we neared London; the faint, sickly fume

e brickfields about Acton came in puffs through the open window

nd a mist was rising from the ground. Presently the brief view

uccessive streets, prim and uniform, struck me with a sense

onotony; the hot air seemed to grow hotter; and when we had rolle

eneath the dismal and squalid houses, whose dirty and neglecte

ackyards border the line near Paddington, I felt as if I should b

fled in this fainting breath of London. I got a hansom and drove o



nd every street increased my gloom; grey houses, with blinds draw

own, whole thoroughfares almost desolate, and the foo

assengers who seem to stagger wearily along rather than walk, a

ade me feel a sinking at heart. I put up for the night at a hotel in

reet leading from the Strand, where my father had stayed on h

w brief visits to town; and when I went out after dinner, the rea

aiety and bustle of the Strand and Fleet Street could cheer me btle for in all this great city there was no single human whom I cou

aim even as an acquaintance. I will not weary you with the history

e next year, for the adventures of a man who sinks are too trite

e worth recalling. My money did not last me long; I found that I mu

e neatly dressed, or no one to whom I applied would so much a

ten to me; and I must live in a street of decent reputation if I wishebe treated with common civility. I applied for various posts, fo

hich, as I now see, I was completely devoid of qualification; I tried

ecome a clerk without having the smallest notion of busines

abits; and I found, to my cost, that a general knowledge of literatur

nd an execrable style of penmanship are far from being looke

pon with favour in commercial circles. I had read one of the mo

harming of the works of a famous novelist of present day, and

equented the Fleet Street taverns the hope of making litera

ends, and so getting introductions which I understood we

dispensable in the career of letters. I was disappointed; I once o

wice ventured to address gentlemen who were sitting in adjoinin

oxes, and I was answered, politely indeed, but in a manner that to

e my advances were unusual. Pound by pound, my small resourceelted; I could no longer think of appearances; I migrated to a sh

uarter, and my meals became mere observances. I went out at on

nd returned to my room at two, but nothing but a mere milk-cak

ad occurred in the interval. In short, I became acquainted wi

isfortune; and as I sat amidst slush and ice on a seat in Hyde Par

unching a piece of bread, I realized the bitterness of poverty, ane feelings of a gentleman reduced to something far below th



ondition of a vagrant. In spite of all discouragement I did not desi

my efforts to earn a living. I consulted advertisement columns

ept my eyes open for a chance, I looked in at the windows o

ationers' shops, but all in vain. One evening I was sitting in a Fre

brary, and I saw an advertisement in one of the papers. It wa

omething like this: 'Wanted by a gentleman a person of literary tast

nd abilities as secretary and amanuensis. Must not object to travef course I knew that such an advertisement would have answers b

e hundred, and I thought my own chances of securing the po

xtremely small; however, I applied at the address given, and wrot

Mr. Smith, who was staying at a large hotel at the West End. I mu

onfess that my heart gave a jump when I received a note a couple

ays later, asking me to call at the Cosmopole at my earlieonvenience. I do not know, sir, what your experiences of life ma

ave been, and so I cannot tell whether you have known suc

oments. A slight sickness, my heart beating rather more rapid

an usual, a choking in the throat, and a difficulty of utterance; suc

ere my sensations as I walked to the Cosmopole; I had to mentio

e name twice before the hall porter could understand me, and as

ent upstairs my hands were wet. I was a good deal struck by M

mith is appearance; he lookrd younger than I did, and there wa

omething mild and hesitating about his expression. He was readin

hen I came in, and he looked up when I gave my name. 'My dea

r,' he said, 'I am really delighted to see you. I have read ve

arefully the letter you were good enough to send me. Am I t

nderstand that this document is in your own handwriting?' Hhowed me the letter that I had written, and I told him I was not s

rtunate as to be able to keep a secretary myself. 'Then sir,' he we

n, 'the post I advertised is at your service. You have no objection t

avel, I presume?' As you may imagine, I closed pretty eagerly wit

e offer he made, and thus I entered the service of Mr. Smith. Th

st few weeks I had no special duties; I received a quarter's salarnd a handsome allowance was made me in lieu of board an



dging. One morning, however, when I called at the hotel accordin

instructions, my master informed me that I must hold myself

adiness for a sea-voyage, and, to spare necessary detail, in th

ourse of a fortnight we landed at New York. Mr. Smith told me tha

e engaged on a work of a special nature, in the compilation

hich some peculiar researches had to be made; in short, I wa

ven to understand that we were to travel to the far West.

fter about a week had been spent in New York we took our seats

e cars, and began a journey tedious beyond all conception. Da

ter day, and night after night, the great train rolled on, threading it

ay through cities the very names of which were strange to m

assing at slow speed over perilous viaducts, skirting mountanges and pine forests, and plunging into dense tracts of woo

here mile after mile and hour after hour the same monotonou

owth of brushwood met the eye, and all along the continual clatte

nd rattle of the wheels upon the ill-laid lines made it difficult to he

e voices of our fellow-passengers. We were a heterogeneous an

ver-changing company; often I woke up in the dead of night with

udden grinding jar of the brakes, and looking out found that we ha

opped in the shabby street of some frame-built town, lighted chief

y the flaring windows of the saloon. A few rough-looking fellow

ould often come out to stare at the cars, and sometime

assengers got down, and sometimes there was a party of two o

ree waiting on the wooden sidewalk to get on board. Many of th

assengers were English; humble households torn up from thoorings of a thousand years, and bound for some problematic

aradise in the alkali desert or the Rockies. I heard the men talkin

one another of the great profits to be made on the virgin soil

merica, and two or three, who were mechanics, expatiated on th

onderful wages given to skilled labour on the railways and in th

ctories of the States. This talk usually fell dead after a few minutend I could see a sickness and dismay in the faces of these men a



ey looked at the ugly brush or at the desolate expanse of th

airie, dotted here and there with frame-houses, devoid of garde

flowers or trees, standing all alone in what might have been

eat grey sea frozen into stillness. Day after day the waving skylin

nd the desolation of a land without form or colour or variet

ppalled the hearts of such of us as were Englishmen, and once

e night as I lay awake I heard a woman, weeping and sobbing ansking what she had done to come to such a place. Her husban

ed to comfort her in the broad speech of Gloucestershire, tellin

er that the ground was so rich that one had only to plough it up and

ould grow sunflowers of itself, but she cried for her mother and the

d cottage and the beehivives like a little child. The sadness of it a

verwhelmed me and I had no heart to think of other matters; thuestion of what Mr. Smith could have to do in such a country, and o

hat manner of literary research he be carried on in the wildernes

ardly troubled me. Now and again my situation struck me a

eculiar; I had been engaged as a literary assistant at a handsom

alary, and yet my master was still almost a stranger to m

ometimes he would come to where I was sitting in the cars an

ake a few banal remarks about the country, but for the most part

e journey he himself, not speaking to anyone, and so far as I cou

dge, deep in his thoughts. It was, I think, the fifth day from New Yor

hen I received the intimation that we should shortly leave the cars

ad been watching some distant mountains which rose wild an

avage before us, and I was wondering if there were human being

o unhappy as to speak of home in connection with those piles mbered rock, when Mr. Smith touched me lightly on the shoulde

ou will be glad to be done with the cars, I have no doubt, M

Wilkins,' he said. 'You were looking at the mountains, I think? Well

ope we shall be there tonight. The train stops at Reading, and I dar

ay we shall manage to find our way.'

few hours later the brakesman brought the train to a standstill a



e Reading depot, and we got out. I noticed that the town, though

ourse built almost entirely of frame-houses, was larger and busie

an any we had passed for the last two days. The depot wa

owded; and as the bell and whistle sounded, I saw that a number

ersons were preparing to leave the cars, while an even greate

umber were waiting to get on board. Besides the passengers, the

as a pretty dense crowd of people, some of whom had come teet or to see off their friends and relatives, while others were mer

afers. Several of our English fellow-passengers got down

eading, but the confusion was so great that they were lost to m

ght almost immediately. Mr. Smith beckoned to me to follow him

nd we were soon in the thick of the mass; and the continual ringin

bells, the hubbub of voices, the shrieking of whistles, and the hisescaping steam, confused my senses, and I wondered dimly, as

ruggled after my employer, where we were going, and how w

hould be able to find our way through an unknown country. Mr. Smit

ad put on a wide-brimmed hat, which he had sloped over his eye

nd as all the men wore hats of the same pattern, it was with som

fficulty that I distinguished him in the crowd. We got free at last, an

e struck down a side street, and made one or two sharp turns

ght and left. It was getting dusk, and we seemed to be passin

rough a shy portion of the town;there were few people about in th

lighted streets, and these few were men of the mo

nprepossessing pattern. Suddenly we stopped before a corne

ouse. A man was standing at the door, apparently on the lookout fo

ome one, and I noticed that he and Smith gave glances one to thher.

rom New York City, I expect, mister?'

rom New York.'

ll right; they're ready, and you can have 'em when you choose.

now my orders, you see, and I mean to run this business through.'



ery well, Mr. Evans, that is what we want. Our money is good, yo

now. Bring them round.'

had stood silent, listening to this dialogue and wondering what

eant. Smith began to walk impatiently up and down the street, an

e man was still standing at his door. He had given a whistle, andaw him looking me over in a leisurely way, as if to make sure of m

ce for another time. I was thinking what all this could mean when a

gly, slouching lad came up a side passage, leading two raw-bone

orses.

et up, Mr. Wilkins, and be quick about it,' said Smith; 'we ought t

e on our way.'

We rode off together into the gathering darkness and before long

oked back and saw the far plain behind us, with the lights of th

wn glimmering faintly; and in front rose the mountains. Smi

uided his horse on the rough track as surely as if he had bee

ding along Piccadilly, and I followed him as well as I could. I waeary and exhausted, and scarcely took note of anything; I felt th

e track was a gradual ascent, and here and there I saw gre

oulders by the road. The ride made but little impression on me

ave a faint recollection of passing through a dense black pin

rest, where our horses had to pick their way among the rocks, and

member the peculiar effect of the rarefied air as we kept st

ounting higher and higher. I think I must have been half asleep fo

e latter half of the ride, and it was with a shock that I heard Smit

aying --

ere we are, Wilkins. This is Blue Rock Park. You will enjoy the vie

morrow. Tonight we will have something to eat, and then go t

ed.'



man came out of a rough-looking house and took the horses, an

e found some fried steak and coarse whisky awaiting us inside

ad come to a strange place. There were three rooms -- the room

hich we had supper, Smith's room, and my own. The deaf old ma

ho did the work slept in a sort of shed, and when I woke up the ne

orning and walked out I found that the house stood in a sort

ollow amongst the mountains; the clumps of pines and somnormous bluish-grey rocks that stood here and there between th

ees had given the place the name of Blue Rock Park. On eve

de the snow-covered mountains surrounded us, the breath of th

r was as wine, and when I climbed the slope and looked down

ould see that, so far as any human fellowship was concerned,

ight as well have been wrecked on some small island in midacific. The only trace of man I could see was the rough log-hous

here I had slept, and in my ignorance I did not know that there wer

milar houses within comparatively easy distance, as distance

ckoned in the Rockies. But at the moment, the utter, dreadf

neliness rushed upon me, and the thought of the great plain and th

eat sea that parted me from the world I knew caught me by th

roat, and I wondered if I should die there in mountain hollow. It wa

terrible instant, and I have not yet forgotten it. Of course, I manage

conquer my horror; I said I should be all the stronger fo

xperience, and I made up my mind to make the best of everything.

as a rough life enough, and rough enough board and lodging. I wa

ft entirely to myself. Smith I scarcely ever saw, nor did I know whe

e in the house. I have often thought he was far away, have beeurprised to see him walking out of his room locking the door behin

m, and putting the key in his pocket; and on several occasion

hen I fancied he was busy in his room, I have seen him come in wi

s boots covered with dust and dirt. So far as work went I enjoyed

omplete sinecure; I had nothing to do but walk about the valley, t

at, and to sleep. With one thing and another I grew accustomed e life, managed to make myself pretty comfortable, and by degree



began to venture farther away from the hollow and to explore th

ountry. One day I had contrived to get into a neighbouring valle

nd suddenly I came upon a group of men sawing timber. I went u

thm, hoping that perhaps some of them might be Englismen; at a

vents, they were human beings, and I should hear articulate speec

r the old man I have mentioned, besides being half blind and ston

eaf, was wholly dumb so far as I was concerned. I was prepared te welcomed in a rough and ready fashion, without much of th

rms of politeness, but the grim glances and the short, gruff answe

received astonished me. I saw the men glancing oddly at eac

her; and one of them, who stopped work, began fingering a gu

nd I was obliged to return on my path uttering curses on the fat

hich had brought me into a land where men were more brutish thae very brutes. The solitude of the life began to oppress me as wi

nightmare, and a few days later I determined to walk to a kind

ation some miles distant, where a rough inn was kept for th

ccommodation of hunters and tourists. English gentleme

ccasionally stopped there for the night, and I thought I mig

erhaps fall in with some one of better manners than the inhabitan

the country. I found, as I had expected, a group of men loungin

bout the door of the log-house that served as a hotel, and as I cam

earer I could see that heads were put together and look

terchanged, and when I walked up the six or seven trappers stare

me in stony ferocity, and with something of the disgust that on

yes a loathsome and venomous snake.

elt that I could bear it no longer, and I called out --

there such a thing as an Englishman here, or any one with a litt

vilization?'

ne of the men put his hand to his belt, but his neighbour checke

m, and answered me --



ou'll find we've got some of the resources of civilization before ve

ng, mister, and I expect you'll not fancy them extremely. But, an

ay, there's an Englishman tarrying here, and I've no doubt he'll b

ad to see you. There you are; that's Mr. D'Aubernoun.'

young man, dressed like an English country squire, came an

ood at the door, and looked at me. One of the men pointed to mnd said --

hat's the individual we were talking about last night. Thought yo

ight like to have a look at him, squire, and here he is.'

he young fellow's good-natured English face clouded over, and h

anced sternly at me, and turned away with a gesture of contem

nd aversion.

ir,' I cried, 'I do not know what I have done to be treated in th

anner. You are my fellow-countryman and I expected som

ourtesy.'

e gave me a black look and made as if he would go in, but h

hanged his mind and faced me.

ou are rather imprudent, I think, to behave in this manner. You mu

e counting on a forbearance which cannot last very long, which ma

st a very short time indeed. And let me tell you this, sir, you may ca

ourself an Englishman, and drag the name of England through thrt, but you need not count on any English influence to help you. I

ere you, I would not stay here much longer.'

e went into the inn, and the men quietly watched my face as I stoo

ere, wondering whether I was going mad. The woman of the hous

ame out and stared at me as if I were a wild beast or a savage, anurned to her, and spoke quietly, I am very hungry and thirsty. I hav



alked a long way. I have plenty of money. Will you give m

omething to eat and drink?'

o, I won't,' she said. 'You had better quit this.'

crawled home like a wounded beast, and lay down on my bed.

as all a hopeless puzzle to me; I knew nothing but rage, and shamnd terror, and I suffered little more when I passed by a house in a

djacent valley, and some children who were playing outside ra

om me shrieking, I was forced to walk to find some occupation

hould have died if I had sat down quietly in Blue Rock Park an

oked all day at the mountains; but whenever I saw a human being

aw the same glance of hatred and aversion, and once as I wa

ossing a thick brake I heard a shot and the venomous hiss of

ullet close to my ear.

ne day I heard a conversation which astounded me; I was sittin

ehind a rock resting, and two men came along the track and halte

ne of them had got his feet entangled in some wild vines, an

wore fiercely, but the other laughed, and said they were usefngs sometimes.

What the hell do you mean?'

h, nothing much. But they're uncommon tough, these here vine

nd sometimes rope is skerse and dear.' The man who had swor

huckled at this, and I heard them sit down and light their pipes.

ave you seen him lately?' asked the humourist.

sighted him the other day, but the darned bullet went high. He's g

s master's luck I expect, sir, but it can't last much longer. You hear

bout him going to Jinks's and trying his brass, but the younritisher downed him pretty considerable, I can tell you.'



What the devil is the meaning of it?'

don't know, but I believe it'll have to be finished, and done in the o

yle too. You know how they fix the niggers?'

es, sir, I've seen a little of that. A couple of gallons of kerosene

ost a dollar at Brown's store, but I should say it's cheap anyway.'

hey moved off after this, and I lay still behind the rock, the swe

ouring down my face. I was so sick that I could barely stand, and

alked home as slowly as an old man, leaning on my stick. I kne

at the two men had been talking about me, and I knew that som

rrible death was in store for me. That night I could not sleep;

ssed on the rough bed and tortured myself to find out the meanin

it all. At last, in the very dead of night, I rose from the bed and pu

n my clothes, and went out. I did not care where I went, but I felt tha

ust walk till I had tired myself out. It was a clear moonlight night, an

a couple of hours I found I was approaching a place of dism

putation in the mountains, a deep cleft in the rocks, known a

ack Gulf Canon. Many years before an unfortunate party nglishmen and Englishwomen had camped here and had bee

urrounded by Indians. They were captured, outraged, and put

eath with almost inconceivable tortures, and the roughest of th

appers or woodsmen gave the canon a wide berth even in th

aytime. As I crushed through the dense brushwood which gre

bove the canon I heard voices; and wondering who could be in sucplace at such a time, I went on, walking more carefully, and makin

s little noise as possible. There was a great tree growing on th

ery edge of the rocks, and I lay down and looked out from behin

e trunk. Black Gulf Canon was below me, the moonlight shinin

ight into its very depths from mid-heaven, and casting shadows a

ack as death from the pointed rock, and all the sheer rock on thher side, overhanging the canon, was in darkness. At intervals

ht veil obscured the moonli ht, as a film cloud fleeted across th



oon, and a bitter wind blew shrill across the gulf. I looked down, as

ave said, and saw twenty men standing in a semicircle round

ck; I counted them one by one, and knew most of them. They wer

e very vilest of the vile, more vile than any den in London cou

how, and there was murder, worse than murder, on the heads of n

few. Facing them and me stood Mr. Smith, with the rock befor

m, and on the rock was a great pair of scales, such as are used e stores. I heard his voice ringing down the canon as I lay besid

e tree, and my heart turned cold as I heard it.

fe for gold,' he cried, 'a life for gold. The blood and the life of a

nemy for every pound of gold.'

man stepped out and raised one hand, and with the other flung

ight lump of something into the pan of the scales, which clange

own, and Smith muttered something in his ear. Then he cried aga

lood for gold, for a pound of gold, the life of an enemy. For eve

ound of gold upon the scales, a life.'

ne by one the men came forward, each lifting up his right hand; an

e gold was weighed in the scales, and each time Smith lea

rward and spoke to each man in his ear. Then he cried again --

esire and lust for gold on the scales. For every pound of go

njoyment of desire.'

saw the same thing happen as before; the uplifted hand and th

etal weighed, and the mouth whispering, and black passion o

very face.

hen, one by one, I saw the men again step up to Smith. A muttereonversation seemed to take place. I could see that Smith wa



xplaining and directing, and I noticed that he gesticulated a little a

ne who points out the way, and once or twice he moved his hand

uickly as if he would show that the path was clear and could not b

issed. I kept my eyes so intently on his figure that I noted little els

nd at last it was with a start that I realized that the canon was empt

moment before I thought I had seen the group of villainous face

nd the two standing, a little apart, by the rock; I had looked down oment, and when I glanced again into the canon there was no on

ere. In dumb terror I made my way home, and I fell asleep in a

stant from exhaustion. No doubt I should have slept on for man

ours, but when I woke up the sun was only rising, and the light shon

on my bed. I had started up from sleep with the sensation of havin

ceived a violent shock; and as I looked in confusion about meaw, to my amazement, that there were three men in the room. On

them had his hand on my shoulder, and spoke to me --

ome, mister, wake up. Your time's up now, I reckon, and the boy

e waiting for you outside, and they're in a big hurry. Come on; yo

an put on your clothes; it's kind of chilly this morning.'

saw the other two men smiling sourly at each other, but I understoo

othing. I simply pulled on my clothes and said I was ready.

ll right; come on, then. You go first, Nichols, and Jim and I will giv

e gentleman an arm.'

hey took me out into the sunlight, and then I understood th

eaning of a dull murmur that had vaguely perplexed me while I wa

essing. There were about two hundred men waiting outside, an

ome women too, and when they saw me there was a low mutterin

owl. I did not know what I had done, but that noise made my hea

eat and the sweat come out on my face. I saw confusedly, a

rough a veil, the tumult and tossing of the crowd, discordant voiceere speaking, and amongst all those faces there was not on



ance of mercy, but a fury of lust that I did not understand. I foun

yself presently walking in a sort of procession up the slope of th

alley, and on every side of me there were men with revolvers in the

ands. Now and then a voice struck me, and I heard words an

entences of vhich I could form no connected story. But I understoo

at there was one sentence of execration; I heard scraps of storie

at seemed strange and improbable. Some one was talking of mered by cunning devices from their homes and murdered wi

deous tortures, found writhing like wounded snakes in dark an

nely places, only crying for some one to stab them to the heart, an

o end their anguish; and I heard another voice speaking of innoce

rls who had vanished for a day or two, and then had come bac

nd died, blushing red with shame even in the agonies of deathondered what it all meant, and what was to happen; but I was s

eary that I walked on in a dream, scarcely longing for anything b

eep. At last we stopped. We had reached the summit of the h

verlooking Blue Rock Valley, and I saw that I was standing benea

clump of trees where I had often sat. I was in the midst of a ring o

med men, and I saw that two or three men were very busy wi

es of wood, while others were fingering a rope. Then there was

r in the crowd, and a man was pushed forward. His hands and fe

ere tightly bound with cord; and though his face was unutterab

lainous, I pitied him for the agony that worked his features an

wisted his lips. I knew him; he was amongst those that had gathere

und Smith in Black Gulf Canon. In an instant he was unbound an

ripped naked, borne beneath one of the trees, and his necncircled by a noose that went around the trunk. A hoarse voice gav

ome kind of order; there was a rush of feet, and the rope tightened

nd there before me I saw the blackened face and the writhing limb

nd the shameful agony of death. One after another half a doze

en, all of whom I had seen in the canon the night before, wer

rangled before me, and their bodies were flung forth on the grounhen there was a pause, and the man who had roused me a sho



hile before came up to me, and said --

ow, mister, it's your turn. We give you five minutes to cast up yo

ccounts, and when that's clocked, by the living God, we will burn yo

ve at that tree.'

was then I awoke and understood. I cried out --

Why, what have I done? Why should you hurt me? I am a harmles

an; I never did you any wrong.' I covered my face with my hands;

eemed so pitiful, and it was such a terrible death.

What have I done?' I cried again. 'You must take me for some othe

an. You cannot know me.'

ou black-hearted devil,' said the man at my side, 'we know you we

nough. There's not a man within thirty miles of this that won't curs

ack Smith when you are burning in hell.'

My name is not Smith,' I said, with some hope left in me. 'My name Wilkins. I was Mr. Smith's secretary, but I knew nothing of him.'

ark at the black liar,' said the man. 'Secretary be damned! Yo

ere clever enough, I dare say, to slink out at night and keep you

ce in the dark, but we've tracked you out at last. But your time's u

ome along.'

was dragged to the tree and bound to it with chains; I saw the pile

wood heaped all about me, and shut my eyes. Then I felt myse

enched all over with some liquid, and looked again, and a woma

inned at me. She had just emptied a great can of petroleum ove

e and over the wood. A voice shouted, 'Fire away!' and I fainted

nd knew nothing more. When I opened my eyes I was lying on a bea bare, comfortless room. A doctor was holding some strong salt

m nostrils and a entleman standin b the bed whom



terwards found to be the sheriff, addressed me.

ay, mister,' he began, 'you've had an uncommon narrow squeak fo

The boys were just about lighting up when I came along with th

osse, and I had as much as I could do to bring you off, I can tell yo

nd, mind you, I don't blame them; they had made up their mind

ou see, that you were the head of the Black Gulf gang, and at firothing I could say would persuade them you weren't Jack Smit

uckily, a man from here named Evans, that came along with us

owed he had seen you with Jack Smith, and that you were yourse

o we brought you along and gaoled you, but you can go if you lik

hen you're through with this faint turn.'

got on the cars the next day, and in three weeks I was in London

gain almost penniless. But from that time my fortune seemed t

hange; I made influential friends in all directions; bank directo

ourted my company, and editors positively flung themselves into m

ms. I had only to choose my career, and after a while I determine

at I was meant by nature for a life of comparative leisure. With a

ase that seemed almost ridiculous, I obtained a well-paid positio

connection with a prosperous political club. I have charmin

hambers in a central neighbourhood, close to the parks, the clu

hef exerts himself when I lunch or dine, and the rarest vintages in th

ellar are always at my disposal. Yet, since my return to London,

ave never known a day's security or peace; I tremble when I awak

st Smith should be standing at my bed, and every step I takeems to bring me nearer to the edge of the precipice. Smith,

new, had escaped free from the raid of the Vigilantes, and I gre

int at the thought that he would in all probability return to Londo

nd that suddenly and unprepared I should meet him face to fac

very morning as I left my house I would peer up and down the stree

xpecting to see that dreaded figure awaiting me; I have delayed reet-corners, m heart in m mouth, sickening at the thought that



w quick steps might bring us together; I could not bear to freque

e theatres or music-halls, lest by some bizarre chance he shou

ove to be my neighbour. Sometimes I have been forced, again

y will, to walk out at night, and then in silent squares the shadow

ave made me shudder, and in the medley of meetings in th

owded thoroughfares I have said to myself, 'It must come sooner o

ter; he will surely return to London, and I shall see him when I feost secure.' I scanned the newspapers for hint or intimation

pproaching danger, and no small type nor report of trivial intere

as allowed to pass unread. Especially I read and re-read th

dvertisement columns, but without result; months passed by, and

as undisturbed till, though I felt far from safe, I no longer suffere

om the intolerable oppression of instant and ever-present terrohis afternoon, as I was walking quietly along Oxford Street, I raise

y eyes and looked across the road, and then at last I saw the ma

ho had so long haunted my thoughts.

r. Wilkins finished his wine, and leant back in his chair, lookin

adly at Dyson; and then, as if a thought struck him, fished out of a

ner pocket a leather lettercase, and handed a newspaper cuttin

cross the table. Dyson glanced closely at the slip, and saw that

ad been extracted from the columns of an evening paper. It ran a

llows: -—

WHOLESALE LYNCHING

HOCKING STORY

Dalziel telegram from Reading (Colorado) states that advice

ceived there from Blue Rock Park report a frightful instance

opular vengeance. For some time the neighbourhood has bee

rrorized by the crimes of a gang of desperadoes, who, under th

over of a carefully planned organization, have perpetrated the mofamous cruelties on men and women. A Vigilance Committee wa



rmed, and it was found that the leader of the gang was a perso

amed Smith, living in Blue Rock Park. Action was taken, and six o

e worst in the band were summarily strangled in the presence

wo or three hundred men and women. Smith is said to hav

scaped.'

his is a terrible story,' said Dyson; 'I can well believe that your daynd nights are haunted by such fearful scenes as you hav

escribed. But surely you have no need to fear Smith? He has muc

ore cause to fear you. Consider: you have only to lay yo

formation before the police, and a warrant would be immediate

sued for his arrest. Besides, you will, I am sure, excuse me for wh

am going to say.'

My dear sir,' said Mr. Wilkins,' I hope you will speak to me wit

erfect freedom.'

Well, then, I must confess that my impression was that you we

ther disappointed at not being able to stop the man before h

rove off. I thought you seemed annoyed that you could not gcross the street.'

ir, I did not know what I was about. I caught sight of the man, but

as only for a moment, and the agony you witnessed was the agon

suspense. I was not perfectly certain of the face, and the horrib

ought that Smith was again in London overwhelmed me. huddered at the idea of this incarnate fiend, whose soul is blac

th shocking crimes, mingling free and unobserved amongst th

armless crowds, meditating perhaps a new and more fearful cyc

infamies. I tell you, sir, that an awful being stalks through th

reets, a being before whom the sunlight itself should blacken, an

e summer air grow chill and dank. Such thoughts as these rushe

pon me with the force of a whirlwind; I lost my senses.'



see. I partly understand your feelings, but I would impress on yo

at you have nothing really to fear. Depend upon it, Smith will n

olest you in any way. You must remember he himself has had

arning; and indeed, from the brief glance I had of him, he seeme

me to be a frightened-looking man. However, I see it is gettin

te, and if you will excuse me, Mr. Wilkins, I think I will be going.

are say we shall often meet here.'

yson walked off smartly, pondering the strange story chance ha

ought him, and finding on cool reflection that there was somethin

little strange in Mr. Wilkins's manner, for which not even so weird

atalogue of experiences could altogether account.



ADVENTURE OF THE MISSINGBROTHER

r. Charles Phillipps was, as has been hinted, a gentleman o

onounced scientific tastes. In his early days he had devote

mself with fond enthusiasm to the agreeable study of biology, and

ief monograph on the Embryology of the Microscopic Holothur

ad formed his first contribution to the belles lettres. Later he ha

omewhat relaxed the severity of his pursuits, and had dabbled

e more frivolous subjects of palaeontology and ethnology; he had

abinet in his sitting-room whose drawers were stuffed with rude fli

mplements, and a charming fetish from the South Seas was th

ominant note in the decorative scheme of the apartment. Flatterin

mself with the title of materialist, he was in truth one of the mo

edulous of men, but he required a marvel to be neatly draped in th

bes of Science before he would give it any credit, and the wildeeams took solid shape to him if only the nomenclature were sever

nd irreproachable. He laughed at the witch, but quailed before th

owers of the hypnotist, lifting his eyebrows when Christianity wa

entioned, but adoring protyle and the ether. For the rest, he pride

mself on a boundless scepticism; the average tale of wonder h

eard with nothing but contempt, and he would certainly not havedited a word or syllable of Dyson's story of the pursuer an

ursued, unless the gold coin had been produced as visible an

ngible evidence. As it was, he half suspected that Dyson ha

mposed on him; he knew his friend's disordered fancies, and h

abit of conjuring up the marvellous to account for the entire

ommonplace; and, on the whole, he was inclined to think that th

o-called facts in the odd adventure had been gravely distorted in th

lling. Since the evening on which he had listened to the tale he ha



aid Dyson a visit, and had delivered himself of some serious talk o

e necessity of accurate observation, and the folly, as he put it, o

sing a kaleidoscope instead of a telescope in the view of things, t

hich remarks his friend had listened with a smile that was extreme

ardonic. 'My dear fellow,' Dyson had remarked at last, 'you will allo

e to tell you that I see your drift perfectly. However, you will b

stonished to hear that I consider you to be the visionary, while I amsober and serious spectator of human life. You have gone roun

e circle; and while you fancy yourself far in the golden land of ne

hilosophies, you are in reality a dweller in a metaphorical Clapham

our scepticism has defeated itself and become a monstrou

edulity; you are, in fact, in the position of the bat or owl, I forg

hich it was, who denied the existence of the sun at noonday, andhall be astonished if you do not one day come to me full of contritio

r your manifold intellectual errors, with a humble resolution to se

ings in their true light for the future.' This tirade had left Mr. Phillipp

nimpressed; he considered Dyson as hopeless, and he went hom

gloat over some primitive stone implements that a friend had se

m from India. He found that his landlady, seeing them displayed

their rude formlessness upon the table, had removed th

ollection to the dustbin, and had replaced it by lunch; and th

ternoon was spent in malodorous research. Mrs. Brown hearin

ese stones spoken of as very valuable knives, had called him in h

earing 'poor Mr. Phillipps,' and between rage and evil odours h

pent a sorry afternoon. It was four o'clock before he had complete

s work of rescue; and, overpowered with the flavours of decayinabbage leaves, Phillipps felt that he must have a walk to gain a

ppetite for the evening meal. Unlike Dyson he walked fast, with h

yes on the pavement, absorbed in his thoughts, and oblivious of th

e around him; and he could not have told by what streets he ha

assed, when he suddenly lifted up his eyes and found himself

eicester Square. The grass and flowers pleased him, and helcomed the opportunity of resting for a few minutes, and glancin



und, he saw a bench which had only one occupant, a lady, and a

he was seated at one end, Phillipps took up a position at the othe

xtremity, and began to pass in angry review the events of th

ternoon. He had noticed as he came up to the bench that th

erson already there was neatly dressed, and to all appearanc

oung; her face he could not see, as it was turned away in appare

ontemplation of the shrubs, and, moreover, shielded with her handut it would be doing wrong to Mr. Phillipps to imagine that h

hoice of a seat was dictated by any hopes of an affair of the hea

e had simply preferred the company of one lady to that of five dir

hildren, and having seated himself, was immersed directly

oughts of his misfortunes. He had meditated changing h

dgings; but now, on a judicial review of the case in all its bearings calmer judgment told him that the race of landladies is like to th

ce of the leaves, and that there was but little to choose betwee

em. He resolved, however, to talk to Mrs. Brown, the offender, ver

oolly and yet severely, to point out the extreme indiscretion of he

onduct, and to express a hope for better things in the future. Wi

is decision registered in his mind, Phillipps was about to get u

om the seat and move off, when he was intensely annoyed to hear

fled sob, evidently from the lady, who still continued he

ontemplation of the shrubs and flower-beds. He clutched his stic

esperately, and in a moment would have been in full retreat, whe

e lady turned her face towards him, and with a mute entrea

espoke his attention. She was a young girl with a quaint an

quant rather than a beautiful face, and she was evidently in thtterest distress. Mr. Phillipps sat down again, and cursed h

hances heartily. The young lady looked at him with a pair

harming eyes of a shining hazel, which showed no trace of tear

ough a handkerchief was in her hand; she bit her lip, and seeme

struggle with some overpowering grief, and her whole attitude wa

-beseeching and imploring. Phillipps sat on the edge of the bencazing awkwardly at her, and wondering what was to come next, an



he looked at him still without speaking.

Well, madam,' he said at last, 'I understood from your gesture th

ou wished to speak to me. Is there anything I can do for you

hough, if you will pardon me, I cannot help saying that that seem

ghly improbable.'

h, sir,' she said in a low, murmuring voice, 'do not speak harshly t

e. I am in sore straits, and I thought from your face that I cou

afely ask your sympathy, if not your help.'

Would you kindly tell me what is the matter?' said Phillipps. 'Perhap

ou would like some tea?'

knew I could not be mistaken,' the lady replied. 'That offer

freshment bespeaks a generous mind. But tea, alas! is powerles

o console me. If you will let me, I shall endeavour to explain m

ouble.'

should be glad if you would.'

shall do so, and I shall try to be brief, in spite of the numerou

omplications which have made me, young as I am, tremble befor

hat seems the profound and terrible mystery of existence. Yet th

ief which now racks my very soul is but too simple; I have lost m

other.'

ost your brother! How on earth can that be?'

see I must trouble you with a few particulars. My brother, then, wh

by some years my elder, is a tutor in a private school in th

xtreme north of London. The want of means deprived him of th

dvantages of a University education; and lacking the stamp of egree, he could not hope for that position which his scholarship an

s talents entitled him to claim. He was thus forced to acce t th



ost of classical master at Dr. Saunderson's Highgate Academy fo

e Sons of Gentlemen, and he has performed his duties with perfe

atisfaction to his principal for some years. My personal history nee

ot trouble you; it will be enough if I tell you that for the last month

ave been governess in a family residing at Tooting. My brother and

ave always cherished the warmest mutual affection; and thoug

rcumstances into which I need not enter have I kept us apart fo

ome time, yet we have never lost I sight of one another. We mad

p our minds that unless one of us was absolutely unable to rise fro

bed of sickness, we should never let a week pass by witho

eeting, and some time ago we chose this square as o

ndezvous on account of its central position and its convenience

ccess. And indeed, after a week of distasteful toil, my brother fetle inclination for much walking, and we have often spent two o

ree hours on this bench, speaking of our prospects and of happie

ays, when we were children. In the early spring it was cold an

hilly; still we enjoyed the short respite, and I think that we were ofte

ken for a pair of lovers, as we sat close together, eagerly talking

aturday after Saturday we have met each other here; and thouge doctor told him it was madness, my brother would not allow th

fluenza to break the appointment. That was some time ago; la

aturday we had a long and happy afternoon, and separated mor

heerfully than usual, feeling that the coming week would b

earable, and resolving that our next meeting should be if possib

ll more pleasant. I arrived here at the time agreed upon, fo

clock, and sat down and watched for my brother, expecting eve

oment to see him advancing towards me from that gate at the nor

de of the square. Five minutes passed by, and he had not arrived

ought he must have missed his train, and the idea that our intervie

ould be cut short by twenty minutes, or perhaps half an hou

addened me; I had hoped we should be so happy together today

uddenly, moved by I know not what impulse, I turned abruptly rounnd how can I describe to ou m astonishment when I saw m



other advancing slowly towards me from the southern side of th

quare, accompanied by another person? My first thought,

member, had in it something of resentment that this man, whoev

e was, should intrude himself into our meeting; I wondered who

ould possibly be, for my brother had, I may say, no intimate friend

hen as I looked still at the advancing figures, another feeling too

ossession of me; it was a sensation of bristling fear, the fear of thhild in the dark, unreasonable and unreasoning, but terribl

utching at my heart as with the cold grip of a dead man's hands. Y

overcame the feeling, and looked steadily at my brother, waiting fo

m to speak, and more closely at his companion. Then I noticed th

is man was leading my brother rather than walking arm-in-arm wi

m; he was a tall man, dressed in quite ordinary fashion. He wore gh bowler hat, and, in spite of the warmth of the day, a plain blac

vercoat, tightly buttoned, and I noticed his trousers, of a quiet blac

nd grey stripe. The face was commonplace too, and indeed

annot recall any special features, or any trick of expression; f

ough I looked at him as he came near, curiously enough his fac

ade no impression on me -- it was as though I had seen a we

ade mask. They passed in front of me, and to my unutterab

stonishment, I heard my brother's voice speaking to me, though h

ps did not move, nor his eyes look into mine. It was a voice I cann

escribe, though I knew it, but the words came to my ears as

ingled with plashing water and the sound of a shallow brook flowin

midst stones. I heard, then, the words, "I cannot stay," and for

oment the heavens and the earth seemed to rush together with thound of thunder, and I was thrust forth from the world into a blac

oid without beginning and without end. For, as my brother passe

e, I saw the hand that held him by the arm, and seemed to guid

m, and in one moment of horror I realized that it was as a formles

ing that has mouldered for many years in the grave. The flesh wa

eeled in strips from the bones, and hung apart dry and granulatend the fingers that encircled my brother's arm were all unshape



aw-like things, and one was but a stump from which the end ha

tted off. When I recovered my senses I saw the two passing out b

at gate. I paused for a moment, and then with a rush as of fire to m

eart I knew that no horror could stay me, but that I must follow m

other and save him, even though all hell rose up against me. I ra

ut, and looked up the pavement, and saw the two figures walkin

midst the crowd. I ran across the road, and saw them turn up thde street, and I reached the corner a moment later. In vain I looke

right and left, for neither my brother nor his strange guardian wa

sight; two elderly men were coming down arm-in-arm, and

legraph boy was walking lustily along whistling. I remained there

oment horror-struck, and then I bowed my head and returned to th

eat, where you found me. Now, sir, do you wonder at my grief? Oll me what has happened to my brother, or I feel I shall go mad!'

r. Phillipps, who had listened with exemplary patience to this tal

esitated a moment before he spoke.

My dear madam,' he said at length, 'you have known how to engag

e in your service, not only as a man, but as a student of science. Afellow-creature I pity you most profoundly; you must have suffere

xtremely from what you saw, or rather from what you fancied yo

aw. For, as a scientific observer, it is my duty to tell you the pla

uth, which, indeed, besides being true, must also console yo

low me to ask you then to describe your brother.'

ertainly,' said the lady eagerly; 'I can describe him accurately. M

other is a somewhat young-looking man; he is pale, has sma

ack whiskers, and wears spectacles. He has rather a timid, almo

frightened expression, and looks about him nervously from side t

de. Think, think! Surely you must have seen him. Perhaps you ar

n habitue of this engaging quarter; you may have met him on som

evious Saturday. I may have been mistaken in supposing that h

rned up that side street; he may have gone on, and you may hav



assed each other. Oh, tell me, sir, whether you have not seen him?

am afraid I do not keep a very sharp look-out when I am walking

aid Phillipps, who would have passed his mother unnoticed; 'but

m sure your description is admirable. And now will you describe th

erson who, you say, held your brother by the arm?'

cannot do so. I told you his face seemed devoid of expression o

alient feature. It was like a mask.'

xactly; you cannot describe what you have never seen. I nee

ardly point out to you the conclusion to be drawn; you have been th

ctim of an hallucination. You expected to see your brother, you wer

armed because you did not see him, and unconsciously, no doub

our brain went to work, and finally you saw a mere projection of you

wn morbid thoughts -- a vision of your absent brother, and a mer

onfusion of terrors incorporated in a figure which you can't describ

f course your brother has been in some way prevented fro

oming to meet you as usual. I expect you will hear from him in a da

two.'

he lady looked seriously at Mr. Phillipps, and then for a secon

ere seemed almost a twinkling as of mirth about her eyes, but he

ce clouded sadly at the dogmatic conclusions to which the scienti

as led so irresistibly.

h!' she said, 'you do not know. I cannot doubt the evidence of m

aking senses. Besides, perhaps I have had experiences eve

ore terrible. I acknowledge the force of your arguments, but

oman has intuitions which never deceive her. Believe me, I am no

ysterical; feel my pulse, it is quite regular.'

he stretched out her hand with a dainty gesture, and a glance thnraptured Phillipps in spite of himself. The hand held out to him wa



oft and white and warm, and as, in some confusion, he placed h

ngers on the purple vein, he felt profoundly touched by the spectac

love and grief before him.

o,' he said, as he released her wrist, 'as you say, you are evident

uite yourself. Still, you must be aware that living men do n

ossess dead hands. That sort of thing doesn't happen. It is, ourse, barely possible that you did see your brother with anothe

entleman, and that important business prevented him fro

opping. As for the wonderful hand, there may have been som

eformity, a finger shot off by accident, or something of that sort.'

he lady shook her head mournfully.

see you are a determined rationalist,' she said. 'Did you not hea

e say that I have had experiences even more terrible? I too wa

nce a sceptic, but after what I have known I can no longer affect t

oubt.'

Madam,' replied Mr. Phillipps, 'no one shall make me deny my faithll never believe, nor will I pretend to believe, that two and two mak

ve, nor will I on any pretences admit the existence of two-side

angles.'

ou are a little hasty,' rejoined the lady. 'But may I ask you if you eve

eard the name of Professor Gregg, the authority on ethnology an

ndred subjects?'

have done much more than merely hear of Professor Gregg,' sa

hillipps. 'I always regarded him as one of our most acute and clea

eaded observers; and his last publication, the Textbook

thnology , struck me as being quite admirable in its kind. Indee

e book had but come into my hands when I heard of the terribccident which cut short Gregg's career. He had, I think, taken



ountry house in the West of England for the summer, and

upposed to have fallen into a river. So far as I remember, his bod

as never recovered.'

ir, I am sure that you are discreet. Your conversation seems t

eclare as much, and the very title of that little work of yours whic

ou mentioned assures me that you are no empty trifler. In a word,el that I may depend on you. You appear to be under th

mpression that Professor Gregg is dead; I have no reason

elieve that that is the case.'

What?' cried Phillipps, astonished and perturbed.

ou do not hint that there was anything disgraceful? I cannot believ

Gregg was a man of clearest character; his private life was one

eat benevolence; and though I myself am free from delusions

elieve him to have been a sincere and devout Christian. Surely yo

annot mean to insinuate that some disreputable history forced hi

flee the country?'

gain you are in a hurry,' replied the lady. 'I said nothing of all thi

riefly, then, I must tell you that Professor Gregg left his house on

orning in full health both of mind and body. He never returned, b

s watch and chain, a purse containing three sovereigns in gol

nd some loose silver, with a ring that he wore habitually, were foun

ree days later on a wild and savage hillside, many miles from thver. These articles were placed beside a limestone rock o

ntastic form; they had been wrapped into a parcel with a kind

ugh parchment which was secured with gut. The parcel wa

pened, and the inner side of the parchment bore an inscriptio

one with some red substance in the characters we

ndecipherable, but seemed to be a corrupt cuneiform.'

ou interest me intensely,' said Phillipps. 'Would you min



ontinuing your story? The circumstance you have mentioned seem

me of the most inexplicable character, and I thirst for a

ucidation.'

he young lady seemed to meditate for a moment, and she the

oceeded to relate the



NOVEL OF THE BLACK SEAL

must now give you some fuller particulars of my history. I am th

aughter of a civil engineer, Steven Lally by name, who was snfortunate as to die suddenly at the outset of his career, and befor

e had accumulated sufficient means to support his wife and her tw

hildren. My mother contrived to keep the small household going o

sources which must have been incredibly small; we lived in

mote country village, because most of the necessaries of life wer

heaper than in a town, but even so we were brought up with th

everest economy. My father was a clever and well-read man, anft behind him a small but select collection of books, containing th

est Greek, Latin, and English classics, and these books were th

nly amusement we possessed. My brother, I remember, learnt Lat

ut of Descartes' Meditationes, and I, in place of the little tales whic

hildren are usually told to read, had nothing more charming than

anslation of the Gesta Romanorum. We grew up thus, quiet anudious children, and in course of time my brother provided f

mself in the manner I have mentioned. I continued to live at hom

y poor mother had become an invalid, and demanded my continu

are, and about two years ago she died after many months of painf

ness. My situation was a terrible one; the shabby furniture bare

ufficed to pay the debts I had been forced to contract, and thooks I dispatched to my brother, knowing how he would value them

was absolutely alone; I was aware how poorly my brother was pai

nd though I came up to London in the hope of finding employmen

th the understanding that he would defray my expenses, I swore

hould only be for a month, and that if I could not in that time fin

ome work I would starve rather than deprive him of the fe

iserable pounds he had laid by for his day of trouble. I took a litt

om in a distant suburb, the cheapest that I could find; I lived o



ead and tea, and I spent my time in vain answering

dvertisements, and vainer walks to addresses I had noted. Da

llowed on day, and week on week, and still I was unsuccessful, t

last the term I had appointed drew to a close, and I saw before m

e grim prospect of slowly dying of starvation. My landlady wa

ood-natured in her way; she knew the slenderness of my mean

nd I am sure that she would not have turned me out of doors; mained for me then to go away, and to try to die in some quie

ace. It was winter then, and a thick white fog gathered in the ear

art of the afternoon, becoming more dense as the day wore on;

as a Sunday, I remember, and the people of the house were a

hapel. At about three o'clock I crept out and walked away as quick

s I could, for I was weak from abstinence. The white mist wrappe the streets in silence, a hard frost had gathered thick upon th

are branches of the trees, and frost crystals glittered on the woode

nces, and on the cold, cruel ground beneath my feet. I walked o

rning to right and left in utter haphazard, without caring to look up

e names of the streets, and all that I remember of my walk on th

unday afternoon seems but the broken fragments of an evil dream

a confused vision I stumbled on through roads half town and ha

ountry, grey fields melting into the cloudy world of mist on one sid

me, and on the other comfortable villas with a glow of firelig

ckering on the walls, but all unreal; red brick walls and lighte

ndows, vague trees, and glimmering country, gas-lamps beginnin

star the white shadows, the vanishing perspectives of the railwa

e beneath high embankments. the green and red of the signmps -- all these were but momentary pictures flashed on my tire

ain and senses numbed by hunger. Now and then I would hear

uick step ringing on the iron road, and men would pass me we

rapped up, walking fast for the sake of warmth, and no dou

agerly foretasting the pleasures of a glowing hearth, with curtain

ghtly drawn about the frosted panes, and the welcomes of theends, but as the early evening darkened and night approache



ot-passengers got fewer and fewer, and I passed through stre

ter street alone. In the white silence I stumbled on, as desolate as

trod the streets of a buried city; and as I grew more weak an

xhausted, something of the horror of death was folding thickly roun

y heart. Suddenly, as I turned a corner, some one accosted m

ourteously beneath the lamp-post, and I heard a voice asking if

ould kindly point the way to Avon Road. At the sudden shock uman accents I was prostrated, and my strength gave way; I fell a

uddled on the sidewalk, and wept and sobbed and laughed

olent hysteria. I had gone out prepared to die, and as I steppe

cross the threshold that had sheltered me, I consciously bade adie

all hopes and all remembrances; the door clanged behind me wi

e noise of thunder, and I felt that an iron curtain had fallen on thief passage of my life, that henceforth I was to walk a little way in

orld of gloom and shadow; I entered on the stage of the first act

eath. Then came my wandering in the mist, the whiteness wrappin

things, the void streets, and muffled silence, till when that voic

poke to me it was as if I had died and life returned to me. In a fe

inutes I was able to compose my feelings, and as I rose I saw tha

as confronted by a middle-aged gentleman of pleasin

ppearance, neatly and correctly dressed. He looked at me with a

xpression of great pity, but before I could stammer out m

norance of the neighbourhood, for indeed I had not the slighte

otion of where I had wandered, he spoke.

My dear madam,' he said, 'you seem in some terrible distress. Yoannot think how you alarmed me. But may I inquire the nature

our trouble? I assure you that you can safely confide in me.'

ou are very kind,' I replied. 'But I fear there is nothing to be don

y condition seems a hopeless one.'

h, nonsense, nonsense! You are too young to talk like that. Come

t us walk down here and you must tell me your difficulty. Perhaps



ay be able to help you.'

here was something very soothing and persuasive in his manne

nd as we walked together I gave him an outline of my story, and to

the despair that had oppressed me almost to death.

ou were wrong to give in so completely,' he said, when I was silenmonth is too short a time in which to feel one's way in Londo

ondon, let me tell you, Miss Lally, does not lie open an

ndefended; it is a fortified place, fossed and double-moated wi

urious intricacies. As must always happen in large towns, th

onditions of life have become hugely artificial, no mere simp

alisade is run up to oppose the man or woman who would take thace by storm, but serried lines of subtle contrivances, mines, an

tfalls which it needs a strange skill to overcome. You, in yo

mplicity, fancied you had only to shout for these walls to sink int

othingness, but the time is gone for such startling victories as thes

ake courage; you will learn the secret of success before very long.

las! sir,' I replied, 'I have no doubt your conclusions are correct, bthe present moment I seem to be in a fair way to die of starvatio

ou spoke of a secret; for Heaven's sake tell it me, if you have an

ty for my distress.'

e laughed genially. 'There lies the strangeness of it all. Those wh

now the secret cannot tell it if they would; it is positively as ineffabs the central doctrine of freemasonry. But I may say this, that yo

ourself have penetrated at least the outer husk of the mystery,' an

e laughed again.

ray do not jest with me,' I said. 'What have I done, que sais-je?

m so far ignorant that I have not the slightest idea of how my ne

eal is to be provided.'



xcuse me. You ask what you have done. You have met me. Come

e will fence no longer. I see you have self-education, the on

ducation which is not infinitely pernicious. and I am in want of

overness for my two children. I have been a widower for som

ears; my name is Gregg. I offer you the post I have named, and sha

e say a salary of a hundred a year?'

could only stutter out my thanks, and slipping a card with h

ddress, and a banknote by way of earnest, into my hand, Mr. Greg

ade me good-bye, asking me to call in a day or two.

uch was my introduction to Professor Gregg, and can you wonde

at the remembrance of despair and the cold blast that had blowom the gates of death upon me made me regard him as a secon

ther? Before the close of the week I was installed in my new dutie

he Professor had leased an old brick manor-house in a weste

uburb of London, and here, surrounded by pleasant lawns an

chards, and soothed with the murmur of ancient elms that rocke

eir boughs above the roof, the new chapter of my life bega

nowing as you do the nature of the professor's occupation, you wot be surprised to hear that the house teemed with books, an

abinets full of strange, and even hideous, objects filled eve

vailable nook in the vast low rooms. Gregg was a man whose on

ought was for knowledge, and I too before long caught somethin

his enthusiasm, and strove to enter into his passion of research.

few months I was perhaps more his secretary than the governesthe two children, and many a night I have sat at the desk in th

ow of the shaded lamp while he, pacing up and down in the ric

oom of the firelight, dictated to me the substance of his Textboof Ethnology . But amidst these more sober and accurate studies

ways detected a something hidden, a longing and desire for som

bject to which he did not allude; and now and then he would breahort in what he was saying and lapse into reverie, entranced, as



eemed to me, by some distant prospect of adventurous discover

he textbook was at last finished, and we began to receive proof

om the printers, which were entrusted to me for a first reading, an

en underwent the final revision of the professor. All the while h

ariness of the actual business he was engaged on increased, an

was with the joyous laugh of a schoolboy when term is over that h

ne day handed me a copy of the book. 'There,' he said, 'I have key word; I promised to write it, and it is done with. Now I shall be fre

live for stranger things; I confess it, Miss Lally, I covet the renow

Columbus; you will, I hope, see me play the part of an explorer.'

urely,' I said, 'there is little left to explore. You have been born a fe

undred years too late for that.'

think you, are wrong,' he replied; 'there are still, depend upon

uaint, undiscovered countries and continents of strange extent. A

iss Lally! believe me, we stand amidst sacraments and mysterie

ll of awe, and it doth not yet appear what we shall be. Life, believ

e, is no simple thing, no mass of grey matter and congeries o

eins and muscles to be laid naked by the surgeon's knife; man e secret which I am about to explore, and before I can discover hi

must cross over weltering seas indeed, and oceans and the mis

many thousand years. You know the myth of the lost Atlantis; wha

it be true, and I am destined to be called the discoverer of th

onderful land?'

could see excitement boiling beneath his words, and in his fac

as the heat of the hunter; before me stood a man who believe

mself summoned to tourney with the unknown. A pang of jo

ossessed me when I reflected that I was to be in a way associate

th him in the adventure, and I, too, burned with the lust of the chas

ot pausing to consider that I knew not what we were to unshadow.

he next morning Professor Gregg took me into his inner study



here, ranged against the wall, stood a nest of pigeonholes, eve

awer neatly labelled, and the results of years of toil classified in

w feet of space.

ere,' he said, 'is my life; here are all the facts which I have gathere

gether with so much pains, and yet it is all nothing. No, nothing t

hat I am about to attempt. Look at this;' and he took me to an oureau, a piece fantastic and faded, which stood in a corner of th

om. He unlocked the front and opened one of the drawers.

few scraps of paper,' he went on, pointing to the drawer, 'and

mp of black stone, rudely annotated with queer marks an

cratches -- that is all that the drawer holds. Here you see is an onvelope with the dark red stamp of twenty years ago, but I hav

encilled a few lines at the back; here is a sheet of manuscript, an

ere some cuttings from obscure local journals. And if you ask m

e subject-matter of the collection, it will not seem extraordinary --

ervant-girl at a farmhouse, who disappeared from her place an

as never been heard of, a child supposed to have slipped dow

ome old working on the mountains, some queer scribbling on mestone rock, a man murdered with a blow from a strange weapo

uch is the scent I have to go upon. Yes, as you say, there is a read

xplanation for all this; the girl may have run away to London, o

verpool, or New York; the child may be at the bottom of the disuse

haft; and the letters on the rock may be the idle whims of som

agrant. Yes, yes, I admit all that; but I know I hold the true key. Looknd he held out a slip of yellow paper.

haracters found inscribed on a limestone rock on the Grey Hillsad, and then there was a word erased, presumably the name of

ounty, and a date some fifteen years back. Beneath was traced

umber of uncouth characters, shaped somewhat like wedges o

aggers, as strange and outlandish as the Hebrew alphabet.



ow the seal,' said Professor Gregg, and he handed me the blac

one, a thing about two inches long, and something like an old

shioned tobacco-stopper, much enlarged.

held it up to the light, and saw to my surprise the characters on th

aper repeated on the seal.

es,' said the professor, 'they are the same. And the marks on th

mestone rock were made fifteen years ago, with some re

ubstance. And the characters on the seal are four thousand yea

d at least. Perhaps much more.'

it a hoax?' I said.

o, I anticipated that. I was not to be led to give my life to a practic

ke. I have tested the matter very carefully. Only one person beside

yself knows of the mere existence of that black seal. Beside

ere are other reasons which I cannot enter into now.'

ut what does it all mean?' I said. 'I cannot understand to whonclusion all this leads.'

My dear Miss Lally, that is a question that I would rather leav

nanswered for some little time. Perhaps I shall never be able to sa

hat secrets are held here in solution; a few vague hints, the outline

village tragedies, a few marks done with red earth upon a roc

nd an ancient seal. A queer set of data to go upon? Half a dozeeces of evidence, and twenty years before even so much could b

ot together; and who knows what mirage or terra incognita may b

eyond all this? I look across deep waters, Miss Lally, and the lan

eyond may be but a haze after all. But still I believe it is not so, an

few months will show whether I am right or wrong.'

e left me, and alone I endeavoured to fathom the myster



ondering to what goal such eccentric odds and ends of evidenc

ould lead. I myself am not wholly devoid of imagination, and I ha

ason to respect the professor's solidity of intellect; yet I saw in th

ontents of the drawers but the materials of fantasy, and vainly trie

conceive what theory could be founded on the fragments that ha

een placed before me. Indeed, I could discover in what I had hear

nd seen but the first chapter of an extravagant romance; and yeep in my heart I burned with curiosity, and day after day I looke

agerly in Professor Gregg's face for some hint of what was

appen.

was one evening after dinner that the word came.

hope you can make your preparations without much trouble,' h

aid suddenly to me. 'We shall be leaving here in a week's time.'

eally!' I said in astonishment. 'Where are we going?'

have taken a country house in the west of England, not far fro

aermaen, a quiet little town, once a city, and the headquarters of oman legion. It is very dull there, but the country is pretty, and the a

wholesome.'

detected a glint in his eyes, and guessed that this sudden move ha

ome relation to our conversation of a few days before.

shall just take a few books with me,' said Professor Gregg, 'that . Everything else will remain here for our return. I have got

oliday,' he went on, smiling at me, 'and I shan't be sorry to be quit f

time of my old bones and stones and rubbish. Do you know,' h

ent on, 'I have been grinding away at facts for thirty years; it is tim

r fancies.'

he days passed quickly; I could see that the professor was a



uivering with suppressed excitement, and I could scarce credit th

ager appetence of his glance as we left the old manor-hous

ehind us and began our journey. We set out at midday, and it was

e dusk of the evening that we arrived at a little country station. I wa

ed and excited, and the drive through the lanes seems all a dream

rst the deserted streets of a forgotten village, while I hear

rofessor Gregg's voice talking of the Augustan Legion and thash of arms, and all the tremendous pomp that followed the eagle

en the broad river swimming to full tide with the last afterglo

mmering duskily in the yellow water, the wide meadows, th

ornfields whitening, and the deep lane winding on the slop

etween the hills and the water. At last we began to ascend, and th

r grew rarer. I looked down and saw the pure white mist trackine outline of the river like a shroud, and a vague and shadow

ountry; imaginations and fantasy of swelling hills and hangin

oods, and half-shaped outlines of hills beyond, and in the distanc

e glare of the furnace fire on the mountain, glowing by turns a pilla

shining flame and fading to a dull point of red. We were slow

ounting a carriage drive, and then there came to me the co

eath and the secret of the great wood that was above us; I seeme

wander in its deepest depths, and there was the sound of tricklin

ater, the scent of the green leaves, and the breath of the summe

ght. The carriage stopped at last, and I could scarcely distinguis

e form of the house, as I waited a moment at the pillared porc

he rest of the evening seemed a dream of strange things bounde

y the great silence of the wood and the valley and the river.

he next morning, when I awoke and looked out of the bow windo

the big, old-fashioned bedroom, I saw under a grey sky a count

at was still all mystery. The long, lovely valley, with the river windin

and out below, crossed in mid-vision by a mediaeval bridge o

aulted and buttressed stone, the clear presence of the rising grouneyond, and the woods that I had only seen in shadow the nig



efore, seemed tinged with enchantment, and the soft breath of a

at sighed in at the opened pane was like no other wind. I looke

cross the valley, and beyond, hill followed on hill as wave on wav

nd here a faint blue pillar of smoke rose still in the morning air fro

e chimney of an ancient grey farmhouse, there was a rugged heig

owned with dark firs, and in the distance I saw the white streak of

ad that climbed and vanished into some unimagined country. Bue boundary of all was a great wall of mountain, vast in the west, an

nding like a fortress with a steep ascent and a domed tumulus clea

gainst the sky.

saw Professor Gregg walking up and down the terrace path belo

e windows, and it was evident that he was revelling in the sense berty, and the thought that he had for a while bidden good-bye t

sk-work. When I joined him there was exultation in his voice as h

ointed out the sweep of valley and the river that wound beneath th

vely hills.

es,' he said, 'it is a strangely beautiful country; and to me, at least,

eems full of mystery. You have not forgotten the drawer I showeou, Miss Lally? No; and you have guessed that I have come here n

erely for the sake of the children and the fresh air?'

think I have guessed as much as that,' I replied; 'but you mu

member I do not know the mere nature of your investigations; an

s for the connection between the search and this wonderful valley,past my guessing.'

e smiled queerly at me. 'You must not think I am making a myste

r the sake of mystery,' he said. 'I do not speak out because, so fa

ere is nothing to be spoken, nothing definite, I mean, nothing th

an be set down in hard black and white, as dull and sure an

eproachable as any blue-book. And then I have another reasonany years ago a chance paragraph in a newspaper caught m



tention, and focussed in an instant the vagrant thoughts and ha

rmed fancies of many idle and speculative hours into a certa

ypothesis. I saw at once that I was treading on a thin crust; m

eory was wild and fantastic in the extreme, and I would not for an

onsideration have written a hint of it for publication. But I thought th

the company of scientific men like myself, men who knew th

ourse of discovery, and were aware that the gas that blazes anares in the gin-palace was once a wild hypothesis -- I thought th

th such men as these I might hazard my dream -- let us sa

lantis, or the philosopher's stone, or what you like -- without dange

ridicule. I found I was grossly mistaken; my friends looked blank

me and at one another, and I could see something of pity, an

omething also of insolent contempt, in the glances they exchangene of them called on me next day, and hinted that I must b

uffering from overwork and brain exhaustion. 'In plain terms,' I sai

ou think I am going mad. I think not'; and I showed him out wi

ome little appearance of heat. Since that day I vowed that I wou

ever whisper the nature of my theory to any living soul; to no one b

ourself have I ever shown the contents of that drawer. After all, I ma

e following a rainbow; I may have been misled by the play

oincidence; but as I stand here in this mystic hush and silenc

midst the woods and wild hills, I am more than ever sure that I a

ot on the scent. Come, it is time we went in.'

o me in all this there was something both of wonder an

xcitement; I knew how in his ordinary work Professor Gregg moveep by step, testing every inch of the way, and never venturing o

ssertion without proof that was impregnable. Yet I divined, mor

om his glance and the vehemence of his tone than from the spoke

ord, that he had in his every thought the vision of the almo

credible continually with him; and I, who was with some share

magination no little of a sceptic, offended at a hint of the marvellouould not help asking myself whether he were cherishing



onomania, and barring out from this one subject all the scientif

ethod of his other life.

et, with this image of mystery haunting my thoughts, I surrendere

holly to the charm of the country. Above the faded house on th

lside began the great forest -- a long, dark line seen from th

pposing hills, stretching above the river for many a mile from norsouth, and yielding in the north to even wilder country, barren an

avage hills, and ragged commonland, a territory all strange an

nvisited, and more unknown to Englishmen than the very heart

frica. The space of a couple of steep fields alone separated th

ouse from the woods, and the children were delighted to follow m

p the long alleys of undergrowth, between smooth pleached walls hining beech, to the highest point in the wood, whence one looke

n one side across the river and the rise and fall of the country to th

eat western mountain wall, and on the other over the surge and d

the myriad trees of the forest, over level meadows and the shinin

ellow sea to the faint coast beyond. I used to sit at this point on th

arm sunlit turf which marked the track of the Roman Road, while th

wo children raced about hunting for the whinberries that grew her

nd there on the banks. Here, beneath the deep blue sky and th

eat clouds rolling, like olden galleons with sails full-bellied, from th

ea to the hills, as I listened to the whispered charm of the great an

ncient wood, I lived solely for delight, and only remembered strang

ings when we would return to the house and find Professor Greg

ther shut up in the little room he had made his study, or else pacine terrace with the look, patient and enthusiastic, of the determine

eeker.

ne morning, some eight or nine days after our arrival, I looked o

my window and saw the whole landscape transmuted before m

he clouds had dipped low and hidden the mountain in the west; outhern wind was driving the rain in shifting pillars up the valley, an

e little brooklet that burst the hill below the house now ra ed, a re



rrent, down the river. We were perforce obliged to keep snu

thin-doors; and when I had attended to my pupils, I sat down in th

orning-room, where the ruins of a library still encumbered an old

shioned bookcase. I had inspected the shelves once or twice, b

eir contents had failed to attract me; volumes of eighteenth-centu

ermons, an old book on farriery, a collection of Poems by 'person

quality,' Prideaus's Connection, and an odd volume of Pope, we

e boundaries of the library, and there seemed little doubt th

verything of interest or value had been removed. Now, however,

esperation, I began to re-examine the musty sheepskin and ca

ndings, and found, much to my delight, a fine old quarto printed b

e Stephani, containing the three books of Pomponius Mela, D

itu Orbis, and other of the ancient geographers. I knew enough atin to steer my way through an ordinary sentence, and I soo

ecame absorbed in the odd mixture of fact and fancy -- light shinin

n a little of the space of the world, and beyond, mist and shado

nd awful forms. Glancing over the clear-printed pages. my attentio

as caught by the heading of a chapter in Solinus, and I read th

ords:

IRA DE INTIMIS GENTIBUS LIBYAE. DE LAPID

EXECONTALITHO.

'The wonders of the people that inhabit the inner parts of Liby

nd of the stone called Sixtystone.'

he odd title attracted me, and I read on:-'Gens ista avia er secret

abitat, in montibus horrendis foeda mysteria celebrat. D

ominibus nihil aliud illi praeferunt quam figuram, ab humano ri

orsus exulant, oderunt deum lucis. Stridunt potius quam loquuntu

ox absona nec sine horrore auditur. Lapide quodam gloriantu

uem Hexecontalithon vocant; dicunt enim hunc lapidem sexaginotas ostendere. Cujus lapidis nomen secretum ineffabile colun



uod Ixaxar.'

his folk,' I translated to myself, 'dwells in remote and secret place

nd celebrates foul mysteries on savage hills. Nothing have they

ommon with men save the face, and the customs of humanity ar

holly strange to them; and they hate the sun. They hiss rather tha

peak; their voices are harsh, and not to be heard without fear. Theoast of a certain stone, which they call Sixtystone; for they say that

splays sixty characters. And this stone has a secret unspeakab

ame; which is Ixaxar.'

aughed at the queer inconsequence of all this, and thought it fit f

inbad the Sailor,' or other of the supplementary Nights. When I sarofessor Gregg in the course of the day, I told him of my find in th

ookcase, and the fantastic rubbish I had been reading. To m

urprise he looked up at me with an expression of great interest.

hat is really very curious,' he said. 'I have never thought it wor

hile to look into the old geographers, and I dare say I have misse

good deal. Ah, that is the passage, is it? It seems a shame to roou of your entertainment, but I really think I must carry off the book.'

he next day the professor called me to come to the study. I foun

m sitting at a table in the full light of the window, scrutinizin

omething very attentively with a magnifying glass.

h, Miss Lally,' he began, 'I want to use your eyes. This glass

etty good, but not like my old one that I left in town. Would you min

xamining the thing yourself, and telling me how many characters a

ut on it?'

e handed me the object in his hand. I saw that it was the black se

e had shown me in London, and my heart began to beat with thought that I was presently to know something. I took the seal, an



olding it up to the light, checked off the grotesque dagger-shape

haracters one by one.

make sixty-two,' I said at last.

ixty-two? Nonsense; it's impossible. Ah, I see what you have done

ou have counted that and that,' and he pointed to two marks whichad certainly taken for letters with the rest.

es, yes,' Professor Gregg went on, 'but those are obviou

cratches, done accidentally; I saw that at once. Yes, then that's qui

ght. Thank you very much, Miss Lally.'

was going away, rather dissappointed at my having been called erely to count a number of marks on the black seal, when sudden

ere flashed into my mind what I had read in the morning.

ut, Professor Gregg,' I cried, breathless, 'the seal, the seal. Why,

the stone Hexecontalithos that Solinus writes of; it is Ixaxar.'

es,' he said, 'I suppose it is. Or it may be a mere coincidence.

ever does to be too sure, you know, in these matters. Coincidenc

led the professor.'

went away puzzled by what I had heard, and as much as ever at

ss to find the ruling clue in this maze of strange evidence. For thre

ays the bad weather lasted, changing from driving rain to a densist, fine and dripping, and we seemed to be shut up in a whit

oud that veiled all the world away from us. All the while Professo

regg was darkling in his room, unwilling, it appeared, to dispens

onfidences or talk of any kind, and I heard him walking to and fr

th a quick, impatient step, as if he were in some way wearied

action. The fourth morning was fine, and at breakfast the professoaid briskly:



We want some extra help about the house; a boy of fifteen o

xteen, you know. There are a lot of little odd jobs that take up th

aids' time which a boy could do much better.'

he girls have not complained to me in any way,' I replied. 'Indee

nne said there was much less work than in London, owing to the

eing so little dust.'

h, yes, they are very good girls. But I think we shall do much bette

th a boy. In fact, that is what has been bothering me for the last tw

ays.'

othering you?' I said in astonishment, for as a matter of fact thofessor never took the slightest interest in the affairs of the house

es,' he said, 'the weather, you know. I really couldn't go out in th

cotch mist; I don't know the country very well, and I should have lo

y way. But I am going to get the boy this morning.'

ut how do you know there is such a boy as you want anywhebout?'

h, I have no doubt as to that. I may have to walk a mile or two at th

ost, but I am sure to find just the boy I require.'

thought the professor was joking, but, though his tone was ai

nough, there was something grim and set about his features thuzzled me. He got his stick, and stood at the door lookin

editatively before him, and as I passed through the hall he called t

e.

y the way, Miss Lally, there was one thing I wanted to say to you

are say you may have heard that some of these country lads are nver-bright; idiotic would be a harsh word to use, and they are usual



alled "naturals", or something of the kind. I hope you won't mind

e boy I am after should turn out not too keen-witted; he will b

erfectly harmless, of course, and blacking boots doesn't need muc

ental effort.'

With that he was gone, striding up the road that led to the wood, and

mained stupefied; and then for the first time my astonishment waingled with a sudden note of terror, arising I knew not whence, an

unexplained even to myself, and yet I felt about my heart for a

stant something of the chill of death, and that shapeless, formles

ead of the unknown that is worse than death itself. I tried to fin

ourage in the sweet air that blew up from the sea, and in the sunlig

ter rain, but the mystic woods seemed to darken around me; ane vision of the river coiling between the reeds, and the silver grey

e ancient bridge, fashioned in my mind symbols of vague dread, a

e mind of a child fashions terror from things harmless and familiar

wo hours later Professor Gregg returned. I met him as he cam

own the road, and asked quietly if he had been able to find a boy.

h, yes.' he answered; 'I found one easily enough. His name

ervase Cradock, and I expect he will make himself very useful. H

ther has been dead for many years, and the mother, whom I saw

eemed very glad at the prospect of a few shillings extra coming

n Saturday nights. As I expected, he is not too sharp, has fits a

mes, the mother said; but as he will not be trusted with the chinat doesn't much matter, does it? And he is not in any wa

angerous. you know, merely a little weak.'

When is he coming?'

o-morrow morning at eight o'clock. Anne will show him what he ha

do, and how to do it. At first he will go home every night, buerhaps it may ultimately turn out more convenient for him to slee



ere, and only go home for Sundays.'

found nothing to say to all this; Professor Gregg spoke in a qui

ne of matter-of-fact, as indeed was warranted by the circumstanc

nd yet I could not quell my sensation of astonishment at the who

fair. I knew that in reality no assistance was wanted in th

ousework, and the professor's prediction that the boy he was tngage might prove a little 'simple', followed by so exact a fulfilmen

ruck me as bizarre in the extreme. The next morning I heard fro

e housemaid that the boy Cradock had come at eight, and that sh

ad been trying to make him useful. 'He doesn't seem quite all ther

don't think, miss,' was her comment, and later in the day I saw hi

elping the old man who worked in the garden. He was a youth bout fourteen, with black hair and black eyes and an olive skin, an

saw at once from the curious vacancy of his expression that he wa

entally weak. He touched his forehead awkwardly as I went by, an

heard him answering the gardener in a queer, harsh voice tha

aught my attention; it gave me the impression of some on

peaking deep below under the earth, and there was a strang

bilance, like the hissing of the phonograph as the pointer trave

ver the cylinder. I heard that he seemed anxious to do what h

ould, and was quite docile and obedient, and Morgan the gardene

ho knew his mother, assured me he was perfectly harmless. 'He

ways been a bit queer,' he said, 'and no wonder, after what h

other went through before he was born. I did know his fathe

homas Cradock, well, and a very fine workman he was too, indeee got something wrong with his lungs owing to working in the w

oods, and never got over it, and went off quite sudden like. An

ey do say as how Mrs. Cradock was quite off her head: anyhow

he was found by Mr. Hillyer, Ty Coch, all crouched up on the Gre

lls, over there, crying and weeping like a lost soul. And Jervase, h

as born about eight months afterwards, and, as I was saying, has a bit queer always; and they do say when he could scarcely wa



e would frighten the other children into fits with the noises he wou

ake.'

word in the story had stirred up some remembrance within me

nd, vaguely curious, I asked the old man where the Grey Hills were

p there,' he said, with the same gesture he had used before; 'yoo past the Fox and Hounds, and through the forest, by the old ruin

s a good five mile from here, and a strange sort of a place. Th

oorest soil between this and Monmouth, they do say, though it

ood feed for sheep. Yes, it was a sad thing for poor Mrs. Cradock

he old man turned to his work, and I strolled on down the pa

etween the espaliers, gnarled and gouty with age, thinking of th

ory I had heard, and groping for the point in it that had some key t

y memory. In an instant it came before me; I had seen the phras

rey Hills' on the slip of yellowed paper that Professor Gregg ha

ken from the drawer in his cabinet. Again I was seized with pang

mingled curiosity and fear; I remembered the strange characte

opied from the limestone rock, and then again their identity with thscription of the age-old seal, and the fantastic fables of the Lat

eographer. I saw beyond doubt that, unless coincidence had set a

e scene and disposed all these bizarre events with curious art

as to be a spectator of things far removed from the usual an

ustomary traffic and jostle of life. Professor Gregg I noted day b

ay; he was hot on his trail, growing lean with eagerness; and in thvenings, when the sun was swimming on the verge of the mountai

e would pace the terrace to and fro with his eyes on the groun

hile the mist grew white in the valley, and the stillness of the evenin

ought far voices near, and the blue smoke rose a straight colum

om the diamond-shaped chimney of the grey farmhouse, just as

ad seen it on the first morning. I have told you I was of sceptic

abit; but though I understood little or nothing, I began to dread, vain

oposing to myself the iterated dogmas of science that all life



aterial, and that in the system of things there is no undiscovere

nd, even beyond the remotest stars, where the supernatural ca

nd a footing. Yet there struck in on this the thought that matter is a

ally awful and unknown as spirit, that science itself but dallies o

e threshold, scarcely gaining more than a glimpse of the wonde

the inner place.

here is one day that stands up from amidst the others as a grim re

eacon, betokening evil to come. I was sitting on a bench in th

arden, watching the boy Cradock weeding, when I was sudden

armed by a harsh and choking sound, like the cry of a wild beast

nguish, and I was unspeakably shocked to see the unfortunate la

anding in full view before me, his whole body quivering and shakinshort intervals as though shocks of electricity were passin

rough him, his teeth grinding, foam gathering on his lips, and h

ce all swollen and blackened to a hideous mask of humanity.

hrieked with terror, and Professor Gregg came running; and as

ointed to Cradock, the boy with one convulsive shudder fell fac

rward, and lay on the wet earth, his body writhing like a wounde

nd-worm, and an inconceivable babble of sounds bursting an

ttling and hissing from his lips. He seemed to pour forth a

famous jargon, with words, or what seemed words, that might hav

elonged to a tongue dead since untold ages and buried dee

eneath Nilotic mud, or in the inmost recesses of the Mexican fores

or a moment the thought passed through my mind, as my ears we

ll revolted with that infernal clamour, 'Surely this is the very speechell,' and then I cried out again and again, and ran awa

huddering to my inmost soul. I had seen Professor Gregg's face a

e stooped over the wretched boy and raised him, and I wa

ppalled by the glow of exultation that shone on every lineament an

ature. As I sat in my room with drawn blinds, and my eyes hidden

y hands, I heard heavy steps beneath, and I was told afterwardat Professor Gregg had carried Cradock to his study, and ha



cked the door. I heard voices murmur indistinctly, and I trembled t

ink of what might be passing within a few feet of where I sat;

nged to escape to the woods and sunshine, and yet I dreaded th

ghts that might confront me on the way; and at last, as I held th

andle of the door nervously, I heard Professor Gregg's voice callin

me with a cheerful ring. 'It's all right now, Miss Lally,' he said. 'Th

oor fellow has got over it, and I have been arranging for him teep here after tomorrow. Perhaps I may be able to do somethin

r him.'

es,' he said later, 'it was a very painful sight, and I don't wonder yo

ere alarmed. We may hope that good food will build him up a littl

ut I am afraid he will never be really cured,' and he affected thsmal and conventional air with which one speaks of hopeles

ness; and yet beneath it I detected the delight that leapt up rampa

thin him, and fought and struggled to find utterance. It was as if on

anced down on the even surface of the sea, clear and immobil

nd saw beneath raging depths and a storm of contending billows.

as indeed to me a torturing and offensive problem that this ma

ho had so bounteously rescued me from the sharpness of deat

nd showed himself in all the relations of life full of benevolence, an

ty, and kindly forethought, should so manifestly be for once on th

de of the demons, and take a ghastly pleasure in the torments of a

flicted fellow creature. Apart, I struggled with the horned difficult

nd strove to find the solution; but without the hint of a clue, beset b

ystery and contradiction. I saw nothing that might help me, anegan to wonder whether, after all, I had not escaped from the whit

ist of the suburb at too dear a rate. I hinted something of m

ought to the professor; I said enough to let him know that I was

e most acute perplexity, but the moment after regretted what I ha

one when I saw his face contort with a spasm of pain.

My dear Miss Lally,' he said, 'you surely do not wish to leave us? N

o, ou would not do it. You do not know how I rel on ou; ho



onfidently I go forward, assured that you are here to watch over m

hildren. You, Miss Lally, are my rear-guard; for let me tell you th

usiness in which I am engaged is not wholly devoid of peril. Yo

ave not forgotten what I said the first morning here; my lips are sh

y an old and firm resolve till they can open to utter no ingeniou

ypothesis or vague surmise, but irrefragable fact, as certain as

emonstration in mathematics. Think over it, Miss Lally; not for oment would I endeavour to keep you here against your ow

stincts, and yet I tell you frankly that I am persuaded it is here, her

midst the woods, that your duty lies.'

was touched by the eloquence of his tone, and by the remembranc

at the man, after all, had been my salvation, and I gave him mand on a promise to serve him loyally and without question. A fe

ays later the rector of our church -- a little church, grey and sever

nd quaint, that hovered on the very banks of the river and watche

e tides swim and return -- came to see us, and Professor Greg

asily persuaded him to stay and share our dinner. Mr. Meyrick wa

member of an antique family of squires, whose old manor-hous

ood amongst the hills some seven miles away, and thus rooted

e soil, the rector was a living store of all the old fading customs an

re of the country. His manner, genial, with a deal of retired oddity

on on Professor Gregg; and towards the cheese, when a curiou

urgundy had begun its incantations, the two men glowed like th

ne, and talked of philology with the enthusiasm of a burgess ove

e peerage. The parson was expounding the pronunciation of thWelsh ll , and producing sounds like the gurgle of his native brook

hen Professor Gregg struck in.

y the way,' he said, 'that was a very odd word I met with the othe

ay. You know my boy, poor Jervase Cradock? Well, he has got th

ad habit of talking to himself, and the day before yesterday I waalking in the garden here and heard him; he was evidentl qui



nconscious of my presence. A lot of what he said I couldn't mak

ut, but one word struck me distinctly. It was such an odd sound, ha

bilant, half guttural, and as quaint as those double l_s you haveen demonstrating. I do not know whether I can give you an idef the sound; "Ishakshar" is perhaps as near as I can get. But the

ught to be a Greek chi or a Spanish j. Now what does it mean Welsh?'

Welsh?' said the parson. 'There is no such word in Welsh, nor an

ord remotely resembling it. I know the book-Welsh, as they call

nd the colloquial dialects as well as any man, but there's no wo

e that from Anglesea to Usk. Besides, none of the Cradock

peak a word of Welsh; it's dying out about here.'

eally. You interest me extremely, Mr. Meyrick. I confess the wor

dn't strike me as having the Welsh ring. But I thought it might b

ome local corruption.'

o, I never heard such a word, or anything like it. Indeed,' he adde

miling whimsically, 'if it belongs to any language, I should say it mue that of the fairies -- the Tylwydd Teg, as we call them.'

he talk went on to the discovery of a Roman villa in th

eighbourhood; and soon after I left the room, and sat down apart t

onder at the drawing together of such strange clues of evidenc

s the professor had spoken of the curious word, I had caught thnt in his eye upon me; and though the pronunciation he gave wa

otesque in the extreme, I recognized the name of the stone of six

haracters mentioned by Solinus, the black seal shut up in som

ecret drawer of the study, stamped for ever by a vanished race wit

gns that no man could read, signs that might, for all I knew, be th

eils of awful things done long ago, and forgotten before the hil

ere moulded into form.



When the next morning I came down, I found Professor Gregg pacin

e terrace in his eternal walk.

ook at that bridge,' he said, when he saw me; 'observe the quai

nd Gothic design, the angles between the arches, and the silve

ey of the stone in the awe of the morning light. I confess it seems

e symbolic; it should illustrate a mystical allegory of the passagom one world to another.'

rofessor Gregg,' I said quietly, 'it is time that I knew something

hat has happened, and of what is to happen.'

or the moment he put me off, but I returned again with the sam

uestion in the evening, and then Professor Gregg flamed wi

xcitement. 'Don't you understand yet?' he cried. 'But I have told yo

good deal; yes, and shown you a good deal; you have heard pret

early all that I have heard, and seen what I have seen; or at leas

nd his voice chilled as he spoke, 'enough to make a good de

ear as noonday. The servants told you, I have no doubt, that th

retched boy Cradock had another seizure the night before last; hwoke me with cries in that voice you heard in the garden, and I we

him, and God forbid you should see what I saw that night. But a

is is useless; my time here is drawing to a close; I must be back

wn in three weeks, as I have a course of lectures to prepare, an

eed all my books about me. In a very few days it will be all over, an

shall no longer hint, and no longer be liable to ridicule as a madmand a quack. No, I shall speak plainly, and I shall be heard with suc

motions as perhaps no other man has ever drawn from the breas

his fellows.'

e paused, and seemed to grow radiant with the joy of great an

onderful discovery.

ut all that is for the future, the near future certainly, but still th



ture,' he went on at length. 'There is something to be done yet; yo

ll remember my telling you that my researches were not altogethe

evoid of peril? Yes, there, is a certain amount of danger to b

ced; I did not know how much when I spoke on the subject before

nd to a certain extent I am still in the dark. But it will be a strang

dventure, the last of all, the last demonstration in the chain.'

e was walking up and down the room as he spoke, and I could hea

his voice the contending tones of exultation and despondence, o

erhaps I should say awe, the awe of a man who goes forth o

nknown waters, and I thought of his allusion to Columbus on th

ght he had laid his book before me. The evening was a little chilly

nd a fire of logs had been lighted in the study where we were; thmittent flame and the glow on the walls reminded me of the o

ays. I was sitting silent in an armchair by the fire, wondering over a

had heard, and still vainly speculating as to the secret spring

oncealed from me under all the phantasmagoria I had witnesse

hen I became suddenly aware of a sensation that change of som

ort had been at work in the room, and that there was somethin

nfamiliar in its aspect. For some time I looked about me, trying

ain to localize the alteration that I knew had been made; the table b

e window, the chairs, the faded settee were all as I had know

em. Suddenly, as a sought-for recollection flashes into the mind

new what was amiss. I was facing the professor's desk, whic

ood on the other side of the fire, and above the desk was a grimy

oking bust of Pitt, that I had never seen there before. And thenmembered the true position of this work of art; in the furthest corne

y the door was an old cupboard, projecting into the room, and o

e top of the cupboard, fifteen feet from the floor, the bust had been

nd there, no doubt, it had delayed, accumulating dirt, since the ear

ays of the century.

was utterly amazed, and sat silent, still in a confusion of though

here was, so far as I knew, no such thin as a ste ladder in th



ouse, for I had asked for one to make some alteration in th

urtains of my room, and a tall man standing on a chair would hav

und it impossible to take down the bust. It had been placed, not o

e edge of the cupboard, but far back against the wall; an

rofessor Gregg was, if anything, under the average height.

ow on earth did you manage to get down Pitt?' I said at last.

he professor looked curiously at me, and seemed to hesitate

tle.

hey must have found you a step-ladder, or perhaps the gardene

ought in a short ladder from outside?'

o, I have had no ladder of any kind. Now, Miss Lally,' he went o

th an awkward simulation of jest, 'there is a little puzzle for you;

oblem in the manner of the inimitable Holmes; there are the fact

ain and patent: summon your acuteness to the solution of th

uzzle. For Heaven's sake,' he cried with a breaking voice, 'say n

ore about it! I tell you, I never touched the thing,' and he went out e room with horror manifest on his face, and his hand shook an

rred the door behind him.

ooked round the room in vague surprise, not at all realizing wh

ad happened, making vain and idle surmises by way of explanatio

nd wondering at the stirring of black waters by an idle word and th

vial change of an ornament. 'This is some petty business, som

him on which I have jarred.' I reflected; 'the professor is perhap

crupulous and superstitious over trifles, and my question may hav

utraged unacknowledged fears, as though one killed a spider o

pilled the salt before the very eyes of a practical Scotchwoman.

as immersed in these fond suspicions, and began to plume myse

little on my immunity from such empty fears, when the truth feeavily as lead upon my heart, and I recognized with cold terror th



ome awful influence had been at work. The bust was simp

accessible; without a ladder no one could have touched it.

went out to the kitchen and spoke as quietly as I could to th

ousemaid.

Who moved that bust from the top of the cupboard, Anne?' I said ter. 'Professor Gregg says he has not touched it. Did you find an o

ep-ladder in one of the outhouses?'

he girl looked at me blankly.

never touched it,' she said. 'I found it where it is now the othe

orning when I dusted the room. I remember now, it waWednesday morning, because it was the morning after Cradock wa

ken bad in the night. My room is next to his, you know, miss,' th

rl went on piteously, 'and it was awful to hear how he cried an

alled out names that I couldn't understand. It made me feel all afrai

nd then master came, and I heard him speak, and he took dow

radock to the study and gave him something.'

nd you found that bust moved the next morning?'

es, miss. There was a queer sort of smell in the study when I cam

own and opened the windows; a bad smell it was, and I wondere

hat it could be. Do you know, miss, I went a long time ago to th

oo in London with my cousin Thomas Barker, one afternoon thatad off, when I was at Mrs. Prince's in Stanhope Gate, and we we

to the snake-house to see the snakes, and it was just the same so

smell; very sick it made me feel, I remember, and I got Barker t

ke me out. And it was just the same kind of smell in the study, as

as saying, and I was wondering what it could be from, when I se

at bust with Pitt cut in it, standing on the master's desk, andought to myself, 'Now who has done that, and how have they don



? And when I came to dust the things, I looked at the bust, and I sa

great mark on it where the dust was gone, for I don't think it ca

ave been touched with a duster for years and years, and it wasn

e finger-marks, but a large patch like, broad and spread out. So

assed my hand over it, without thinking what I was doing, and wher

at patch was it was all sticky and slimy, as if a snail had crawle

ver it. Very strange, isn't it, miss? and I wonder who can have donand how that mess was made.'

he well-meant gabble of the servant touched me to the quick; I la

own upon my bed, and bit my lip that I should not cry out loud in th

harp anguish of my terror and bewilderment. Indeed, I was almo

ad with dread; I believe that if it had been daylight I should haved hot foot, forgetting all courage and all the debt of gratitude th

as due to Professor Gregg, not caring whether my fate were tha

ust starve slowly, so long as I might escape from the net of blin

nd panic fear that every day seemed to draw a little closer roun

e. If I knew, I thought, if I knew what there was to dread, I cou

uard against it; but here, in this lonely house, shut in on all sides b

he olden woods and the vaulted hills, terror seems to sprin

consequent from every covert, and the flesh is aghast at the ha

earted murmurs of horrible things. All in vain I strove to summo

cepticism to my aid, and endeavoured by cool common sense

uttress my belief in a world of natural order, for the air that blew in a

e open window was a mystic breath, and in the darkness I felt th

ence go heavy and sorrowful as a mass of requiem, and I conjuremages of strange shapes gathering fast amidst the reeds, besid

e wash of the river.

the morning from the moment that I set foot in the breakfast-room

lt that the unknown plot was drawing to a crisis; the professor

ce was firm and set, and he seemed hardly to hear our voicehen we spoke.



am going out for a rather long walk,' he said, when the meal wa

ver. 'You mustn't be expecting me, now, or thinking anything ha

appened if I don't turn up to dinner. I have been getting stupid latel

nd I dare say a miniature walking tour will do me good. Perhaps

ay even spend the night in some little inn, if I find any place th

oks clean and comfortable.'

heard this, and knew by my experience of Professor Gregg

anner that it was no ordinary business of pleasure that impelle

m. I knew not, nor even remotely guessed, where he was boun

or had I the vaguest notion of his errand, but all the fear of the nig

efore returned; and as he stood, smiling, on the terrace, ready t

et out, I implored him to stay, and to forget all his dreams of thndiscovered continent.

o, no, Miss Lally,' he replied, still smiling, 'it's too late now. Vestig

ulla retrorsum, you know, is the device of all true explorers, though

ope it won't be literally true in my case. But, indeed, you are wron

alarm yourself so; I look upon my little expedition as qui

ommonplace; no more exciting than a day with the geologicammers. There is a risk, of course, but so there is on th

ommonest excursion. I can afford to be jaunty; I am doing nothing s

azardous as 'Arry does a hundred times over in the course of eve

ank Holiday. Well, then, you must look more cheerfully; and s

oodbye till tomorrow at latest.'

e walked briskly up the road, and I saw him open the gate th

arks the entrance of the wood, and then he vanished in the gloo

the trees.

l the day passed heavily with a strange darkness in the air, an

gain I felt as if imprisoned amidst the ancient woods, shut in a

den land of mystery and dread, and as if all was long ago an

rgotten by the living outside. I hoped and dreaded; and when th



nner-hour came I waited, expecting to hear the professor's step

e hall, and his voice exulting at I knew not what triumph. I compose

y face to welcome him gladly, but the night descended dark, an

e did not come.

the morning, when the maid knocked at my door, I called out to he

nd asked if her master had returned; and when she replied that hedroom door stood open and empty, I felt the cold clasp of despa

ill, I fancied he might have discovered genial company, and wou

turn for luncheon, or perhaps in the afternoon, and I took th

hildren for a walk in the forest, and tried my best to play and laug

th them, and to shout out the thoughts of mystery and veiled terro

our after hour I waited, and my thoughts grew darker; again thght came and found me watching, and at last, as I was makin

uch ado to finish my dinner, I heard steps outside and the sound o

man's voice.

he maid came in and looked oddly at me. 'Please, miss,' sh

egan, 'Mr. Morgan, the gardener, wants to speak to you for

inute, if you didn't mind.'

how him in, please,' I answered, and set my lips tight.

he old man came slowly into the room, and the servant shut th

oor behind him.

it down, Mr. Morgan,' I said; 'what is it that you want to say to me?

Well, miss, Mr. Gregg he gave me something for you yesterda

orning, just before he went off, and he told me particular not to han

up before eight o'clock this evening exactly, if so be as he wasn

ack again home before, and if he should come home before I wa

st to return it to him in his own hands. So, you see, as Mr. Gregn't here yet, I suppose I'd better give you the parcel directly.'



e pulled out something from his pocket, and gave it to me, ha

sing. I took it silently, and seeing that Morgan seemed doubtful a

what he was to do next. I thanked him and bade him good nigh

nd he went out. I was left alone in the room with the parcel in m

and -- a paper parcel, neatly sealed and directed to me, with th

structions Morgan had quoted, all written in the professor's larg

ose hand. I broke the seals with a choking at my heart, and foun

n envelope inside, addressed also, but open, and I took the lette

ut.

My dear Miss Lallv,' it began -- 'To quote the old logic manual, th

ase of your reading this note is a case of my having made a blunde

some sort, and, I am afraid, a blunder that turns these lines into rewell. It is practically certain that neither you nor any one else w

ver see me again. I have made my will with provision for th

ventuality, and I hope you will consent to accept the sma

membrance addressed to you, and my sincere thanks for the wa

which you joined your fortunes to mine. The fate which has com

pon me is desperate and terrible beyond the remotest dreams an; but this fate you have a right to know -- if you please. If you loo

the left-hand drawer of my dressing-table, you will find the key

e escritoire, properly labelled. In the well of the escritoire is a larg

nvelope sealed and addressed to your name. I advise you to thro

forthwith into the fire; you will sleep better of nights if you do so. B

you must know the history of what has happened, it is all writte

own for you to read.'

he signature was firmly written below, and again I turned the pag

nd read out the words one by one, aghast and white to the lips, m

ands cold as ice, and sickness choking me. The dead silence

e room, and the thought of the dark woods and hills closing me

n every side, oppressed me, helpless and without capacity, and nonowing where to turn for counsel. At last I resolved that thoug



nowledge should haunt my whole life and all the days to come

ust know the meaning of the strange terrors that had so lon

rmented me, rising grey, dim, and awful, like the shadows in th

ood at dusk. I carefully carried out Professor Gregg's direction

nd not without reluctance broke the seal of the envelope, an

pread out his manuscript before me. That manuscript I always car

th me, and I see that I cannot deny your unspoken request to reaThis, then, was what I read that night, sitting at the desk, with

haded lamp beside me.

he young lady who called herself Miss Lally then proceeded

cite

The statement of William Gregg, F.R.S., etc.

It is many years since the first glimmer of the theory which is

ow almost, if not quite, reduced to fact dawned on my mind. A

omewhat extensive course of miscellaneous and obsolete reading

ad done a great deal to prepare the way, and, later, when I

ecame somewhat of a specialist, and immersed myself in theudies known as ethnological, I was now and then startled by

cts that would not square with orthodox scientific opinion, and

y discoveries that seemed to hint at something still hidden for

our research. More particularly I became convinced that much

the folk-lore of the world is but an exaggerated account of

vents that really happened, and I was especially drawn toonsider the stories of the fairies, the good folk of the Celtic

ces. Here, I thought I could detect the fringe of embroidery

nd exaggeration, the fantastic guise, the little people dressed

green and gold sporting in the flowers, and I thought I saw a

stinct analogy between the name given to this race (supposed to

e imaginary) and the description of their appearance and manners

ust as our remote ancestors called the dreaded beings 'fair' and

ood' precisely because they dreaded them, so they had dressed



em up in charming forms, knowing the truth to be the very

verse. Literature, too, had gone early to work, and had lent a

owerful hand in the transformation, so that the playful elves of

hakespeare are already far removed from the true original, and

e real horror is disguised in a form of prankish mischief. But

the older tales, the stories that used to make men cross

emselves as they sat around the burning logs, we tread afferent stage; I saw a widely opposed spirit in certain

stories of children and of men and women who vanished strangely

om the earth. They would be seen by a peasant in the fields

alking towards some green and rounded hillock, and seen no mo

n earth; and there are stories of mothers who have left a child

uietly sleeping, with the cottage door rudely barred with a piecewood, and have returned, not to find the plump and rosy little

axon, but a thin and wizened creature, with sallow skin and

ack, piercing eyes, the child of another race. Then, again,

ere were myths darker still; the dread of witch and wizard, the

rid evil of the Sabbath, and the hint of demons who mingled with

e daughters of men. And just as we have turned the terrible

air folk' into a company of benignant, if freakish elves, so we

ave hidden from us the black foulness of the witch and her

ompanions under a popular diablerie of old women and

oomsticks, and a comic cat with tail on end. So the Greeks

alled the hideous furies benevolent ladies, and thus the northern

ations have followed their example. I pursued my investigations,

ealing odd hours from other and more imperative labours, and Isked myself the question: Supposing these traditions to be true,

ho were the demons who are reported to have attended the

abbaths? I need not say that I laid aside what I may call the

upernatural hypothesis of the Middle Ages, and came to the

onclusion that fairies and devils were of one and the same race

nd origin; invention, no doubt, and the Gothic fancy of old days,ad done much in the way of exaggeration and distortion; yet I



mly believe that beneath all this imagery there was a black

ackground of truth. As for some of the alleged wonders, I

esitated. While I should be very loath to receive any one

pecific instance of modern spiritualism as containing even a

ain of the genuine, yet I was not wholly prepared to deny that

uman flesh may now and then, once perhaps in ten millions cases,

e the veil of powers which seem magical to us -- powers which, sor from proceeding from the heights and leading men thither, are

reality survivals from the depths of being. The amoeba and the

nail have powers which we do not possess; and I thought it

ossible that the theory of reversion might explain many things

hich seem wholly inexplicable. Thus stood my position; I saw good

ason to believe that much of the tradition, a vast deal of thearliest and uncorrupted tradition of the so-called fairies,

presented solid fact, and I thought that the purely supernatural

ement in these traditions was to be accounted for on the

ypothesis that a race which had fallen out of the grand march of

volution might have retained, as a survival, certain powers which

ould be to us wholly miraculous. Such was my theory as it stood

onceived in my mind; and working with this in view, I seemed to

ather confirmation from every side, from the spoils of a tumulus

a barrow, from a local paper reporting an antiquarian meeting

the country, and from general literature of all kinds. Amongst

her instances, I remember being struck by the phrase

rticulate-speaking men' in Homer, as if the writer knew or had

eard of men whose speech was so rude that it could hardly bermed articulate; and on my hypothesis of a race who had lagged

r behind the rest, I could easily conceive that such a folk

ould speak a jargon but little removed from the inarticulate

oises of brute beasts.

Thus I stood, satisfied that my conjecture was at all events notr removed from fact, when a chance paragraph in a small country



int one day arrested my attention. It was a short account of

hat was to all appearance the usual sordid tragedy of the village

a young girl unaccountably missing, and evil rumour blatant and

usy with her reputation. Yet I could read between the lines that

this scandal was purely hypothetical, and in all probability

vented to account for what was in any other manner

naccountable. A flight to London or Liverpool, or an undiscoveredody lying with a weight about its neck in the foul depths of a

oodland pool, or perhaps murder -- such were the theories of the

retched girl's neighbours. But as I idly scanned the paragraph, a

ash of thought passed through me with the violence of an

ectric shock: what if the obscure and horrible race of the hills

ll survived, still remained haunting wild places and barrenls, and now and then repeating the evil of Gothic legend,

nchanged and unchangeable as the Turanian Shelta, or th

asques

Spain? I have said that the thought came with violence; and

deed I drew in my breath sharply, and clung with both hands to

y elbow-chair, in a strange confusion of horror and elation. It

as as if one of my confreres of physical science, roaming in a

uiet English wood, had been suddenly stricken aghast by the

esence of the slimy and loathsome terror of the ichthyosaurus,

e original of the stories of the awful worms killed by valourous

nights, or had seen the sun darkened by the pterodactyl, the

agon of tradition. Yet as a resolute explorer of knowledge, the

ought of such a discovery threw me into a passion of joy, and Iut out the slip from the paper and put it in a drawer in my old

ureau, resolved that it should be but the first piece in a

ollection of the strangest significance. I sat long that evening

eaming of the conclusions I should establish, nor did cooler

flection at first dash my confidence. Yet as I began to put the

ase fairly, I saw that I might be building on an unstableundation; the facts might possibly be in accordance with local



pinion, and I regarded the affair with a mood of some reserve.

et I resolved to remain perched on the lookout, and I hugged to

yself the thought that I alone was watching and wakeful, while

e great crowd of thinkers and searchers stood heedless and

different, perhaps letting the most prerogative facts pass by

nnoticed.

Several years elapsed before I was enabled to add to the conten

the drawer; and the second find was in reality not a valuable

ne, for it was a mere repetition of the first, with only the

ariation of another and distant locality. Yet I gained something;

r in the second case, as in the first, the tragedy took place in

desolate and lonely country, and so far my theory seemedstified. But the third piece was to me far more decisive. Again,

mongst outland hills, far even from a main road of traffic, an

d man was found done to death, and the instrument of execution

as left beside him. Here, indeed, there were rumour and

onjecture, for the deadly tool was a primitive stone axe, bound

y gut to the wooden handle, and surmises the most extravagant an

mprobable were indulged in. Yet, as I thought with a kind of

ee, the wildest conjectures went far astray; and I took the

ains to enter into correspondence with the local doctor, who was

alled at the inquest. He, a man of some acuteness, was

umbfounded. 'It will not do to speak of these things in country

aces,' he wrote to me; 'but frankly, there is some hideous

ystery here. I have obtained possession of the stone axe, andave been so curious as to test its powers. I took it into the

ack garden of my house one Sunday afternoon when my family an

e servants were all out, and there, sheltered by the poplar

edges, I made my experiments. I found the thing utterly

nmanageable; whether there is some peculiar balance, some nice

djustment of weights, which require incessant practice, orhether an effectual blow can be struck only by a certain trick of



e muscles, I do not know; but I can assure you that I went into

e house with but a sorry opinion of my athletic capacities. I

as like an inexperienced man trying "putting the hammer"; the

rce exerted seemed to return on oneself, and I found myself

urled backwards with violence, while the axe fell harmless to the

ound. On another occasion I tried the experiment with a clever

oodman of the place; but this man, who had handled his axe forrty years, could do nothing with the stone implement, and missed

very stroke most ludicrously. In short, if it were not so

upremely absurd, I should say that for four thousand years no one

n earth could have struck an effective blow with the tool that

ndoubtedly was used to murder the old man.' This, as may be

magined, was to me rare news; and afterwards, when I heard thehole story, and learned that the unfortunate old man had babbled

les of what might be seen at night on a certain wild hillside,

nting at unheard-of wonders, and that he had been found cold one

orning on the very hill in question, my exultation was extreme,

r I felt I was leaving conjecture far behind me. But the next

ep was of still greater importance. I had possessed for many

ears an extraordinary stone seal -- a piece of dull black stone,

wo inches long from the handle to the stamp, and the stamping end

rough hexagon an inch and a quarter in diameter. Altogether, it

esented the appearance of an enlarged tobacco stopper of an

d-fashioned make. It had been sent to me by an agent in the

ast, who informed me that it had been found near the site of the

ncient Babylon. But the characters engraved on the seal were toe an intolerable puzzle. Somewhat of the cuneiform pattern, there

here yet striking differences, which I detected at the first

ance, and all efforts to read the inscription on the hypothesis

at the rules for deciphering the arrow-headed writing would

pply proved futile. A riddle such as this stung my pride, and at

dd moments I would take the Black Seal out of the cabinet, andcrutinize it with so much idle perseverance that every letter was



miliar to my mind, and I could have drawn the inscription from

emory without the slightest error. Judge, then, of my surprise

hen I one day received from a correspondent in the west of

ngland a letter and an enclosure that positively left me

understruck. I saw carefully traced on a large piece of paper

e very characters of the Black Seal, without alteration of any

nd, and above the inscription my friend had written:scription found on a limestone rock on the Grey Hills,

Monmouthshire. Done in some red earth, and quite recent. urned to the letter. My friend wrote: 'I send you the enclosed

scription with all due reserve. A shepherd who passed by the

one a week ago swears that there was then no mark of any kind.

he characters, as I have noted, are formed by drawing some redarth over the stone, and are of an average height of one inch.

hey look to me like a kind of cuneiform character, a good deal

tered, but this, of course, is impossible. It may be either a

oax, or more probably some scribble of the gipsies, who are

entiful enough in this wild country. They have, as you are

ware, many heiroglyphics which they use in communicating wine

nother. I happened to visit the stone in question two days ago in

onnection with a rather painful incident which has occurred

ere.'

As it may be supposed, I wrote immediately to my friend, thanking

m for the copy of the inscription, and asking him in a casualanner the history of the incident he mentioned. To be brief, I

eard that a woman named Cradock, who had lost her husband

ay

efore, had set out to communicate the sad news to a cousin who

ed some five miles away. She took a short cut which led by the

rey Hills. Mrs. Cradock, who was then quite a young woman, neverived at her relative's house. Late that night a farmer, who had



st a couple of sheep, supposed to have wandered from the flock,

as walking over the Grey Hills, with a lantern and his dog. His

tention was attracted by a noise, which he described as a kind

wailing, mournful and pitiable to hear; and, guided by the

ound, he found the unfortunate Mrs. Cradock crouched on the

ound by the limestone rock, swaying her body to and fro, and

menting and crying in so heart-rending a manner that the farmeras, as he says, at first obliged to stop his ears, or he would

ave run away. The woman allowed herself to be taken home, and a

eighbour came to see to her necessities. All the night she never

eased her crying, mixing her lament with words of some

nintelligible jargon, and when the doctor arrived he pronounced

er insane. She lay on her bed for a week, now wailing, as peopleaid, like one lost and damned for eternity, and now sunk in a

eavy coma; it was thought that grief at the loss of her husband

ad unsettled her mind, and the medical man did not at one time

xpect her to live. I need not say that I was deeply interested in

s story, and I made my friend write to me at intervals with all

e particulars of the case. I heard then that in the course of

x weeks the woman gradually recovered the use of her faculties,

nd some months later she gave birth to a son, christened Jervase,

ho unhappily proved to be of weak intellect. Such were the facts

nown to the village; but to me, while I whitened at the suggested

ought of the hideous enormities that had doubtless been

ommitted, all this was nothing short of conviction, and I

cautiously hazarded a hint of something like the truth to somecientific friends. The moment the words had left my lips I

tterly regretted having spoken, and thus given away the great

ecret of my life, but with a good deal of relief mixed with

dignation I found my fears altogether misplaced, for my friends

diculed me to my face, and I was regarded as a madman; and

eneath a natural anger I chuckled to myself, feeling as securemidst these blockheads as if I had confided what I knew to the



esert sands.

But now, knowing so much, I resolved I would know all, and I

oncentrated my efforts on the task of deciphering the inscription

n the Black Seal. For many years I made this puzzle the sole

bject of my leisure moments, for the greater portion of my time

as, of course, devoted to other duties, and it was only now anden that I could snatch a week of clear research. If I were to

ll the full history of this curious investigation, this

atement would be wearisome in the extreme, for it would contain

mply the account of long and tedious failure. But what I knew

ready of ancient scripts I was well equipped for the chase, as I

ways termed it to myself. I had correspondents amongst all thecientific men in Europe, and, indeed, in the world, and I could

ot believe that in these days any character, however ancient and

owever perplexed, could long resist the search-light I should

ing to bear upon it. Yet in point of fact, it was fully fourteen

ears before I succeeded. With every year my professional duties

creased and my leisure became smaller. This no doubt retarde

e

good deal; and yet, when I look back on those years, I am

stonished at the vast scope of my investigation of the Black

eal. I made my bureau a centre, and from all the world and from

the ages I gathered transcripts of ancient writing. Nothing, I

solved, should pass me unawares, and the faintest hint should be

elcomed and followed up. But as one covert after another wased and proved empty of result, I began in the course of years

despair, and to wonder whether the Black Seal were the sole

lic of some race that had vanished from the world, and left no

her trace of its existence -- had perished, in fine, as Atlantis

said to have done, in some great cataclysm, its secrets perhaps

owned beneath the ocean or moulded into the heart of the hills.he thought chilled my warmth a little, and though I still



ersevered, it was no longer with the same certainty of faith. A

hance came to the rescue. I was staying in a considerable town in

e north of England, and took the opportunity of going over the

ery creditable museum that had for some time been established in

e place. The curator was one of my correspondents; and, as we

ere looking through one of the mineral cases, my attention was

ruck by a specimen, a piece of black stone some four inchesquare, the appearance of which reminded me in a measure of the

ack Seal. I took it up carelessly, and was turning it over in my

and, when I saw, to my astonishment, that the under side was

scribed. I said, quietly enough, to my friend the curator that

e specimen interested me, and that I should be much obliged if

e would allow me to take it with me to my hotel for a couple ofays. He, of course, made no objection, and I hurried to my rooms

nd found that my first glance had not deceived me. There were two

scriptions; one in the regular cuneiform character, another in

e character of the Black Seal, and I realized that my task was

ccomplished. I made an exact copy of the two inscriptions; and

hen I got to my London study, and had the seal before me, I was

ble seriously to grapple with the great problem. The interpreting

scription on the museum specimen, though in itself curious

nough, did not bear on my quest, but the transliteration made me

aster of the secret of the Black Seal. Conjucture, of course, had

enter into my calculations; there was here and there

ncertainty about a particular ideograph, and one sign recurring

gain and again on the seal baffled me for many successive nights.ut at last the secret stood open before me in plain English, and

ead the key of the awful transmutation of the hills. The last

ord was hardly written, when with fingers all trembling and

nsteady I tore the scrap of paper into the minutest fragments,

nd saw them flame and blacken in the red hollow of the fire, and

en I crushed the grey films that remained into finest powder.ever since then have I written those words; never will I write



e phrases which tell how man can be reduced to the slime from

hich he came, and be forced to put on the flesh of the reptile

nd the snake. There was now but one thing remaining. I knew, but

esired to see, and I was after some time able to take a house

the neighbourhood of the Grey Hills, and not far from the

ottage where Mrs. Cradock and her son Jervase resided. I need n

o into a full and detailed account of the apparently inexplicablevents which have occurred here, where I am writing this. I knew

at I should find in Jervase Cradock something of the blood of

e 'Little People', and I found later that he had more than once

ncountered his kinsmen in lonely places in that lonely land. When

was summoned one day to the garden, and found him in a seizure

peaking or hissing the ghastly jargon of the Black Seal, I amraid that exultation prevailed over pity. I heard bursting from

s lips the secrets of the underworld, and the word of dread,

hakshar', signification of which I must be excused from giving.

But there is one incident I cannot pass over unnoticed. In the

aste hollow of the night I awoke at the sound of those hissing

yllables I knew so well; and on going to the wretched boy's room,

ound him convulsed and foaming at the mouth, struggling on the

ed as if he strove to escape the grasp of writhing demons. I took

m down to my room and lit the lamp, while he lay twisting on the

oor, calling on the power within his flesh to leave him. I saw

s body swell and become distended as a bladder, while the face

ackened before my eyes; and then at the crisis I did what wasecessary according to the directions on the Seal, and putting all

cruple on one side, I became a man of science, observant of what

as passing. Yet the sight I had to witness was horrible, almost

eyond the power of human conception and the most fearful fantasy

omething pushed out from the body there on the floor, and

retched forth a slimy, wavering tentacle, across the room,asped the bust upon the cupboard, and laid it down on my desk.



When it was over, and I was left to walk up and down all the rest

the night, white and shuddering, with sweat pouring from my

esh, I vainly tried to reason within myself: I said, truly

nough, that I had seen nothing really supernatural, that a snail

ushing out his horns and drawing them in was but an instance on a

maller scale of what I had witnessed; and yet horror broke

rough all such reasonings and left me shattered and loathingyself for the share I had taken in the night's work.

There is little more to be said. I am going now to the final trial

nd encounter; for I have determined that there shall be nothing

anting, and I shall meet the 'Little People' face to face. I

hall have the Black Seal and the knowledge of its secrets to helpe, and if I unhappily do not return from my journey, there is no

eed to conjure up here a picture of the awfulness of my fate.

ausing a little at the end of Professor Gregg's statement, Miss Lal

ontinued her tale in the following words: -—

uch was the almost incredible story that the professor had leehind him. When I had finished reading it, it was late at night, b

e next morning I took Morgan with me, and we proceeded t

earch the Grey Hills for some trace of the lost professor. I will no

eary you with a description of the savage desolation of that tract

ountry, a tract of utterest loneliness, of bare green hills dotted ove

th grey limestone boulders, worn by the ravages of time inntastic semblances of men and beast. Finally, after many hours o

eary searching, we found what I told you -- the watch and chain, an

urse, and the ring -- wrapped in a piece of coarse parchmen

When Morgan cut the gut that bound the parcel together, and I sa

e professor's property, I burst into tears, but the sight of th

eaded characters of the Black Seal repeated on the parchme

oze me to silent horror, and I think I understood for the first time th

wful fate that had come upon m late emplo er.



have only to add that Professor Gregg's lawyer treated my accou

what had happened as a fairy tale, and refused even to glance

e documents I laid before him. It was he who was responsible fo

e statement that appeared in the public press, to the effect th

rofessor Gregg had been drowned, and that his body must hav

een swept into the open sea.

iss Lally stopped speaking, and looked at Mr. Phillipps, with

ance of some inquiry. He, for his part, was sunken in a dee

verie of thought; and when he looked up and saw the bustle of th

vening gathering in the square, men and women hurrying to partak

dinner, and crowds already besetting the music-halls, all the hund press of actual life seemed unreal and visionary, a dream in th

orning after an awakening.

thank you,' he said at last, 'for your most interesting stor

teresting to me, because I feel fully convinced of its exact truth.'

ir,' said the lady, with some energy of indignation, 'you grieve anfend me. Do you think I should waste my time and yours b

oncocting fictions on a bench in Leicester Square?'

ardon me, Miss Lally, you have a little misunderstood me. Befor

ou began I knew that whatever you told would be told in good fait

ut your experiences have a far higher value than that of bona fidehe most extraordinary circumstances in your account are in perfe

armony with the very latest scientific theories. Professor Lodg

ould, I am sure, value a communication from you extremely; I wa

harmed from the first by his daring hypothesis in explanation of th

onders of spiritualism (so called), but your narrative puts the who

atter out of the range of mere hypothesis.'

las! sir, all this will not help me. You forget, I have lost my brothe



nder the most startling and dreadful circumstances. Again, I as

ou, did you not see him as you came here? His black whiskers, h

pectacles, his timid glance to right and left; think, do not thes

articulars recall his face to your memory?'

am sorry to say I have never seen anyone of the kind,' sa

hillipps, who had forgotten all about the missing brother. 'But let msk you a few questions. Did you notice whether Professor Gregg..

ardon me, sir, I have stayed too long. My employers will b

xpecting me. I thank you for your sympathy. Goodbye.'

efore Mr. Phillipps had recovered from his amazement at th

brupt departure Miss Lally had disappeared from his gaze, passin

to the crowd that now thronged the approaches to the Empire. H

alked home in a pensive frame of mind, and drank too much tea. A

n o'clock he had made his third brew, and had sketched out th

utlines of a little work to be called Protoplasmic Reversion.



NCIDENT OF THE PRIVATE

BAR

r. Dyson often meditated at odd moments over the singular tale h

ad listened to at the Cafe de la Touraine. In the first place, h

herished a profound conviction that the words of truth wer

cattered with a too niggardly and sparing hand over the agreeab

story of Mr. Smith and the Black Gulf Canon; and secondly, ther

as the undeniable fact of the profound agitation of the narrator, an

s gestures on the pavement, too violent to be simulated. The idea man going about London haunted by the fear of meeting a youn

an with spectacles struck Dyson as supremely ridiculous; h

earched his memory for some precedent in romance, but witho

uccess; he paid visits at odd times to the little cafe, hoping to fin

r. Wilkins there; and he kept a sharp watch on the great generatio

the spectacled men, without much doubt that he would remembee face of the individual whom he had seen dart out of the aerate

ead shop. All his peregrinations and researches, howeve

eemed to lead to nothing of value, and Dyson needed all his war

onviction of his innate detective powers and his strong scent fo

ystery to sustain him in his endeavours. In fact, he had two affai

n hand; and every day, as he passed through streets crowded eserted, lurked in the obscure districts and watched at corners, h

as more than surprised to find that the affair of the gold co

ersistently avoided him, while the ingenious Wilkins, and the youn

an with spectacles whom he dreaded, seemed to have vanishe

om the pavements.

e was pondering these problems one evening in a house of call e Strand, and the obstinacy with which the persons he so ardent



esired to meet hung back gave the modest tankard before him a

dditional touch of bitter. As it happened, he was alone in hi

ompartment, and, without thinking, he uttered aloud the burden

s meditations. 'How bizarre it all is!' he said, 'a man walking th

avement with the dread of a timid-looking young man wi

pectacles continually hovering before his eyes. And there wa

ome tremendous feeling at work, I could swear to that.' Quick aought, before he had finished the sentence, a head popped roun

e barrier, and was withdrawn again; all while Dyson was wonderin

hat this could mean, the door of the compartment was swung ope

nd a smooth, clean-shaven, and smiling gentleman entered.

ou will excuse me, sir,' he said politely, 'for intruding on yououghts, but you made a remark a minute ago.'

did,' said Dyson; 'I have been puzzling over a foolish matter, and

ought aloud. As you heard what I said, and seem interested

erhaps you may be able to relieve my perplexity?'

deed, I scarcely know; it is an odd coincidence. One has to bautious. I suppose, sir, that you would be glad to assist the ends o

stice.'

ustice,' replied Dyson, 'is a term of such wide meaning, that I to

el doubtful about giving an answer. But this place is not altogethe

for such a discussion; perhaps you would come to my rooms?'

ou are very kind; my name is Burton, but I am sorry to say I have n

card with me. Do you live near here?'

Within ten minutes' walk.'

r. Burton took out his watch, and seemed to be making a rapialculation.



have a train to catch,' he said; 'but after all, it is a late one. So if yo

on't mind, I think I will come with you. I am sure we should have

tle talk together. We turn up here?'

he theatres were filling as they crossed the Strand; the stre

eemed alive with voices, and Dyson looked fondly about him. Th

ttering lines of gas-lamps, with here and there the blindindiance of an electric light, the hansoms that flashed to and fro wi

nging bells, the laden 'buses, and the eager hurrying east and we

the foot-passengers, made his most enchanting picture; and th

aceful spire of St. Mary le Strand on the one hand, and the la

ush of sunset on the other, were to him a cause of thanksgiving, a

e gorse blossom to Linnaeus. Mr. Burton caught his look ondness as they crossed the street.

see you can find the picturesque in London,' he said. 'To me th

eat town is as I see it is to you -- the study and the love of life. Y

ow few there are that can pierce the veils of apparent monotony an

eanness! I have read in a paper, which is said to have the large

rculation in the world, a comparison between the aspects

ondon and Paris, a comparison which should be positively laurea

s the great masterpiece of fatuous stupidity. Conceive if you can

uman being of ordinary intelligence preferring the Boulevards to ou

ondon streets; imagine a man calling for the wholesale destructio

our most charming city, in order that the dull uniformity of th

hited sepulchre called Paris should be reproduced here in Londoit not positively incredible?'

My dear sir,' said Dyson, regarding Burton with a good deal o

terest, 'I agree most heartily with your opinions, but I really can

hare your wonder. Have you heard how much George Eliot receive

r Romola? Do you know what the circulation of Robert Elsmeras? Do ou read Tit-Bits, regularl ? To me, on the contrar , it



onstant matter both for wonder and thanksgiving that London wa

ot boulevardized twenty years ago. I praise that exquisite jagge

kyline that stands up against the pale greens and fading blues an

ushing clouds of sunset, but I wonder even more than I praise. As fo

t. Mary le Strand, its preservation is a miracle, nothing more o

ss. A thing of exquisite beauty versus four 'buses abreast! Reall

e conclusion is too obvious. Didn't you read the letter of the maho proposed that the whole mysterious system, the immemori

an of computing Easter, should be abolished off-hand, because h

oesn't like his son having his holidays as early as March 25th? B

hall we be going on?'

hey had lingered at the corner of a street on the north side of thrand, enjoying the contrasts and the glamour of the scene. Dyso

ointed the way with a gesture, and they strolled up th

omparatively deserted streets, slanting a little to the right, and thu

riving at Dyson's lodging on the verge of Bloomsbury. Mr. Burto

ok a comfortable arm-chair by the open window, while Dyson lit th

andles and produced the whisky and soda and cigarettes.

hey tell me these cigarettes are very good,' he said; 'but I kno

othing about it myself. I hold at last that there is only one tobacc

nd that is shag. I suppose I could not tempt you to try a pipeful?'

r. Burton smilingly refused the offer, and picked out a cigarett

om the box. When he had smoked it half through, he said with somesitation --

is really kind of you to have me here, Mr. Dyson; the fact is that th

terests at issue are far too serious to be discussed in a bar, where

s you found for yourself, there may be listeners, voluntary

voluntary, on each side. I think the remark I heard you make wa

omething about the oddity of an individual going about London eadly fear of a young man with spectacles?'



es; that was it.'

Well, would you mind confiding to me the circumstances that gav

se to the reflection?'

ot in the least. It was like this.' And he ran over in brief outline thdventure in Oxford Street, dwelling on the violence of Mr. Wilkins

estures, but wholly suppressing the tale told in the cafe. 'He told m

e lived in constant terror of meeting this man; and I left him when

ought he was cool enough to look after himself,' said Dyso

nding his narrative.

eally,' said Mr. Burton. 'And you actually saw this mysteriouerson?'

es.'

nd could you describe him?'

Well, he looked to me a youngish man, pale and nervous. He hamall black side-whiskers, and wore rather large spectacles.'

ut this is simply marvellous! You astonish me. For I must tell yo

at my interest in the matter is this. I'm not in the least in terror

eeting a dark young man with spectacles, but I shrewdly suspect

erson of that description would much rather not meet me. And yee account you give of the man tallies exactly. A nervous glance t

ght and left -- is it not so? And, as you observed, he wea

ominent spectacles, and has small black whiskers. There cann

e, surely, two people exactly identical -- one a cause of terror, an

e other, I should imagine, extremely anxious to get out of the wa

ut have you seen this man since?'

o, I have not; and I have been looking out for him pretty keenly. B



course he may have left London, and England too, for the matter

at.'

ardly, I think. Well, Mr. Dyson, it is only fair that I should explain m

ory, now that I have listened to yours. I must tell you, then, that I a

n agent for curiosities and precious things of all kinds. An od

mployment, isn't it? Of course, I wasn't brought up to the businessadually fell into it. I have always been fond of things queer and rar

nd by the time I was twenty I had made half a dozen collections. It

ot generally known how often farm-labourers come upon raritie

ou would be astonished if I told you what I have seen turned up b

e plough. I lived in the country in those days, and I used to bu

nything the men on the farms brought me; and I had the queereet of rubbish, as my friends called my collection. But that's how I g

e scent of the business, which means everything; and, later on,

ruck me that I might very well turn my knowledge to account an

dd to my income. Since those early days I have been in mo

uarters of the world, and some very valuable things have passe

rough my hands, and I have had to engage in difficult and delica

egotiations. You have I possibly heard of the Khan opal -- called

e East "The Stone of a Thousand and One Colours"? We

erhaps the conquest of that stone was my greatest achievement

all it myself the stone of the thousand and one lies, for I assure yo

at I had to invent a cycle of folk-lore before the Rajah who owned

ould consent to sell the thing. I subsidized wandering storyteller

ho told tales in which the opal played a frightful part; I hired a hoa n -- a great ascetic -- to prophesy against the thing in th

nguage of Eastern symbolism; in short, I frightened the Rajah out

s wits. So, you see, there is room for diplomacy in the traffic I a

ngaged in. I have to be ever on my guard, and I have often bee

ensible that unless I watched every step and weighed every wor

y life would not last me much longer. Last April I became aware oe existence of a highly valuable antique gem; it was in southe



aly, and in the possession of persons who were ignorant of its re

alue. It has always been my experience that it is precisely th

norant who are most difficult to deal with. I have met farmers wh

ere under the impression that a shilling of George the First was

nd of almost incalculable value; and all the defeats I have sustaine

ave been at the hands of people of this description. Reflecting o

ese facts, I saw that the acquisition of the gem I have mentioneould be an affair demanding the nicest diplomacy; I might possib

ave got it by offering a sum approaching its real value, but I nee

ot point out to you that such a proceeding would be mo

nbusinesslike. Indeed, I doubt whether it would have bee

uccessful; for the cupidity of such persons is aroused by a su

hich seems enormous, and the low cunning which serves them ace of intelligence immediately suggests that the object for whic

uch an amount is offered must be worth at least double. Of cours

hen it is a matter of an ordinary curiosity -- an old jug, a carve

hest, or a queer brass lantern -- one does not much care; th

upidity of the owner defeats its object; the collector laughs and goe

way, for he is aware that such things are by no means unique. B

is gem I fervently desired to possess; and as I did not see my wa

giving more than a hundredth part of its value, I was conscious th

my, let us say, imaginative and diplomatic powers would have t

e exerted. I am sorry to say that I came to the conclusion that I cou

o t undertake to carry the matter through singlehanded, and

etermined to confide in my assistant, a young man named Willia

obbins, whom I judged to be by no means devoid of capacity. Mea was that Robbins should get himself up as a low-class dealer

ecious stones; he could patter a little Italian, and would go to th

wn in question and manage to see the gem we were after, possib

y offering some trifling articles of jewellery for sale, but that I left t

e decided.

hen my work was to begin, but I will not trouble you with a tale to



wice over. In due course, then, Robbins went off to Italy with a

ssortment of uncut stones and a few rings, and some jewellery

ought in Birmingham on purpose for his expedition. A week later

llowed him, travelling leisurely, so that I was a fortnight later

riving at our common destination. There was a decent hotel in th

wn, and on my inquiring of the landlord whether there were man

rangers in the place, he told me very few; he had heard there wan Englishman staying in a small tavern, a pedlar, he said, who so

eautiful trinkets very cheaply, and wanted to buy old rubbish. Fo

ve or six days I took life leisurely, and I must say I enjoyed myself.

as part of my plan to make the people think I was an enormous

ch man; and I knew that such items as the extravagance of m

eals, and the price of every bottle of wine I drank, would not buffered, as Sancho Panza puts it, to rot in the landlord's breast. A

e end of the week I was fortunate enough to make th

cquaintance of Signor Melini, the owner of the gem I coveted, at th

afe, and with his ready hospitality, and my geniality, I was soo

stablished as a friend of the house. On my third or fourth visit

anaged to make the Italians talk about the English pedlar, who

ey said, spoke a most detestable Italian. "But that does n

atter," said the Signora Melini, "for he has beautiful things, whic

e sells very, very cheap." "I hope you may not find he has cheate

ou," I said, "for I must tell you that English people give these fellow

very wide berth. They usually make a great parade of th

heapness of their goods, which often turn out to be double the pric

better articles in the shops." They would not hear of this, angnora Melini insisted on showing me the three rings and th

acelet she had bought of the pedlar. She told me the price she ha

aid; and after scrutinizing the articles carefully, I had to confess th

he had made a bargain, and indeed Robbins had sold her th

ings at about fifty per cent below market value. I admired th

nkets as I gave them back to the lady, and I hinted that the pedlaust be a somewhat foolish specimen of his class. Two days late



s I was taking my vermouth at the cafe with Signor Melini, he led th

onversation back to the pedlar, and mentioned casually that he ha

hown the man a little curiosity, for which he had made rather

andsome offer. "My dear sir," I said, "I hope you will be careful. I to

ou that the travelling tradesman does not bear a very high reputatio

England; and notwithstanding his apparent simplicity, this fello

ay turn out to be an arrant cheat. May I ask you what is the nature e curiosity you have shown him?" He told me it was a little thing,

etty little stone with some figures cut on it: people said it was old.

hould like to examine it," I replied, "as it happens I have seen

ood deal of these gems. We have a fine collection of them in ou

useum at London." In due course I was shown the article, and I he

e gem I so coveted between my fingers. I looked at it coolly, anut it down carelessly on the table. "Would you mind telling m

gnor," I said, "how much my fellow-countryman offered you fo

is?" "Well," he said, "my wife says the man must be mad; he sa

e would give me twenty lire for it."

looked at him quietly, and took up the gem and pretended t

xamine it in the light more carefully; I turned it over and over, an

nally pulled out a magnifying glass from my pocket, and seemed

earch every line in the cutting with minutest scrutiny. "My dear sir,"

aid at last, "I am inclined to agree with Signora Melini. If this ge

ere genuine, it would be worth some money; but as it happens t

e a rather bad forgery, it is not worth twenty centesimi. It wa

ophisticated, I should imagine, some time in the last century, and bvery unskilful hand." "Then we had better get rid of it," said Melini.

ever thought it was worth anything myself. Of course, I am sorry fo

e pedlar, but one must let a man know his own trade. I shall tell hi

e will take the twenty lire." "Excuse me," I said, "the man wants

sson. It would be a charity to give him one. Tell him that you will n

ke anything under eighty lire, and I shall be much surprised if hoes not close with you at once."



day or two later I heard that the English pedlar had gone away

ter debasing the minds of the country people with Birmingham a

wellery; for I admit that the gold sleeve-links like kidney beans, th

ver chains made apparently after the pattern of a dog-chain, an

e initial brooches, have always been heavy on my conscience

annot acquit myself of having indirectly contributed to debauch th

ste of a simple folk; but I hope that the end I had in view may finautbalance this heavy charge. Soon afterwards I paid a farewell vis

the Melinis', and the signor informed me with an oily chuckle th

e plan I had suggested had been completely successful.

ongratulated him on his bargain, and went away after expressing

sh that Heaven might send many such pedlars in his path.

othing of interest occurred on my return journey. I had arranged th

obbins was to meet me at a certain place on a certain day, and

ent to the appointment full of the coolest confidence; the gem ha

een conquered, and I had only to reap the fruits of victory. I am sor

shake that trust in our common human nature which I am sure yo

ossess, but I am compelled to tell you that up to the present date

ave never set eyes on my man Robbins, or on the antique gem

s custody. I have found out that he actually arrived in London, for h

as seen three days before my arrival in England by a pawnbroke

my acquaintance, consuming his favourite beverage -- four ale

the tavern where we met tonight. Since then he has not been hea

. I hope you will now pardon my curiosity as to the history an

dventures of dark young men with spectacles. You will, I am sureel for me in my position; the savour of life has disappeared for m

is a bitter thought that I have rescued one of the most perfect an

xquisite specimens of antique art from the hands of ignorant, an

deed unscrupulous persons, only to deliver it into the keeping of

an who is evidently utterly devoid of the very elements

ommercial morality.'



My dear sir,' said Dyson, 'you will allow me to compliment you o

our style; your adventures have interested me exceedingly. Bu

rgive me, you just now used the word morality; would not som

ersons take exception to your own methods of business? I ca

onceive, myself, flaws of a moral kind being found in the ve

iginal conception you have described to me; I can imagine th

uritan shrinking in dismay from your scheme, pronouncing nscrupulous -- nay, dishonest.'

r. Burton helped himself very frankly to some more whisky.

our scruples entertain me,' he said. 'Perhaps you have not gon

ery deeply into these questions of ethics. I have been compelled to so myself, just as I was forced to master a simple system of boo

eeping. Without book-keeping, and still more without a system

hics, it is impossible to conduct a business such as mine. But

ssure you that I am often profoundly saddened, as I pass throug

e crowded streets and watch the world at work, by the thought o

ow few amongst all these hurrying individuals, black-hatted, we

essed, educated we may presume sufficiently, how few amongem have any reasoned system of morality. Even you have no

eighed the question; although you study life and affairs, and to

ertain extent penetrate the veils and masks of the comedy of ma

ven you judge by empty conventions, and the false money which

owed to pass current as sterling coin. Allow me to play the part o

ocrates; I shall teach you nothing that you do not know. I shaerely lay aside the wrappings of prejudice and bad logic, and sho

ou the real image which you possess in your soul. Come, then. D

ou allow that happiness is anything?'

ertainly,' said Dyson.

nd happiness is desirable or undesirable?'



esirable, of course.'

nd what shall we call the man who gives happiness? Is he not

hilanthropist?'

think so.'

nd such a person is praiseworthy, and the more praiseworthy in th

oportion of the persons whom he makes happy? '

y all means.'

o that he who makes a whole nation happy is praiseworthy in th

xtreme, and the action by which he gives happiness is the highertue?'

appears so, O Burton,' said Dyson, who found something ve

xquisite in the character of his visitor.

uite so; you find the several conclusions inevitable. Well, app

em to the story I have told you. I conferred happiness on myself b

btaining (as I thought) possession of the gem; I conferre

appiness on the Melinis by getting them eighty lire instead of a

bject for which they had not the slightest value, and I intended

onfer happiness on the whole British nation by selling the thing t

e British Museum, to say nothing of the happiness a profit of abo

ne thousand per cent would have conferred on me. I assure yougard Robbins as an interferer with the cosmos and fair order o

ings. But that is nothing; you perceive that I am an apostle of th

ery highest morality; you have been forced to yield to argument.'

here certainly seems a great deal in what you advance,' sa

yson. 'I admit that I am a mere amateur of ethics, while you, as yoay, have brought the most acute scrutiny to bear on these perplexe

nd doubtful uestions. I can well understand our anxiet to meet th



llacious Robbins, and I congratulate myself on the chance whic

a s made us acquainted. But you will pardon my seemin

hospitality; I see it is half-past eleven, and I think you mentioned

ain.'

thousand thanks, Mr. Dyson. I have just time, I see. I will look yo

p some evening, if I may. Goodnight.'



THE DECORATIVE

MAGINATION

the course of a few weeks Dyson became accustomed to thonstant incursions of the ingenious Mr Burton, who showed himse

ady to drop in at all hours, not averse to refreshment, and

ofound guide in the complicated questions of life. His visits at onc

rrified and delighted Dyson, who could no longer seat himself at h

ureau secure from interruption while he embarked on litera

ndertakings, each one of which was to be a masterpiece. On th

her hand, it was a vivid pleasure to be confronted with views sghly original; and if here and there Mr Burton's reasonings seeme

nged with fallacy, yet Dyson freely yielded to the joy of strangenes

nd never failed to give his visitor a frank and hearty welcome. M

urton's first inquiry was always after the unprincipled Robbins, an

e seemed to feel the stings of disappointment when Dyson told hi

at he had failed to meet this outrage on all morality, as Burtoyled him, vowing that sooner or later he would take vengeance o

uch a shameless betrayal of trust.

ne evening they had sat together for some time discussing th

ossibility of laying down for this present generation and our mode

nd intensely complicated order of society some rules of soci

plomacy, such as Lord Bacon gave to the courtiers of King Jame

'It is a book to make,' said Mr Burton, 'but who is there capable o

aking it? I tell you, people are longing for such a book; it wou

ing fortune to its publisher. Bacon's Essays are exquisite, but the

ave now no practical application; the modern strategist can find b

tle use in a treatise De Re Militari , written by a Florentine in th

teenth century. Scarcely more dissimilar are the social conditionBacon's time and our own; the rules that he lays down s



xquisitely for the courtier and diplomatist of James the First's ag

ll avail us little in the rough-and-tumble struggle of today. Life, I a

raid, has deteriorated; it gives little play for fine strokes such a

rmerly advanced men in the state. Except in such businesses a

ine, where a chance does occur now and then, it has all becom

s I said, an affair of rough and tumble; men still desire to attain, it

ue, but what is their moyen de parvenir ? A mere imitation -- anot a gracious one -- of the arts of the soap vendor and th

oprietor of baking-powder. When I think of these things, my dea

yson, I confess that I am tempted to despair of my century.'

ou are too pessimistic, my dear fellow; you set up too high

andard. Certainly, I agree with you, that the times are decadent any ways. I admit a general appearance of squalor; it needs muc

hilosophy to extract the wonderful and the beautiful from th

romwell Road or the Nonconformist conscience. Australian wine

fine Burgundy character, the novels alike of the old women and th

ew women, popular journalism, -- these things, indeed, make fo

epression. Yet we have our advantages: before us is unfolded th

eatest spectacle the world has ever seen -- the mystery of th

numerable, unending streets, the strange adventures that mu

fallibly arise from so complicated a press of interests. Nay, I w

ay that he who has stood in the ways of a suburb, and has see

em stretch before him all shining, void, and desolate at noonday

as not lived in vain. Such a sight is in reality more wonderful tha

ny perspective of Baghdad or Grand Cairo. And, to set on one side entertaining history of the gem which you told me, surely you mu

ave had many singular adventures in your own career?'

erhaps not so many as you would think; a good deal -- the large

art of my business -- has been as commonplace as linen-draper

ut, of course, things happen now and then. It is ten years sincestablished my agency, and I suppose that a house-and-estate

ent who had been in trade for an e ual time could tell ou som



ueer stories. But I must give you a sample of my experiences som

ght.'

Why not tonight?' said Dyson. 'This evening seems to me admirab

dapted for an odd chapter. Look out into the street; you can catch

ew of it if you crane your neck from that chair of yours. Is it n

harming? The double row of lamps growing closer in the distance hazy outline of the plane-tree in the square, and the lights of th

ansoms swimming to and fro, gliding and vanishing; and above, th

ky all clear and blue and shining. Come, let us have one of your ceouvelles.'

My dear Dyson, I am delighted to amuse you,' With these words Murton prefaced the



NOVEL OF THE IRON MAID

think the most extraordinary event which I can recall took plac

bout five years ago. I was then still feeling my way; I had declarer business, and attended regularly at my office; but I had n

ucceeded in establishing a really profitable connection, an

onsequently I had a good deal of leisure time on my hands. I hav

ever thought fit to trouble you with the details of my private life; the

ould be entirely devoid of interest. I must briefly say, however, tha

ad a numerous circle of acquaintance, and was never at a loss a

how to spend my evenings. I was so fortunate as to have friends ost of the ranks of the social order; there is nothing so unfortunat

my mind, as a specialised circle, wherein a certain round of idea

continually traversed and retraversed. I have always tried to fin

ut new types and persons whose brains contained something fres

me; one may chance to gain information even from th

onversation of city men on an omnibus. Amongst my acquaintancenew a young doctor, who lived in a far outlying suburb, and I use

ten to brave the intolerably slow railway journey to have th

easure of listening to his talk. One night we conversed so eager

gether over our pipes and whisky that the clock passed unnotice

nd when I glanced up, I realised with a shock that I had just fiv

inutes in which to catch the last train. I made a dash for my hat anck, jumped out of the house and down the steps, and tore at fu

peed up the street. It was no good, however; there was a shriek

e engine-whistle, and I stood there at the station door and saw fa

n the long, dark line of the embankment a red light shine an

anish, and a porter came down and shut the door with a bang.

ow far to London?' I asked him.



good nine miles to Waterloo Bridge.' And with that he went off.

efore me was the long suburban street, its dreary distance marke

y rows of twinkling lamps, and the air was poisoned by the fain

ckly smell of burning bricks; it was not a cheerful prospect by an

eans, and I had to walk through nine miles of such street

eserted as those of Pompeii. I knew pretty well what direction tke, so I set out wearily, looking at the stretch of lamps vanishing

erspective; and as I walked, street after street branched off to rig

nd left, some far-reaching, to distances that seemed endles

ommunicating with other systems of thoroughfare, and some me

otoplasmic streets, beginning in orderly fashion with serried two

oried houses, and ending suddenly in waste, and pits, and rubbisheaps, and fields whence the magic had departed. I have spoken

ystems of thoroughfare, and I assure you that walking alone throug

ese silent places I felt fantasy growing on me, and some glamour

e infinite. There was here, I felt, an immensity as in the outer void

e universe; I passed from unknown to unknown, my way marked b

mps like stars, and on either hand was an unknown world wher

yriads of men dwelt and slept, street leading into street, as

eemed to world's end. At first the road by which I was travelling wa

ed with houses of unutterable monotony, a wall of grey bric

erced by two stories of windows, drawn close to the ve

avement; but by degrees I noticed an improvement, there we

ardens, and these grew larger; the suburban builder began to allo

mself a wider scope; and for a certain distance each flight of stepas guarded by twin lions of plaster, and scents of flowers prevaile

ver the fume of heated bricks. The road began to climb a hill, an

oking up a side street I saw the half moon rise over plane-tree

nd there on the other side was as if a white cloud had fallen, and th

r around it was sweetened as with incense; it was a may-tree in fu

oom. I pressed on stubbornly, listening for the wheels and thatter of some belated hansom; but into that land of men who go t



e city in the morning and return in the evening the hansom rare

nters, and I had resigned myself once more to the walk, when

uddenly became aware that someone was advancing to meet m

ong the sidewalk.

he man was strolling rather aimlessly; and though the time and th

ace would have allowed an unconventional style of dress, he waested in the ordinary frockcoat, black tie, and silk hat of civilisatio

We met each other under the lamp, and, as often happens in th

eat town, two casual passengers brought face to face found eac

the other an acquaintance.

Mr Mathias, I think?' I said.

uite so. And you are Frank Burton. You know you are a man with

hristian name, so I won't apologise for my familiarity. But may I as

here you are going?'

explained the situation to him, saying I had traversed a region a

nknown to me as the darkest recesses of Africa. 'I think I have onbout five miles further,' I concluded.

onsense! you must come home with me. My house is close by;

ct, I was just taking my evening walk when we met. Come along

are say you will find a makeshift bed easier than a five-mile walk.'

et him take my arm and lead me along, though I was a good deurprised at so much geniality from a man who was, after all, a me

asual club acquaintance. I suppose I had not spoken to Mr Mathia

alf a dozen times; he was a man who would sit silent in an armcha

o r hours, neither reading nor smoking, but now and aga

oistening his lips with his tongue and smiling queerly to himself

onfess he had never attracted me, and on the whole I should haveferred to continue my walk.



ut he took my arm and led me up a side street, and stopped at

oor in a high wall. We passed through the still, moonlit garde

eneath the black shadow of an old cedar, and into an old red-bric

ouse with many gables. I was tired enough, and I sighed with reli

s I let myself fall into a great leather armchair. You know the infern

it with which they strew the sidewalk in those suburban districts;

akes walking a penance, and I felt my four-mile tramp had mad

e more weary than ten miles on an honest country road. I looke

bout the room with some curiosity; there was a shaded lamp, whic

rew a circle of brilliant light on a heap of papers lying on an o

rass-bound secretaire of the last century, but the room was a

ague and shadowy, and I could only see that it was long and low

nd that it was filled with indistinct objects which might be furniturr. Mathias sat down in a second armchair, and looked about him

th that odd smile of his. He was a queer-looking man, clea

haven, and white to the lips. I should think his age was somethin

etween fifty and sixty.

ow I have got you here,' he began, 'I must inflict my hobby on yoou knew I was a collector? Oh yes, I have devoted many years t

ollecting curiosities, which I think are really curious. But we mu

ave a better light.'

e advanced into the middle of the room, and lit a lamp which hun

om the ceiling; and as the bright light flashed round the wick, fro

very corner and space there seemed to start a horror. Greaooden frames, with complicated apparatus of ropes and pulley

ood against the wall; a wheel of strange shape had a place besid

thing that looked like a gigantic gridiron; little tables glittered wi

ight steel instruments carelessly put down as if ready for use;

crew and vice loomed out, casting ugly shadows, and in anothe

ook was a saw with cruel jagged teeth.



es,' said Mr Mathias, 'they are, as you suggest, instruments o

rture -- of torture and death. Some -- many, I may say -- have bee

sed; a few are reproductions after ancient examples. Those knive

ere used for flaying; that frame is a rack, and a very fine specime

ook at this; it comes from Venice. You see that sort of colla

omething like a big horseshoe? Well, the patient, let us call him, s

own quite comfortably, and the horseshoe was neatly fitted rouns neck. Then the two ends were joined with a silken band, and th

xecutioner began to turn a handle connected with the band. Th

orseshoe contracted very gradually as the band tightened, and th

rning continued till the man was strangled. It all took place quietly,

ne of those queer garrets under the leads. But these things are a

uropean; the Orientals are, of course, much more ingenious. These the Chinese contrivances; you have heard of the "Heavy Death"

is my hobby, this sort of thing. Do you know, I often sit here, hou

ter hour, and meditate over the collection. I fancy I see the faces o

e men who have suffered, faces lean with agony, and wet wi

weats of death growing distinct out of the gloom, and I hear th

choes of their cries for mercy. But I must show you my late

cquisition. Come into the next room'

followed Mr Mathias out. The weariness of the walk, the late hou

nd the strangeness of it all made me feel like a man in a dream

othing would have surprised me very much. The second room wa

s the first, crowded with ghastly instruments; but beneath the lam

as a wooden platform, and a figure stood on it. It was a large statua naked woman, fashioned in green bronze, the arms we

retched out, and there was a smile on the lips; it might well hav

een intended for a Venus, and yet I there was about the thing an ev

nd a deadly look.

r Mathias looked at it complacently. 'Quite a work of art, isn't it?' haid. 'It's made of bronze, as you see, but it has long had the name

e Iron Maid. I ot it from German , and it was onl un acked th



ternoon; indeed, I have not yet had time to open the letter of advic

ou see that very small knob between the breasts? Well, the victi

as bound to the Maid, the knob was pressed, and the arms slow

ghtened round the neck. You can imagine the result.'

s Mr Mathias talked, he patted the figure affectionately. I had turne

way, for I sickened at the sight of the man and his loathsomeasure. There was a slight click, of which I took no notice; it was no

uch louder than the tick of a clock; and then I heard a sudden whir

e noise of machinery in motion, and I faced round. I have nev

rgotten the hideous agony on Mathias's face as those relentles

ms tightened about his neck; there was a wild struggle as of

east in the toils, and then a shriek that ended in a choking groahe whirring noise had suddenly changed into a heavy droning. I tor

th all my might at the bronze arms, and strove to wrench the

part, but I could do nothing. The head had slowly bent down, and th

een lips were on the lips of Mathias.

f course, I had to attend at the inquest. The letter which ha

ccompanied the figure was found unopened on the study table. Therman firm of dealers cautioned their client to be most careful

uching the Iron Maid, as the machinery had put in thorough workin

der.

or many revolving weeks Mr Burton delighted Dyson by h

greeable conversation, diversified by anecdote, and intersperseth the narration of singular adventures. Finally, however, h

anished as suddenly as he had appeared, and on the occasion

s last visit he contrived to loot a copy of his namesake's Anatomy

yson, considering this violent attack on the rights of property, an

ertain glaring inconsistencies in the talk of his late friend, arrived

e conclusion that his stories were fabulous, and that the Iron Ma

nly existed in the sphere of a decorative imagination.



THE RECLUSE OF

BAYSWATER

mongst the many friends who were favoured with the occasion

easure of Mr. Dyson's society was Mr. Edgar Russell, realist an

bscure struggler, who occupied a small back room on the secon

oor of a house in Abingdon Grove, Notting Hill. Turning off from th

ain street, and walking a few paces onward, one was conscious

certain calm, a drowsy peace, which made the feet inclined

ter, and this was ever the atmosphere of Abingdon Grove. Thouses stood a little back, with gardens where the lilac, an

burnum, and blood-red may blossomed gaily in their seasons, an

ere was a corner where an older house in another street ha

anaged to keep a back garden of real extent, a walled-in garde

hence there came a pleasant scent of greenness after the rains

arly summer, where old elms held memories of the open fieldhere there was yet sweet grass to walk on. The houses

bingdon Grove belonged chiefly to the nondescript stucco period

irty-five years ago, tolerably built, with passable accommodatio

r moderate incomes; they had largely passed into the state

dgings, and cards bearing the inscription 'Furnished Apartment

ere not infrequent over the doors. Here, then, in a house ufficiently good appearance, Mr. Russell had established himse

r he looked upon the traditional dirt and squalor of Grub Street as

lse and obsolete convention, and preferred, as he said, to liv

thin sight of green leaves. Indeed, from his room one had

agnificent view of a long line of gardens, and a screen of popla

hut out the melancholy back premises of Wilton Street during th

ummer months. Mr. Russell lived chiefly on bread and tea, for h

eans were of the smallest; but when Dyson came to see him, h



ould send out the slavey for six ale, and Dyson was always at liber

smoke as much of his own tobacco as he pleased. The landlad

ad been so unfortunate as to have her drawing-room floor vacant f

any months; a card had long proclaimed the void within; an

yson, when he walked up the steps one evening in early autum

ad a sense that something was missing, and, looking at the fanligh

aw the appealing card had disappeared.

ou have let your first floor, have you?' he said, as he greeted M

ussell.

es; it was taken about a fortnight ago by a lady.'

deed,' said Dyson, always curious; 'a young lady?'

es; I believe so. She is a widow, and wears a thick crape veil.

ave met her once or twice on the stairs and in the street; but I shou

ot know her face.'

Well,' said Dyson, when the beer had arrived, and the pipes were ll blast, 'and what have you been doing? Do you find the wo

etting any easier?'

las!' said the young man, with an expression of great gloom, 'th

e is a purgatory, and all but a hell. I write, picking out my words

eighing and balancing the force of every syllable, calculating th

inutest effects that language can produce, erasing and rewritinnd spending a whole evening over a page of manuscript. And the

the morning, when I read what I have written -- Well, there

othing to be done but to throw it in the waste-paper basket, if th

erso has been already written on, or to put it in the drawer if th

her side happens to be clean. When I have written a phrase whic

ndoubtedly embodies a happy turn of thought, I find it dressed up eble commonplace; and when the style is good, it serves only



onceal the baldness of superannuated fancies. I sweat over m

ork, Dyson -- every finished line means so much agony. I envy th

t of the carpenter in the side street who has a craft which h

nderstands. When he gets an order for a table he does not writh

th anguish; but if I were so unlucky as to get an order for a book

ink I should go mad.'

My dear fellow, you take it all too seriously. You should let the in

ow more readily. Above all, firmly believe, when you sit down t

rite, that you are an artist, and that whatever you are about is

asterpiece. Suppose ideas fail you, say, as I heard one of our mo

xquisite artists say, "It's of no consequence; the ideas are all ther

the bottom of that box of cigarettes!" You, indeed, smoke a pipeut the application is the same. Besides, you must have some happ

oments; and these should be ample consolation.'

erhaps you are right. But such moments are so few; and then the

the torture of a glorious conception matched with executio

eneath the standard of the "Family Story Paper". For instance,

as happy for two hours a night or two ago; I lay awake and sasions. But then the morning!'

What was your idea?'

seemed to me a splendid one: I thought of Balzac and th

omedie Humaine, of Zola and the Rougon-Macquart family. awned upon me that I would write the history of a street. Eve

ouse should form a volume. I fixed upon the street, I saw eac

ouse, and read as clearly as in letters the physiology an

sychology of each; the little byway stretched before me in its actu

hape -- a street that I know and have passed down a hundred time

th some twenty houses, prosperous and mean, and lilac bushes

urple blossom. And yet it was, at the same time, a symbol, a volorosa of hopes cherished and disappointed, of years



onotonous existence without content or discontent, of tragedie

nd obscure sorrows; and on the door of one of those houses I sa

e red stain of blood, and behind a window two shadow

ackened and faded on the blind, as they swayed on tightene

ords -- the shadows of a man and a woman hanging in a vulgar ga

parlour. These were my fancies; but when pen touched paper the

hrivelled and vanished away.'

es,' said Dyson, 'there is a lot in that. I envy you the pains o

ansmuting vision into reality, and, still more, I envy you the day whe

ou will look at your bookshelf and see twenty goodly books upon th

helves -- the series complete and done for ever. Let me entreat yo

have them bound in solid parchment. with gold lettering. It is thnly real cover for a valiant book. When I look in at the windows

ome choice shop, and see the bindings of levant morocco, wi

retty tools and panellings, and your sweet contrasts of red an

een, I say to myself, "These are not books, but bibelots". A boo

ound so -- a true book, mind you -- is like a Gothic statue draped

ocade of Lyons.'

las! ' said Russell, 'we need not discuss the binding -- the book

e not begun.'

he talk went on as usual till eleven o'clock, when Dyson bade h

end good-night. He knew the way downstairs, and walked down b

mself; but, greatly to his surprise, as he crossed the first-floonding the door opened slightly, and a hand was stretched ou

eckoning.

yson was not the man to hesitate under such circumstances. In

oment he saw himself involved in adventure; and, as he to

mself, the Dysons had never disobeyed a lady's summons. Softly

en, with due regard for the lady's honour, he would have enteree room, when a low but clear voice spoke to him 'Go downstai



nd open the door and shut it again rather loudly. Then come up t

e; and for Heaven's sake, walk softly.'

yson obeyed her commands, not without some hesitation, for h

as afraid of meeting the landlady or the maid on his return journey

ut, walking like a cat, and making each step he trod on crack loud

e flattered himself that he had escaped observation; and as hained the top of the stairs the door opened wide before him, and h

und himself in the lady's drawing-room, bowing awkwardly.

ray be seated, sir. Perhaps this chair will be the best; it was th

voured chair of my landlady's deceased husband. I would ask yo

smoke, but the odour would betray me. I know my proceedingust seem to you unconventional; but I saw you arrive this evenin

nd I do not think you would refuse to help a woman who is s

nfortunate as I am.'

r. Dyson looked shyly at the young lady before him. She wa

ressed in deep mourning, but the piquant smiling face an

harming hazel eyes ill accorded with the heavy garments and thouldering surface of the crape.

Madam,' he said gallantly, 'your instinct has served you well. We w

ot trouble, if you please, about the question of social convention

e chivalrous gentleman knows nothing of such matters. I hope I ma

e privileged to serve you.'

ou are very kind to me, but I knew it would be so. Alas! sir, I hav

ad experience of life, and I am rarely mistaken. Yet man is too ofte

o vile and so misjudging that I trembled even as I resolved to tak

is step, which, for all I knew, might prove to be both desperate an

inous.'

With me you have nothing to fear,' said Dyson. I was nurtured in th



ith of chivalry, and I have always endeavoured to remember th

oud traditions of my race. Confide in me, then, and count upon m

ecrecy, and if it prove possible, you may rely on my help.'

ir, I will not waste your time, which I am sure is valuable, by id

arleyings. Learn, then, that I am a fugitive, and in hiding here; I plac

yself in your power; you have but to describe my features, and I fato the hands of my relentless enemy.'

r. Dyson wondered for a passing instant how this could be, but h

nly renewed his promise of silence, repeating that he would be th

mbodied spirit of dark concealment.

ood,' said the lady, 'the Oriental fervour of your style is delightful.

e first place, I must disabuse your mind of the conviction that I am

dow. These gloomy vestments have been forced on me by strang

rcumstance; in plain language, I have deemed it expedient to g

sguised. You have a friend, I think, in the house, Mr. Russell? H

eems of a coy and retiring nature.'

xcuse me, madam,' said Dyson, 'he is not coy, but he is a realis

nd perhaps you are aware that no Carthusian monk can emulat

e cloistral seclusion in which a realistic novelist loves to shrou

mself. It is his way of observing human nature.'

Well, well,' said the lady; 'all this, though deeply interesting, is n

ermane to our affair. I must tell you my history.'

With these words the young lady proceeded to relate the



NOVEL OF THE WHITE

POWDER

y name is Leicester; my father, Major-General Wyn Leicester,

stinguished officer of artillery, succumbed five years ago to

omplicated liver complaint acquired in the deadly climate of India.

ear later my only brother, Francis, came home after a exceptional

illiant career at the University, and settled down with the resolutio

a hermit to master what has been well called the great legend

e law. He was a man who seemed to live in utter indifference tverything that is called pleasure; and though he was handsome

an most men, and could talk as merrily and wittily as if he were

ere vagabond, he avoided society, and shut himself up in a larg

om at the top of the house to make himself a lawyer. Ten hours

ay of hard reading was at first his allotted portion; from the first lig

the east to the late afternoon he remained shut up with his bookking a hasty half-hour's lunch with me as if he grudged the wastin

the moments, and going out for a short walk when it began to gro

usk. I thought that such relentless application must be injurious, an

ed to cajole him from the crabbed textbooks, but his ardo

eemed to grow rather than diminish, and his daily tale of hou

creased. I spoke to him seriously, suggesting some occasionlaxation, if it were but an idle afternoon with a harmless novel; b

e laughed, and said that he read about feudal tenures when he fe

need of amusement, and scoffed at the notions of theatres, or

onth's fresh air. I confessed that he looked well, and seemed not t

uffer from his labours, but I knew that such unnatural toil would tak

venge at last, and I was not mistaken. A look of anxiety began t

rk about his eyes, and he seemed languid, and at last he avowe

at he was no longer in perfect health; he was troubled, he said, wi



sensation of dizziness, and awoke now and then of nights fro

arful dreams, terrified and cold with icy sweats. 'I am taking care

yself,' he said, 'so you must not trouble; I passed the whole o

esterday afternoon in idleness, leaning back in that comfortab

hair you gave me, and scribbling nonsense on a sheet of paper. N

o; I will not overdo my work; I shall be well enough in a week or tw

epend upon it.'

et in spite of his assurances I could see that he grew no better, b

ther worse; he would enter the drawing-room with a face a

iserably wrinkled and despondent, and endeavour to look ga

hen my eyes fell on him, and I thought such symptoms of evil ome

nd was frightened sometimes at the nervous irritation of hovements, and at glances which I could not decipher. Much again

s will, I prevailed on him to have medical advice, and with an

ace he called in our old doctor.

r. Haberden cheered me after examination of his patient.

here is nothing really much amiss,' he said to me. 'No doubt hads too hard and eats hastily, and then goes back again to h

ooks in too great a hurry, and the natural sequence is som

gestive trouble and a little mischief in the nervous system. But

ink -- I do indeed, Miss Leicester -- that we shall be able to set th

right. I have written him a prescription which ought to do gre

ngs. So you have no cause for anxiety.'

y brother insisted on having the prescription made up by a chemi

the neighbourhood. It was an odd, old-fashioned shop, devoid

e studied coquetry and calculated glitter that make so gay a sho

n the counters and shelves of the modern apothecary; but Franc

ed the old chemist, and believed in the scrupulous purity of h

ugs. The medicine was sent in due course, and I saw that mother took it regularly after lunch and dinner. It was an innocen



oking white powder, of which a little was dissolved in a glass o

old water; I stirred it in, and it seemed to disappear, leaving th

ater clear and colourless. At first Francis seemed to benefit greatl

e weariness vanished from his face, and he became more cheerf

an he had ever been since the time when he left school; he talke

aily of reforming himself, and avowed to me that he had wasted h

me.

have given too many hours to law,' he said, laughing; 'I think yo

ave saved me in the nick of time. Come, I shall be Lord Chancello

et, but I must not forget life. You and I will have a holiday togethe

efore long; we will go to Paris and enjoy ourselves, and keep awa

om the Bibliotheque Nationale.'

confessed myself delighted with the prospect.

When shall we go?' I said. 'I can start the day after tomorrow if yo

e.'

h! that is perhaps a little too soon; after all, I do not know Londoet, and I suppose a man ought to give the pleasures of his ow

ountry the first choice. But we will go off together in a week or tw

o try and furbish up your French. I only know law French myself, an

am afraid that wouldn't do.'

We were just finishing dinner, and he quaffed off his medicine with

arade of carousal as if it had been wine from some choicest bin.

as it any particular taste?' I said.

o; I should not know I was not drinking water,' and he got up from

s chair and began to pace up and down the room as if he wer

ndecided as to what he should do next.

hall we have coffee in the drawin -room?' I said 'or would ou lik



smoke?'

o, I think I will take a turn; it seems a pleasant evening. Look at th

terglow; why, it is as if a great city were burning in flames, an

own there between the dark houses it is raining blood fast. Yes,

ll go out; I may be in soon, but I shall take my key; so goodnigh

ear, if I don't see you again.'

he door slammed behind him, and I saw him walk lightly down th

reet, swinging his malacca cane, and I felt grateful to Dr. Haberde

r such an improvement.

believe my brother came home very late that night, but he was in erry mood the next morning.

walked on without thinking where I was going,' he said, 'enjoying th

eshness of the air, and livened by the crowds as I reached mor

equented quarters. And then I met an old college friend, Orford,

e press of the pavement, and then -- well, we enjoyed ourselves

ave felt what it is to be young and a man; I find I have blood in meins, as other men have. I made an appointment with Orford fo

night; there will be a little party of us at the restaurant. Yes; I sha

njoy myself for a week or two, and hear the chimes at midnight, an

en we will go for our little trip together.'

uch was the transmutation of my brother's character that in a feays he became a lover of pleasure, a careless and merry idler

estern pavements, a hunter out of snug restaurants, and a fine crit

fantastic dancing; he grew fat before my eyes, and said no mor

Paris, for he had clearly found his paradise in London. I rejoice

nd yet wondered a little; for there was, I thought, something in h

aiety that indefinitely displeased me, though I could not hav

efined my feeling. But by degrees there came a change; hturned still in the cold hours of the morning, but I heard no mor



bout his pleasures, and one morning as we sat at breakfa

gether I looked suddenly into his eyes and saw a stranger befor

e.

h, Francis!' I cried. 'Oh, Francis, Francis, what have you done

nd rending sobs cut the words short. I went weeping out of th

om; for though I knew nothing, yet I knew all, and by some odd plathought I remembered the evening when he first went abroad, an

e picture of the sunset sky glowed before me; the clouds like a ci

burning flames, and the rain of blood. Yet I did battle with suc

oughts, resolving that perhaps, after all, no great harm had bee

one, and in the evening at dinner I resolved to press him to fix a da

r our holiday in Paris. We had talked easily enough, and my brothead just taken his medicine, which he continued all the while. I wa

bout to begin my topic when the words forming in my min

anished, and I wondered for a second what icy and intolerab

eight oppressed my heart and suffocated me as with th

nutterable horror of the coffin-lid nailed down on the living.

We had dined without candles; the room had slowly grown frowilight to gloom, and the walls and corners were indistinct in th

hadow. But from where I sat I looked out into the street; and as

ought of what I would say to Francis, the sky began to flush an

hine, as it had done on a well-remembered evening, and in the ga

etween two dark masses that were houses an awful pageantry

ame appeared -- lurid whorls of writhed cloud, and utter depthurning, grey masses like the fume blown from a smoking city, an

n evil glory blazing far above shot with tongues of more ardent fir

nd below as if there were a deep pool of blood. I looked down t

here my brother sat facing me, and the words were shaped on m

s, when I saw his hand resting on the table. Between the thum

nd forefinger of the closed hand there was a mark, a small patcbout the size of a six-pence, and somewhat of the colour of a ba

uise. Yet, b some sense I cannot define, I knew that what I sa



ome to me, or to send for me if you are in any distress.'

went away but little comforted, all confusion and terror and sorrow

ot knowing where to turn. When my brother and I met the next day

oked quickly at him, and noticed, with a sickening at heart, that th

ght hand, the hand on which I had clearly seen the patch as of

ack fire, was wrapped up with a handkerchief.

What is the matter with your hand, Francis?' I said in a steady voice

othing of consequence. I cut a finger last night, and it bled rathe

wkwardly. So I did it up roughly to the best of my ability.'

will do it neatly for you, if you like.'

o, thank you, dear; this will answer very well. Suppose we hav

eakfast; I am quite hungry.'

We sat down and I watched him. He scarcely ate or drank at all, b

ssed his meat to the dog when he thought my eyes were turneway; there was a look in his eyes that I had never yet seen, and th

ought flashed across my mind that it was a look that was scarce

uman. I was firmly convinced that awful and incredible as was th

ing I had seen the night before, yet it was no illusion, no glamour

ewildered sense, and in the course of the evening I went again

e doctor's house.

e shook his head with an air puzzled and incredulous, and seeme

reflect for a few minutes.

nd you say he still keeps up the medicine? But why? As

nderstand, all the symptoms he complained of have disappeare

ng ago; why should he go on taking the stuff when he is quite welnd by the by, where did he get it made up? At Sayce's? I neve

end an one there the old man is ettin careless. Su ose o



ome with me to the chemist's; I should like to have some talk wi

m.'

We walked together to the shop; old Sayce knew Dr. Haberden, an

as quite ready to give any information.

ou have been sending that in to Mr. Leicester for some weeks,ink, on my prescription,' said the doctor, giving the old man

encilled scrap of paper.

he chemist put on his great spectacles with trembling uncertainty

nd held up the paper with a shaking hand

h, yes,' he said, 'I have very little of it left; it is rather an uncommo

ug, and I have had it in stock some time. I must get in some mor

Mr. Leicester goes on with it.'

indly let me have a look at the stuff,' said Haberden, and th

hemist gave him a glass bottle. He took out the stopper and sme

e contents, and looked strangely at the old man.

Where did you get this?' he said, 'and what is it? For one thing, M

ayce, it is not what I prescribed. Yes, yes, I see the label is rig

nough, but I tell you this is not the drug.'

have had it a long time,' said the old man in feeble terror; 'I got

om Burbage's in the usual way. It is not prescribed often, and I havad it on the shelf for some years. You see there is very little left.'

ou had better give it to me,' said Haberden. 'I am afraid somethin

rong has happened.'

We went out of the shop in silence, the doctor carrying the botteatly wrapped in paper under his arm.



omething to go upon. No, no; say no more about that other matter

annot listen to that; and take my advice and think no more about

ourself.'

hat evening my brother did not go out as usual after dinner.

have had my fling,' he said with a queer laugh, 'and I must go bacmy old ways. A little law will be quite a relaxation after so sharp

ose of pleasure,' and he grinned to himself, and soon after went u

his room. His hand was still all bandaged.

r. Haberden called a few days later.

have no special news to give you,' he said. 'Chambers is out wn, so I know no more about that stuff than you do. But I should lik

see Mr. Leicester, if he is in.'

e is in his room,' I said; 'I will tell him you are here.'

o, no, I will go up to him; we will have a little quiet talk togetherare say that we have made a good deal of fuss about a very little

r, after all, whatever the powder may be, it seems to have done hi

ood.'

he doctor went upstairs, and standing in the hall I heard his knoc

nd the opening and shutting of the door; and then I waited in th

ent house for an hour, and the stillness grew more and mortense as the hands of the clock crept round. Then there sounde

om above the noise of a door shut sharply, and the doctor wa

oming down the stairs. His footsteps crossed the hall, and the

as a pause at the door; I drew a long, sick breath with difficulty, an

aw my face white in a little mirror, and he came in and stood at th

oor. There was an unutterable horror shining in his eyes; headied himself by holding the back of a chair with one hand, h



wer lip trembled like a horse's, and he gulped and stammere

nintelligible sounds before he spoke.

have seen that man,' he began in a dry whisper. 'I have been sittin

his presence for the last hour. My God! And I am alive and in m

enses! I, who have dealt with death all my life, and have dabble

th the melting ruins of the earthly tabernacle. But not this, oh! ns,' and he covered his face with his hands as if to shut out the sig

something before him.

o not send for me again, Miss Leicester,' he said with mor

omposure. 'I can do nothing in this house. Good-bye.'

s I watched him totter down the steps; and along the paveme

wards his house, it seemed to me that he had aged by ten year

nce the morning.

y brother remained in his room. He called out to me in a voice

ardly recognized that he was very busy, and would like his mea

ought to his door and left there, and I gave the order to thervants. From that day it seemed as if the arbitrary conception w

all time had been annihilated for me; I lived in an ever-prese

ense of horror, going through the routine of the house mechanically

nd only speaking a few necessary words to the servants. Now an

en I went out and paced the streets for an hour or two and cam

ome again; but whether I were without or within, my spirit delayeefore the closed door of the upper room, and, shuddering, waite

r it to open. I have said that I scarcely reckoned time; but I suppos

must have been a fortnight after Dr. Haberden's visit that I cam

ome from my stroll a little refreshed and lightened. The air wa

weet and pleasant, and the hazy form of green leaves, floatin

oud-like in the square, and the smell of blossoms, had charmed m

enses, and I felt happier and walked more briskly. As I delayed oment at the verge of the pavement, waiting for a van to pass b



efore crossing over to the house, I happened to look up at th

ndows, and instantly there was the rush and swirl of deep co

aters in my ears, my heart leapt up and fell down, down as into

eep hollow, and I was amazed with a dread and terror without for

shape. I streched out a hand blindly through the folds of thic

arkness, from the black and shadowy valley, and held myself fro

lling, while the stones beneath my feet rocked and swayed anted, and the sense of solid things seemed to sink away from unde

e. I had glanced up at the window of my brother's study, and at tha

oment the blind was drawn aside, and something that had lif

ared out into the world. Nay, I cannot say I saw a face or any huma

eness; a living thing, two eyes of burning flame glared at me, an

ey were in the midst of something as formless as my fear, thymbol and presence of all evil and all hideous corruption. I stoo

huddering and quaking as with the grip of ague, sick wi

nspeakable agonies of fear and loathing, and for five minutes

ould not summon force or motion to my limbs. When I was within th

oor, I ran up the stairs to my brother's room and knocked.

rancis, Francis,' I cried, 'for Heaven's sake, answer me. What is th

orrible thing in your room? Cast it out, Francis; cast it from you.'

heard a noise as of feet shuffling slowly and awkwardly, and

hoking, gurgling sound, as if some one was struggling to fin

terance, and then the noise of a voice, broken and stifled, an

ords that I could scarcely understand.

here is nothing here,' the voice said. 'Pray do not disturb me. I a

ot very well today.'

turned away, horrified, and yet helpless. I could do nothing, and

ondered why Francis had lied to me, for I had seen the appearanc

eyond the glass too plainly to be deceived, though it was but thght of a moment. And I sat still, conscious that there had bee



omething else, something I had seen in the first flash of terro

efore those burning eyes had looked at me. Suddenly

membered; as I lifted my face the blind was being drawn back, an

had had an instant's glance of the thing that was moving it, and

y recollection I knew that a hideous image was engraved foreve

n my brain. It was not a hand; there were no fingers that held th

nd, but a black stump pushed it aside, the mouldering outline ane clumsy movement as of a beast's paw had glowed into m

enses before the darkling waves of terror had overwhelmed me as

ent down quick into the pit. My mind was aghast at the thought o

is, and of the awful presence that dwelt with my brother in his room

went to his door and cried to him again, but no answer came. Th

ght one of the servants came up to me and told me in a whispeat for three days food had been regularly placed at the door and le

ntouched; the maid had knocked but had received no answer; sh

ad heard the noise of shuffling feet that I had noticed. Day after da

ent by, and still my brother's meals were brought to his door and le

ntouched; and though I knocked and called again and again, I cou

et no answer. The servants began to talk to me; it appeared the

ere as alarmed as I; the cook said that when my brother first sh

mself up in his room she used to hear him come out at night and g

bout the house; and once, she said, the hall door had opened an

osed again, but for several nights she had heard no sound. Th

max came at last; it was in the dusk of the evening, and I wa

tting in the darkening dreary room when a terrible shriek jarred an

ng harshly out of the silence, and I heard a frightened scurry of feashing down the stairs. I waited, and the servant-maid staggere

to the room and faced me, white and trembling.

h, Miss Helen!' she whispered; 'Oh! for the Lord's sake, Mis

elen, what has happened? Look at my hand, Miss; look at th

and!'

drew her to the window, and saw there was a black wet stain u o



er hand.

do not understand you,' I said. 'Will you explain to me?'

was doing your room just now,' she began. 'I was turning down th

ed-clothes, and all of a sudden there was something fell upon m

and, wet, and I looked up, and the ceiling was black and dripping oe.'

ooked hard at her and bit my lip.

ome with me,' I said. 'Bring your candle with you.'

he room I slept in was beneath my brother's, and as I went in I feltas trembling. I looked up at the ceiling, and saw a patch, all blac

nd wet, and a dew of black drops upon it, and a pool of horrib

uor soaking into the white bed-clothes.

an upstairs and knocked loudly.

h, Francis, Francis, my dear brother,' I cried, 'what has happene

you?'

nd I listened. There was a sound of choking, and a noise like wate

ubbling and regurgitating, but nothing else, and I called louder, b

o answer came.

spite of what Dr. Haberden had said, I went to him; with tear

reaming down my cheeks I told him all that had happened, and h

tened to me with a face set hard and grim.

or your father's sake,' he said at last, 'I will go with you, though I ca

o nothing.'

We went out together; the streets were dark and silent, and heav



th heat and a drought of many weeks. I saw the doctor's face whi

nder the gas-lamps, and when we reached the house his hand wa

haking.

We did not hesitate, but went upstairs directly. I held the lamp, an

e called out in a loud, determined voice --

Mr. Leicester, do you hear me? I insist on seeing you. Answer me a

nce.'

here was no answer, but we both heard that choking noise I hav

entioned.

Mr. Leicester, I am waiting for you. Open the door this instant, orhall break it down.' And he called a third time in a voice that ran

nd echoed from the walls -- 'Mr. Leicester! For the last time I orde

ou to open the door.'

h!' he said, after a pause of heavy silence, 'we are wasting tim

ere. Will you be so kind as to get me a poker, or something of thnd?'

an into a little room at the back where odd articles were kept, an

und a heavy adze-like tool that I thought might serve the doctor

urpose.

ery good,' he said, 'that will do, I dare say. I give you notice, Meicester,' he cried loudly at the keyhole, 'that I am now about t

eak into your room.'

hen I heard the wrench of the adze, and the woodwork split an

acked under it; with a loud crash the door suddenly burst open, an

r a moment we started back aghast at a fearful screaming cry, numan voice, but as the roar of a monster, that burst forth inarticulat

nd struck at us out of the darkness.



old the lamp,' said the doctor, and we went in and glanced quick

und the room.

here it is,' said Dr. Haberden, drawing a quick breath; 'look, in tha

orner.'

ooked, and a pang of horror seized my heart as with a white-h

on. There upon the floor was a dark and putrid mass, seething wi

orruption and hideous rottenness, neither liquid nor solid, b

elting and changing before our eyes, and bubbling with unctuou

y bubbles like boiling pitch. And out of the midst of it shone tw

urning points like eyes, and I saw a writhing and stirring as of limbnd something moved and lifted up what might have been an arm

he doctor took a step forward, raised the iron bar and struck at th

urning points; he drove in the weapon, and struck again and aga

the fury of loathing. At last the thing was quiet.

week or two later, when I had to some extent recovered from th

rrible shock, Dr. Haberden came to see me.

have sold my practice,' he began, 'and tomorrow I am sailing on

ng voyage. I do not know whether I shall ever return to England;

probability I shall buy a little land in California, and settle there fo

e remainder of my life. I have brought you this packet, which yo

ay open and read when you feel able to do so. It contains the repoDr. Chambers on what I submitted to him. Goodbye, Mis

eicester, goodbye.'

When he was gone I opened the envelope; I could not wait, an

oceeded to read the papers within. Here is the manuscript, and

ou will allow me, I will read you the astounding story it contains.

My dear Haberden,' the letter began, 'I have delayed inexcusably



nswering your questions as to the white substance you sent me. T

ll you the truth, I have hesitated for some time as to what course

hould adopt, for there is a bigotry and orthodox standard in physic

cience as in theology, and I knew that if I told you the truth I shou

fend rooted prejudices which I once held dear myself. However

ave determined to be plain with you, and first I must enter into

hort personal explanation.

ou have known me, Haberden, for many years as a scientific man

ou and I have often talked of our profession together, and discusse

e hopeless gulf that opens before the feet of those who think t

tain to truth by any means whatsoever except the beaten way

xperiment and observation in the sphere of material things. member the scorn with which you have spoken to me of men

cience who have dabbled a little in the unseen, and have timid

nted that perhaps the senses are not, after all, the eterna

mpenetrable bounds of all knowledge, the everlasting walls beyon

hich no human being has ever passed. We have laughed togethe

eartily, and I think justly, at the "occult" follies of the day, disguise

nder various names -- the mesmerisms, spiritualism

aterializations, theosophies, all the rabble rout of imposture, wi

eir machinery of poor tricks and feeble conjuring, the true bac

arlour of shabby London streets. Yet, in spite of what I have said

ust confess to you that I am no materialist, taking the word

ourse in its usual signification. It is now many years since I hav

onvinced myself -- convinced myself, a sceptic, remember -- the old ironbound theory is utterly and entirely false. Perhaps th

onfession will not wound you so sharply as it would have don

wenty years ago; for I think you cannot have failed to notice that fo

ome time hypotheses have been advanced by men of pure scienc

hich are nothing less than transcendental, and I suspect that mo

odern chemists and biologists of repute would not hesitate tubscribe the dictum of the old Schoolman, Omnia exeunt



ysterium, which means, I take it, that every branch of huma

nowledge if traced up to its source and final principles vanishes in

ystery. I need not trouble you now with a detailed account of th

ainful steps which led me to my conclusions; a few simp

xperiments suggested a doubt as to my then standpoint, and a tra

thought that rose from circumstances comparatively trifling broug

e far; my old conception of the universe has been swept away, anstand in a world that seems as strange and awful to me as th

ndless waves of the ocean seen for the first time, shining, from

eak in Darien. Now I know that the walls of sense that seemed s

mpenetrable, that seemed to loom up above the heavens and to b

unded below the depths, and to shut us in for evermore, are n

uch everlasting impassable barriers as we fancied, but thinnest anost airy veils that melt away before the seeker, and dissolve as th

arly mist of the morning about the brooks. I know that you neve

dopted the extreme materialistic position; you did not go abo

ying to prove a universal negative, for your logical sense withhe

ou from that crowning absurdity; but I am sure that you will find a

at I am saying strange and repellent to your habits of thought. Yeaberden, what I tell you is the truth, nay, to adopt our commo

nguage, the sole and scientific truth, verified by experience; an

e universe is verily more splendid and more awful than we used

eam. The whole universe, my friend, is a tremendous sacrament;

ystic, ineffable force and energy, veiled by an outward form o

atter; and man, and the sun and the other stars, and the flower

e grass, and the crystal in the test-tube, are each and every one apiritual, as material, and subject to an inner working.

ou will perhaps wonder, Haberden, whence all this tends; but I thin

little thought will make it clear. You will understand that from such

andpoint the whole view of things is changed, and what we thoug

credible and absurd may be possible enough. In short, we muok at legend and belief with other eyes, and be prepared to acce



les that had become mere fables. Indeed this is no such gre

emand. After all, modern science will concede as much, in

ypocritical manner; you must not, it is true, believe in witchcraft, b

ou may credit hypnotism; ghosts are out of date, but there is a goo

eal to be said for the theory of telepathy. Give superstition a Gree

ame, and believe in it, should almost be a proverb.

o much for my personal explanation. You sent me, Haberden,

hial, stoppered and sealed, containing a small quantity of flak

hite powder, obtained from a chemist who has been dispensing

one of your patients. I am not surprised to hear that this powde

fused to yield any results to your analysis. It is a substance whic

as known to a few many hundred years ago, but which I nevexpected to have submitted to me from the shop of a mode

pothecary. There seems no reason to doubt the truth of the man

le; he no doubt got, as he says, the rather uncommon salt yo

escribed from the wholesale chemist's, and it has probab

mained on his shelf for twenty years, or perhaps longer. Here wha

e call chance and coincidence begin to work; during all these yea

e salt in the bottle was exposed to certain recurring variations

mperature, variations probably ranging from 40deg. to 80deg

nd, as it happens, such changes, recurring year after year

egular intervals, and with varying degrees of intensity and duratio

ave constituted a process, and a process so complicated and s

elicate, that I question whether modern scientific apparatu

rected with the utmost precision could produce the same resuhe white powder you sent me is something very different from th

ug you prescribed; it is the powder from which the wine of th

abbath, the Vinum Sabbati , was prepared. No doubt you hav

ad of the Witches' Sabbath, and have laughed at the tales whic

rrified our ancestors; the black cats, and the broomsticks, an

ooms pronounced against some old woman's cow. Since I havnown the truth I have often reflected that it is on the whole a happ



ing that such burlesque as this is believed, for it serves to conce

uch that it is better should not be known generally. However, if yo

are to read the appendix to Payne Knight's monograph, you will fin

at the true Sabbath was something very different, though the write

as very nicely refrained from printing all he knew. The secrets of th

ue Sabbath were the secrets of remote times surviving into th

iddle Ages, secrets of an evil science which existed long beforryan man entered Europe. Men and women, seduced from the

omes on specious pretences, were met by beings well qualified t

ssume, as they did assume, the part of devils, and taken by the

uides to some desolate and lonely place, known to the initiate b

ng tradition, and unknown to all else. Perhaps it was a cave

ome bare and windswept hill, perhaps some inmost recess of eat forest, and there the Sabbath was held. There, in the blacke

our of night, the Vinum Sabbati was prepared, and this evil gru

as poured forth and offered to the neophytes, and they partook

n infernal sacrament; sumentes calicem principis inferorum, as a

d author well expresses it. And suddenly, each one that had drun

und himself attended by a companion, a share of glamour annearthly allurement, beckoning him apart, to share in joys mo

xquisite, more piercing than the thrill of any dream, to th

onsummation of the marriage of the Sabbath. It is hard to write

uch things as these, and chiefly because that shape that allured wi

veliness was no hallucination, but, awful as it is to express, the ma

mself. By the power of that Sabbath wine, a few grains of whit

owder thrown into a glass of water, the house of life was rivesunder and the human trinity dissolved, and the worm which nev

es, that which lies sleeping within us all, was made tangible and a

xternal thing, and clothed with a garment of flesh. And then, in th

our of midnight, the primal fall was repeated and re-presented, an

e awful thing veiled in the mythos of the Tree in the Garden wa

one anew. Such was the nuptiae Sabbati .



prefer to say no more; you, Haberden, know as well as I do that th

ost trivial laws of life are not to be broken with impunity; and for s

rrible an act as this, in which the very inmost place of the temp

as broken open and defiled, a terrible vengeance followed. Wh

egan with corruption ended also with corruption.'

nderneath is the following in Dr. Haberden's writing: --

he whole of the above is unfortunately strictly and entirely true. Yo

other confessed all to me on that morning when I saw him in h

om. My attention was first attracted to the bandaged hand, and

rced him to show it to me. What I saw made me, a medical man

any years' standing, grow sick with loathing, and the story I warced to listen to was infinitely more frightful than I could hav

elieved possible. It has tempted me to doubt the Eternal Goodnes

hich can permit nature to offer such hideous possibilities; and if yo

ad not with your own eyes seen the end, I should have said to you

sbelieve it all. I have not, I think, many more weeks to live, but yo

e young, and may forget all this.' JOSEPH HABERDEN, M.D.

the course of two or three months I heard that Dr. Haberden ha

ed at sea shortly after the ship left England.

iss Leicester ceased speaking, and looked pathetically at Dyso

ho could not refrain from exhibiting some symptoms of uneasiness

e stuttered out some broken phrases expressive of his dee

terest in her extraordinary history, and then said with a better grac

ut pardon me, Miss Leicester, I understood you were in som

fficulty. You were kind enough to ask me to assist you in som

ay.'



h,' she said, 'I had forgotten that; my own present trouble seems

uch little consequence in comparison with what I have told you. B

s you are so good to me, I will go on. You will scarcely believe it, b

found that certain persons suspected, or rather pretended t

uspect, that I had murdered my brother. These persons wer

latives of mine, and their motives were extremely sordid ones; bu

ctually found myself subject to the shameful indignity of beinatched. Yes, sir, my steps were dogged when I went abroad, and a

ome I found myself exposed to constant if artful observation. Wi

y high spirit this was more than I could brook, and I resolved to s

y wits to work and elude the persons who were shadowing me

as so fortunate as to succeed; I assumed this disguise, and fo

ome time have lain snug and unsuspected. But of late I have reasobelieve that the pursuer is on my track; unless I am great

eceived, I saw yesterday the detective who is charged with th

dious duty of observing my movements. You, sir, are watchful an

een-sighted; tell me, did you see anyone lurking about th

vening?'

hardly think so,' said Dyson, 'but perhaps you would give me som

escription of the detective in question.'

ertainly; he is a youngish man, dark, with dark whiskers. He ha

dopted spectacles of large size in the hope of disguising himse

fectually, but he cannot disguise his uneasy manner, and the quic

ervous glances he casts to right and left.'

his piece of description was the last straw for the unhappy Dyso

ho was foaming with impatience to get out of the house, and wou

adly have sworn eighteenth-century oaths, if propriety had n

owned on such a course.

xcuse me, Miss Leicester,' he said with cool politeness, 'I cannossist you.'



h,' she said sadly, 'I have offended you in some way. Tell me what

ave done, and I will ask you to forgive me.'

ou are mistaken,' said Dyson, grabbing his hat, but speaking wit

ome difficulty; 'you have done nothing. But, as I say, I cannot he

ou. Perhaps,' he added, with some tinge of sarcasm, 'my frienussell might be of service.'

hank you,' she replied; 'I will try him,' and the lady went off into

hriek of laughter, which filled up Mr. Dyson's cup of scandal an

onfusion.

e left the house shortly afterwards, and had the peculiar delight of ve-mile walk, through streets which slowly changed from black t

ey, and from grey to shining passages of glory for the sun t

ighten.

ere and there he met or overtook strayed revellers, but he reflecte

at no one could have spent the night in a more futile fashion tha

mself; and when he reached his home he had made resolves fo

formation. He decided that he would abjure all Milesian an

rabian methods of entertainment, and subscribe to Mudie's for

gular supply of mild and innocuous romance.



STRANGE OCCURRENCE IN

CLERKENWELL

r. Dyson had inhabited for some years a couple of rooms in

oderately quiet street in Bloomsbury, where, as he somewh

ompously expressed it, he held his finger on the pulse of life witho

eing deafened with the thousand rumours of the main arteries

ondon. It was to him a source of peculiar, if esoteric, gratificatio

at from the adjacent comer of Tottenham Court Road a hundre

es of omnibuses went to the four quarters of the town; he wouate on the facilities for visiting Dalston, and dwell on the admirab

e that knew extremest Ealing and the streets beyond Whitechape

s rooms, which had been originally 'furnished apartments', he ha

adually purged of their more peccant parts; and though one wou

ot find here the glowing splendours of his old chambers in the stre

f the Strand, there was something of severe grace about thppointments which did credit to his taste. The rugs were old, and

e true faded beauty; the etchings, nearly all of them proofs printe

y the artist, made a good show with broad white margins and blac

ames, and there was no spurious black oak. Indeed, there was b

tle furniture of any kind: a plain and honest table, square and sturd

ood in one corner; a seventeenth-century settle fronted the heartnd two wooden elbow-chairs and a bookshelf of the Empire mad

p the equipment, with an exception worthy of note. For Dyson care

r none of these things; his place was at his own bureau, a quai

d piece of lacquered-work, at which he would sit for hour after hou

th his back to the room, engaged in the desperate pursuit

erature, or, as he termed his profession, the chase of the phras

he neat array of pigeon-holes and drawers teemed and overflowe

th manuscript and notebooks, the experiments and efforts of man



ears; and the inner well, a vast and cavernous receptacle, wa

uffed with accumulated ideas. Dyson was a craftsman who love

the detail and the technique of his work intensely; and if, as ha

een hinted, he deluded himself a little with the name of artist, yet h

musements were eminently harmless, and, so far as can b

scertained, he (or the publishers) had chosen the good part of n

ing the world with printed matter.

ere, then, Dyson would shut himself up with his fancie

xperimenting with words, and striving, as his friend the recluse

ayswater strove, with the almost invincible problem of style, b

ways with a fine confidence, extremely different from the chron

epression of the realist. He had been almost continuously at won some scheme that struck him as well-nigh magical in i

ossibilities since the night of his adventure with the ingenious tena

the first floor in Abingdon Grove; and as he laid down the pen wit

glow of triumph, he reflected that he had not viewed the streets fo

ve days in succession. With all the enthusiasm of his accomplishe

bour still working in his brain, he put away his papers and went ou

acing the pavement at first in that rare mood of exultation whic

nds in every stone upon the way the possibilities of a masterpiec

was growing late, and the autumn evening was drawing to a clos

midst veils of haze and mist, and in the stilled air the voices, an

e roaring traffic, and incessant feet seemed to Dyson like the nois

pon the stage when all the house is silent. In the square the leave

ppled down as quick as summer rain, and the street beyond waegining to flare with the lights in the butchers' shops and the viv

umination of the greengrocer. It was a Saturday night, and th

warming populations of the slums were turning out in force; th

attered women in rusty black had begun to paw the lumps

agmag, and others gloated over unwholesome cabbages, an

ere was a brisk demand for four ale. Dyson passed through thesght-fires with some relief; he loved to meditate, but his though



ere not as De Quincey's after his dose; he cared not two straw

hether onions were dear or cheap, and would not have exulted

eat had fallen to twopence a pound. Absorbed in the wilderness

e tale he had been writing, weighing nicely the points of plot an

onstruction, relishing the recollection of this and that happy phras

nd dreading failure here and there, he left the rush and whistle of th

as-flares behind him, and began to touch upon pavements moreserted.

e had turned, without taking note, to the northward, and wa

assing through an ancient fallen street, where now notices of floo

nd offices to let hung out, but still about it lingered the grace and th

ffness of the Age of Wigs -- a broad roadway, a broad pavemennd on each side a grave line of houses with long and narro

ndows flush with the walls, all of mellowed brickwork. Dyso

alked with quick steps, as he resolved that short work must b

ade of a certain episode; but he was in that happy humour

vention, and another chapter rose in the inner chamber of his brai

nd he dwelt on the circumstances he was to write down with curiou

easure. It was charming to have the quiet streets to walk in, and

s thought he made a whole district the cabinet of his studies, an

owed he would come again. Heedless of his course, he struck off t

e east again, and soon found himself involved in a squalid netwo

grey two-storied houses, and then in the waste void and elemen

brickwork, the passages and unmade roads behind great facto

alls, encumbered with the refuse of the neighbourhood, forlorighted, and desperate. A brief turn, and there rose before him th

nexpected, a hill suddenly lifted from the level ground, its stee

scent marked by the lighted lamps, and eager as an explore

yson found his way to the place, wondering where his crooke

aths had brought him. Here all was again decorous, but hideous

e extreme. The builder, some one lost in the deep gloom of tharly 'twenties, had conceived the idea of twin villas in grey bric



haped in a manner to recall the outlines of the Parthenon, each wi

s classic form broadly marked with raised bands of stucco. Th

ame of the street was all strange, and for a further surprise the to

the hill was crowned with an irregular plot of grass and fadin

ees, called a square, and here again the Parthenon-motive ha

ersisted. Beyond, the streets were curious, wild in the

egularities, here a row of sordid, dingy dwellings, dirty ansreputable in appearance, and there, without warning, stood

ouse, genteel and prim, with wire blinds and brazen knocker, a

ean and trim as if it had been the doctor's house in som

enighted little country town. These surprises and discoveries bega

exhaust Dyson, and he hailed with delight the blazing windows of

ublic-house, and went in with the intention of testing the beveragovided for the dwellers in this region, as remote as Libya an

amphylia and the parts about Mesopotamia. The babble of voice

om within warned him that he was about to assist at the tru

arliament of the London workman, and he looked about him for th

ore retired entrance called private. When he had settled himself o

n exiguous bench, and had ordered some beer, he began to liste

the jangling talk in the public bar beyond; it was a senseles

gument, alternately furious and maudlin, with appeals to Bill an

om, and mediaeval survivals of speech, words that Chaucer wrot

elched out with zeal and relish, and the din of pots jerked down an

oppers rapped smartly on the zinc counter made a thorough bas

r it all. Dyson was calmly smoking his pipe between the sips

eer, when an indefinite-looking figure slid rather than walked inte compartment. The man started violently when he saw Dyso

acidly sitting in the corner, and glanced keenly about him. H

eemed to be on wires, controlled by some electric machine, for h

most bolted out of the door when the barman asked with what h

ould serve him, and his hand shivered as he took the glass. Dyso

spected him with a little curiosity. He was muffled up almost to thps, and a soft felt hat was drawn down over his eyes; he looked as



e shrank from every glance, and a more raucous voice sudden

plifted in the public bar seemed to find in him a sympathy that mad

m shake and quiver like a jelly. It was pitiable to see anyone s

rilled with nervousness, and Dyson was about to address som

vial remark of casual inquiry to the man, when another perso

ame into the compartment, and, laying a hand on his arm, muttere

omething in an undertone, and vanished as he came. But Dysoad recognized him as the smooth-tongued and smoothshave

urton; and yet he thought little of it, for his whole faculty

bservation was absorbed in the lamentable and yet grotesqu

pectacle before him. At the first touch of the hand on his arm th

nfortunate man had wheeled round as if spun on a pivot, and shran

ack with a low, piteous cry, as if some dumb beast were caught e toils. The blood fled away from the wretch's face, and the sk

ecame grey as if a shadow of death had passed in the air an

llen on it, and Dyson caught a choking whisper, 'Mr. Davies! Fo

od's sake, have pity on me, Mr. Davies! On my oath, I say -- ' an

s voice sank to silence as he heard the message, and strove

ain to bite his lips, and summon up to his aid some tinge

anhood. He stood there a moment, wavering as the leaves of a

spen, and then he was gone out into the street, as Dyson thoug

ently, with his doom upon his head. He had not been gone

inute when it suddenly flashed into Dyson's mind that he knew th

an; it was undoubtedly the young man with spectacles for whom s

any ingenious persons were searching; the spectacles indee

ere missing; but the pale face, the dark whiskers, and the timances were enough to identify him. Dyson saw at once that by

uccession of hazards he had unawares hit upon the scent of som

esperate conspiracy, wavering as the track of a loathsome snake

nd out of the highways and byways of the London cosmos; the tru

as instantly pictured before him, and he divined that all unconsciou

nd unheeding he had been privileged to see the shadows of hidderms, chasing and hurrying, and grasping and vanishing across th



ight curtain of common life, soundless and silent, or only babblin

bles and pretences. For him in an instant the jargoning of voice

e garish splendour, and all the vulgar tumult of the public-hous

ecame part of magic; for here before his eyes a scene in this gri

ystery play had been enacted, and he had seen human flesh gro

ey with a palsy of fear; the very hell of cowardice and terror ha

aped wide within an arm's-breadth. In the midst of these reflectione barman came up and stared at him as if to hint that he ha

xhausted his right to take his ease, and Dyson bought anothe

ase of the seat by an order for more beer. As he pondered th

ief glimpse of tragedy, he recollected that with his first start

aunted fear the young man with whiskers had drawn his hand swift

om his greatcoat pocket, and that he had heard something fall te ground; and pretending to have dropped his pipe, Dyson bega

grope in the corner, searching with his fingers. He touche

omething and drew it gently to him, and with one brief glance, as h

ut it quietly in his pocket, he saw it was a little old-fashione

otebook, bound in faded green morocco.

e drank down his beer at a gulp, and left the place, overjoyed at h

rtunate discovery, and busy with conjecture as to the possib

mportance of the find. By turns he dreaded to find perhaps mer

ank leaves, or the laboured follies of a betting-book, but the fade

orocco cover seemed to promise better things, and to hint

ysteries. He piloted himself with no little difficulty out of the sour an

qualid quarter he had entered with a light heart, and emerging ray's Inn Road, struck off down Guilford Street and hastened hom

nly anxious for a lighted candle and solitude. Dyson sat down at h

ureau, and placed the little book before him; it was an effort to ope

e leaves and dare disappointment. But in desperation at last h

d his finger between the pages at haphazard, and rejoiced to se

compact range of writing with a margin, and as it chanced, threords caught his glance and stood out apart from the mass. Dyso



ad

e Gold Tiberus,'

nd his face flushed with fortune and the lust of the hunter.

e turned at once to the first leaf of the pocket-book, and proceederead with rapt interest the



brary, and I was therefore forced to betake myself to the Reading

oom of the British Museum.

dim, far-lifted, and mighty dome, Mecca of many mind

ausoleum of many hopes, sad house where all desires fail! Fo

ere men enter in with hearts uplifted, and dreaming minds, seein

those exalted stairs a ladder to fame, in that pompous portico thate of knowledge, and going in, find but vain vanity, and all but

ain. There, when the long streets are ringing, is silence, the

ernal twilight, and the odour of heaviness. But there the blood flow

n and cold, and the brain burns adust; there is the hunt of shadow

nd the chase of embattled phantoms; a striving against ghosts, an

war that has no victory. O dome, tomb of the quick! surely in thalleries, where no reverberant voice can call, sighs whisper eve

nd mutterings of dead hopes; and there men's souls mount lik

oths towards the flame, and fall scorched and blackened benea

ee, O dim, far-lifted, and mighty dome!

tterly do I now regret the day when I took my place at a desk for th

st time, and began my studies. I had not been an habitue of thace for many months, when I became acquainted with a seren

nd benevolent gentleman, a man somewhat past middle age, wh

early always occupied a desk next to mine. In the Reading-Room

kes little to make an acquaintance -- a casual offer of assistance,

nt as to the search in the catalogue, and the ordinary politeness o

en who constantly sit near each other; it was thus I came to knoe man calling himself Dr. Lipsius. By degrees I grew to look for h

esence, and to miss him when he was away, as was sometime

e case, and so a friendship sprang up between us. His immens

nge of learning was placed freely at my service; he would ofte

stonish me by the way in which he would sketch out in a fe

inutes the bibliography of a given subject, and before long I haonfided to him my ambitions.



h,' he said, 'you should have been a German. I was like that myse

hen I was a boy. It is a wonderful resolve, an infinite career. I w

now all things; yes, it is a device indeed. But it means this -- a life

bour without end, and a desire unsatisfied at last. The scholar ha

die, and die saying, "I know very little!"'

radually, by speeches such as these, Lipsius seduced me: hould praise the career, and at the same time hint that it was a

opeless as the search for the philosopher's stone, and so by artf

uggestions, insinuated with infinite address, he by degree

ucceeded in undermining all my principles. 'After all,' he used

ay, 'the greatest of all sciences, the key to all knowledge, is th

cience and art of pleasure. Rabelais was perhaps the greatest of ae encyclopaedic scholars; and he, as you know, wrote the mo

markable book that has ever been written. And what does he teac

en in this book? Surely the joy of living. I need not remind you of th

ords, suppressed in most of the editions, the key of all th

abelaisian mythology, of all the enigmas of his grand philosophy

ivez Joyeux . There you have all his learning; his work is th

stitutes of pleasure as the fine art; the finest art there is; the art

arts. Rabelais had all science, but he had all I life too. And w

ave gone a long way since his time. You are enlightened, I think; yo

o not consider all the petty rules and by-laws that a corrupt socie

as made for its own selfish convenience as the immutable decree

the Eternal.'

uch were the doctrines that he preached; and it was by suc

sidious arguments, line upon line, here a little and there a little, th

e at last succeeded in making me a man at war with the who

ocial system. I used to long for some opportunity to break th

hains and to live a free life, to be my own rule and measure.

ewed existence with the eyes of a pagan, and Lipsius understooperfection the art of stimulating the natural inclinations of a youn

an hitherto a hermit. As I azed u at the reat dome I saw



ushed with the flames and colours of a world of enticement unknow

me, my imagination played me a thousand wanton tricks, and th

rbidden drew me as surely as a loadstone draws on iron. At las

y resolution was taken, and I boldly asked Lipsius to be my guide.

e told me to leave the Museum at my usual hour, half-past four, t

alk slowly along the northern pavement of Great Russell Street, anwait at the corner of the street till I was addressed, and then t

bey in all things the instructions of the person who came up to me

arried out these directions, and stood at the corner looking abo

e anxiously, my heart beating fast, and my breath coming in gasps

waited there for some time, and had begun to fear I had been mad

e object of a joke, when I suddenly became conscious of entleman who was looking at me with evident amusement from th

pposite pavement of Tottenham Court Road. He came over, an

ising his hat, politely begged me to follow him, and I did so witho

word, wondering where we were going, and what was to happen

as taken to a house of quiet and respectable aspect in a stree

ng to the north of Oxford Street, and my guide rang the bell.

ervant showed us into a large room, quietly furnished, on the groun

oor. We sat there in silence for some time, and I noticed that th

rniture, though unpretending, was extremely valuable. There we

rge oak presses, two book-cases of extreme elegance, and in on

orner a carved chest which must have been mediaeval. Present

r. Lipsius came in and welcomed me with his usual manner, an

ter some desultory conversation my guide left the room.

hen an elderly man dropped in and began talking to Lipsius, an

om their conversation I understood that my friend was a dealer

ntiques; they spoke of the Hittite seal, and of the prospects

rther discoveries, and later, when two or three more persons joine

s, there was an argument as to the possibility of a systematxploration of the pre-Celtic monuments in England. I was, in fac



esent at an archaeological reception of an informal kind; and

ne o'clock, when the antiquaries were gone, I stared at Lipsius in

anner that showed I was puzzled, and sought an explanation.

ow,' he said, 'we will go upstairs.'

s we passed up the stairs, Lipsius lighting the way with a handmp, I heard the sound of a jarring lock and bolts and bars shot on

e front door. My guide drew back a baize door and we went dow

passage, and I began to hear odd sounds, a noise of curious mirt

en he pushed me through a second door, and my initiation began

annot write down what I witnessed that night; I cannot bear to reca

hat went on in those secret rooms fast shuttered and curtained sat no light should escape into the quiet street; they gave me re

ne to drink, and a woman told me as I sipped it that it was wine

e Red Jar that Avallaunius had made. Another asked me how

ed the wine of the Fauns, and I heard a dozen fantastic name

hile the stuff boiled in my veins, and stirred, I think, something th

ad slept within me from the moment I was born. It seemed as if m

elf-consciousness deserted :me; I was no longer a thinking agenut at once subject and object; I mingled in the horrible sport, an

atched the mystery of the Greek groves and fountains enacte

efore me, saw the reeling dance and heard the music calling as

at beside my mate, and yet I was outside it all, and viewed my ow

art an idle spectator.

hus with strange rites they made me drink the cup, and when I wok

p in the morning I was one of them, and had sworn to be faithful. A

st I was shown the enticing side of things; I was bidden to enjo

yself and care for nothing but pleasure, and Lipsius himse

dicated to me as the acutest enjoyment the spectacle of the terro

the unfortunate persons who were from time to time decoyed int

e evil house. But after a time it was pointed out to me that I mu

ke my share in the work, and so I found myself compelled to be



y turn a seducer; and thus it is on my conscience that I have le

any to the depths of the pit.

ne day Lipsius summoned me to his private room, and told me th

e had a difficult task to give me. He unlocked a drawer and gav

e a sheet of type-written paper, and bade me read it.

was without place, or date, or signature, and ran as follows: -—

r. James Headley, F.S.A., will receive from his agent in Armenia

n the 12th inst., a unique coin, the gold Tiberius. It bears on th

verse a faun with the legend VICTORIA. It is believed that this co

of immense value. Mr. Headley will come up to town to show th

oin to his friend, Professor Memys, of Chenies Street, Oxfo

reet, on some date between the 13th and the 18th.

r. Lipsius chuckled at my face of blank surprise when I laid dow

is singular communication.

ou will have a good chance of showing your discretion,' he saidhis is not a common case; it requires great management an

finite tact. I am sure I wish I had a Panurge in my service, but we w

ee what you can do.'

ut is it not a joke?' I asked him. 'How can you know -- or rather, ho

an this correspondent of yours know -- that a coin has bee

espatched from Armenia to Mr. Headley? And how is it possible tx the period in which Mr. Headley will take it into his head to com

p to town? It seems to me a lot of guesswork.'

My dear Mr. Walters,' he replied, 'we do not deal in guesswork her

would bore you if I went into all these little details, the cogs an

heels, if I may say so, which move the machine. Don't you think it uch more amusing to sit in front of the house and be astonishe



an to be behind the scenes and see the mechanism? Bette

emble at the thunder, believe me, than see the man rolling th

annon-ball. But, after all, you needn't bother about the how and wh

ou have your share to do. Of course I shall give you full instruction

ut a great deal depends on the way the thing is carried out. I hav

ten heard very young men maintain that style is everything

erature, and I can assure you that the same maxim holds good ur far more delicate profession. With us style is absolute

verything, and that is why we have friends like yourself.'

went away in some perturbation: he had no doubt, designedly le

verything in mystery, and I did not know what part I should have t

ay. Though I had assisted at scenes of hideous revelry, I was noet dead to all echo of human feeling, and I trembled lest I shou

ceive the order to be Mr. Headley's executioner.

week later, it was on the sixteenth of the month, Dr. Lipsius mad

e a sign to come into his room.

is for to-night,' he began. 'Please to attend carefully to what I aoing to say, Mr. Walters, and on peril of your life, for it is

angerous matter, -- on peril of your life, I say, follow thes

structions to the letter. You understand? Well, tonight at abou

alfpast seven, you will stroll quietly up the Hampstead Road till yo

ome to Vincent Street. Turn down here and walk along, taking th

ird turning to your right, which is Lambert Terrace. Then follow thrrace, cross the road, and go along Hertford Street, and so int

lington Square. The second turning you will come to in the squar

called Sheen Street; but in reality it is more a passage betwee

ank walls than a street. Whatever you do, take care to be at th

orner of this street at eight o'clock precisely. You will walk along i

nd just at the bend where you lose sight of the square you will fin

n old gentleman with a white beard and whiskers. He will in a

obability be abusing a cabman for having brought him to Shee



reet instead of Chenies Street. You will go up to him quietly an

fer your services; he will tell you where he wants to go, and you w

e so courteous as to offer to show him the way. I may say tha

rofessor Memys moved into Chenies Street a month ago; thus M

eadley has never been to see him there, and, moreover, he is ve

hort-sighted, and knows little of the topography of London. Indee

e has quite lived the life of a learned hermit at Audley Hall.

Well, need I say more to a man of your intelligence? You will brin

m. to this house, he will ring the bell, and a servant in quiet livery w

t him in. Then your work will be done, and I am sure done well. Yo

ll leave Mr. Headley at the door, and simply continue your wal

nd I shall hope to see you the next day. I really don't think there nything more I can tell you.'

hese minute instructions I took care to carry out to the letter.

onfess that I walked up the Tottenham Court Road by no mean

ndly, but with an uneasy sense that I was coming to a decisiv

oint in my life. The noise and rumour of the crowded pavemen

ere to me but dumb show; I revolved again and again in ceaseleseration the task that had been laid on me, and I questioned myse

s to the possible results. As I got near the point of turning, I aske

yself whether danger were not about my steps; the cold thoug

ruck me that I was suspected and observed, and every chanc

ot-passenger who gave me a second glance seemed to me a

ficer of police. My time was running out, the sky had darkened, anhesitated, half resolved to go no farther, but to abandon Lipsius an

s friends for ever. I had almost determined to take this cours

hen the conviction suddenly came to me that the whole thing was

gantic joke, a fabrication of rank improbability. Who could hav

ocured the information about the Armenian agent? I asked myse

y what means could Lipsius have known the particular day and thery train that Mr. Headley was to take? How to engage him to ente

ne s ecial cab amon st the dozens waitin at Paddin ton? I vowe



a mere Milesian tale, and went forward merrily, turned dow

ncent Street, and threaded out the route that Lipsius had s

arefully impressed upon me. The various streets he had name

ere all places of silence and an oppressive cheap gentility; it wa

ark, and I felt alone in the musty squares and crescents, wher

eople pattered by at intervals, and the shadows were growin

acker. I entered Sheen Street, and found it as Lipsius had saiore a passage than a street; it was a byway, on one side a low wa

nd neglected gardens, and grim backs of a line of houses, and o

e other a timberyard. I turned the corner, and lost sight of th

quare, and then, to my astonishment, I saw the scene of which I ha

een told. A hansom cab had come to a stop beside the pavemen

nd an old man, carrying a handbag, was fiercely abusing thabman, who sat on his perch the image of bewilderment.

es, but I'm sure you said Sheen Street, and that's where I broug

ou,' I heard him saying as I came up, and the old gentleman boile

a fury, and threatened police and suits at law.

he sight gave me a shock, and in an instant I resolved to go througth it. I strolled on, and without noticing the cabman, lifted my h

olitely to old Mr. Headley.

ardon me, sir,' I said, 'but is there any difficulty? I see you are

aveller; perhaps the cabman has made a mistake. Can I dire

ou?'

he old fellow turned to me, and I noticed that he snarled an

howed his teeth like an ill-tempered cur as he spoke.

his drunken fool has brought me here,' he said. 'I told him to drive

henies Street, and he brings me to this infernal place. I won't pa

m a farthing, and I meant to have given him a handsome sum. I aoing to call for the police and give him in charge.'



this threat the cabman seemed to take alarm; he glanced roun

s if to make sure that no policeman was in sight, and drove o

umbling loudly, and Mr. Headley grinned savagely with satisfactio

having saved his fare, and put back one and sixpence into h

ocket, the 'handsome sum' the cabman had lost.

My dear sir,' I said, 'I am afraid this piece of stupidity has annoye

ou a great deal. It is a long way to Chenies Street, and you will hav

ome difficulty in finding the place unless you know London pret

ell.'

know it very little,' he replied. 'I never come up except on importa

usiness, and I've never been to Chenies Street in my life.'

eally? I should be happy to show you the way. I have been for

roll, and it will not at all inconvenience me to take you to you

estination.'

want to go to Professor Memys, at Number 15. It's most annoyin

me; I'm short-sighted, and I can never make out the numbers o

e doors.'

his way, if you please,' I said, and we set out. I did not find M

eadley an agreeable man; indeed, he grumbled the whole way. H

formed me of his name, and I took care to say, 'The well-know

ntiquary?' and thenceforth I was compelled to listen to the history s complicated squabbles with publishers, who had treated him, a

e said, disgracefully; the man was a chapter in the Irritability

uthors. He told me that he had been on the point of making th

rtune of several firms, but had been compelled to abandon th

esign owing to their rank ingratitude. Besides these ancie

stories of wrong, and the more recent misadventure of the cabmae had another grievous complaint to make. As he came along in th

ain he had been shar enin a encil and the sudden olt of th



ngine as it drew up at a station had driven the penknife against h

ce, inflicting a small triangular wound just on the cheek-bone, whic

e showed me. He denounced the railway company, heape

mprecations on the head of the driver, and talked of claimin

amages. Thus he grumbled all the way, not noticing in the lea

here he was going; and so unamiable did his conduct appear t

e, that I began to enjoy the trick I was playing on him.

evertheless, my heart beat a little faster as we turned into the stre

here Lipsius was waiting. A thousand accidents, I thought, mig

appen; some chance might bring one of Headley's friends to me

s; perhaps, though he knew not Chenies Street, he might know th

reet where I was taking him; in spite of his short sight, he migossibly make out the number; or, in a sudden fit of suspicion, h

ight make an inquiry of the policeman at the corner. Thus eve

ep upon the pavement, as we drew nearer to the goal, was to me

ang and a terror, and every approaching passenger carried

ertain threat of danger. I gulped down my excitement with an effor

nd made shift to say pretty quietly 'Number 15, I think you said

hat is the third house from this. If you will allow me, I will leave yo

ow; I have been delayed a little, and my way lies on the other side

ottenham Court Road.'

e snarled out some kind of thanks, and I turned my back an

alked swiftly in the opposite direction. A minute or two later I looke

und, and saw Mr. Headley standing on the doorstep, and then thoor opened and he went in. For my part, I gave a sigh of relief

astened to get away from the neighbourhood, and endeavoured t

njoy myself in merry company. The whole of the next day I kept awa

om Lipsius. I felt anxious, but I did not know what had happened, o

hat was happening, and a reasonable regard for my own safety to

e that I should do well to remain quietly at home. My curiositowever, to learn the end of the odd drama in which I had pla ed



art stung me to the quick, and late in the evening I made up m

ind to see how events had turned out. Lipsius nodded when I cam

, and asked me if I could give him five minutes' talk. We went int

s room, and he began to walk up and down, while I sat waiting fo

m to speak.

My dear Mr. Walters,' he said at length, 'I congratulate you warmlour work was done in the most thorough and artistic manner. Yo

ll go far. Look.'

e went to his escritoire and pressed a secret spring; a drawer fle

ut, and he laid something on the table. It was a gold coin; I took it u

nd examined it eagerly, and read the legend about the figure of thun.

ictoria,' I said, smiling.

es; it was a great capture, which we owe to you. I had grea

fficulty in persuading Mr. Headley that a little mistake had bee

ade; that was how I put it.

e was very disagreeable, and indeed ungentlemanly, about

dn't he strike you as a very cross old man?'

held the coin, admiring the choice and rare design, clear cut as

om the mint; and I thought the fine gold glowed and burnt like

mp.

nd what finally became of Mr. Headley?' I said at last.

psius smiled, and shrugged his shoulders. 'What on earth does

atter?' he said. 'He might be here, or there, or anywhere; but wh

ossible consequence could it be? Besides, your question ratheurprises me; you are an intelligent man, Mr. Walters. Just think

ver and I'm sure ou won't re eat the uestion.'



My dear sir,' I said, 'I hardly think you are treating me fairly. You hav

aid me some handsome compliments on my share in the captur

nd I naturally wish to know how the matter ended. From what I sa

Mr. Headley, I should think you must have had some difficulty wit

m!'

e gave me no answer for the moment, but began again to walk u

nd down the room, apparently absorbed in thought.

Well,' he said at last, 'I suppose there is something in what you sa

We are certainly indebted to you. I have said that I have a hig

pinion of your intelligence, Mr. Walters. Just look here, will you?'

e opened a door communicating with another room, and pointed.

here was a great box lying on the floor, a queer, coffin-shape

ing. I looked at it, and saw it was a mummy case, like those in th

ritish Museum, vividly painted in the brilliant Egyptian colours, with

new not what proclamation of dignity or hopes of life immortal. Thummy swathed about in the robes of death was lying within, an

e face had been uncovered.

ou are going to send this away?' I said, forgetting the question

ad put.

es; I have an order from a local museum. Look a little more closelr. Walters.'

uzzled by his manner, I peered into the face, while he held up th

mp. The flesh was black with the passing of the centuries; but as

oked I saw upon the right cheek bone a small triangular scar, an

e secret of the mummy flashed upon me: I was looking at the deaody of the man whom I had decoyed into that house. There was n



ought or design of action in my mind. I held the accursed coin in m

and, burning me with a foretaste of hell, and I fled as I would hav

ed from pestilence and death, and dashed into the street in blin

orror, not knowing where I went. I felt the gold coin grasped in m

enched fist, and throwing it away, I knew not where, I ran on and o

rough by-streets and dark ways, till at last I issued out into

owded thoroughfare and checked myself. Then as consciousnesturned I realized my instant peril, and understood what wou

appen if I fell into the hands of Lipsius. I knew that I had put forth m

nger to thwart a relentless mechanism rather than a man. My rece

dventure with the unfortunate Mr. Headley had taught me tha

psius had agents in all quarters; and I foresaw that if I fell into h

ands, he would remain true to his doctrine of style, and cause me te a death of some horrible and ingenious torture. I bent my who

ind to the task of outwitting him and his emissaries, three of whom

new to have proved their ability for tracking down persons who fo

arious reasons preferred to remain obscure. These servants

psius were two men and a woman, and the woman wa

comparably the most subtle and the most deadly. Yet I considere

at I too had some portion of craft, and I took my resolve. Since the

have matched myself day by day and hour by hour against th

genuity of Lipsius and his myrmidons. For a time I was successfu

ough they beat furiously after me in the covert of London,

mained perdu , and watched with some amusement their frant

forts to recover the scent lost in two or three minutes. Every lur

nd wile was put forth to entice me from my hiding-place; I waformed by the medium of the public prints that what I had taken ha

een recovered, and meetings were proposed in which I might hop

o gain a great deal without the slightest risk. I laughed at the

ndeavours, and began a little to despise the organization I had s

eaded, and ventured more abroad. Not once or twice, but sever

mes, I recognized the two men who were charged with my capturnd I succeeded in eluding them easily at close quarters; and a litt



astily I decided that I had nothing to dread, and that my craft wa

eater than theirs. But in the meanwhile, while I congratulated myse

n my cunning, the third of Lipsius's emissaries was weaving h

ets; and in an evil hour I paid a visit to an old friend, a literary ma

amed Russell, who lived in a quiet street in Bayswater. The woma

s I found out too late, a day or two ago, occupied rooms in th

ame house, and I was followed and tracked down. Too late, asave said, I recognized that I had made a fatal mistake, and that

as besieged. Sooner or later I shall find myself in the power of a

nemy without pity; and so surely as I leave this house I shall go t

ceive doom. I hardly dare to guess how it will at last fall upon m

y imagination, always a vivid one, paints to me appalling picture

the unspeakable torture which I shall probably endure; and I knoat I shall die with Lipsius standing near and gloating over th

finements of my suffering and my shame.

ours, nay minutes, have become very precious to me. I sometime

ause in the midst of anticipating my tortures, to wonder wheth

ven now I cannot hit upon some supreme stroke, some design

finite subtlety, to free myself from the toils. But I find that the facul

f combination has left me; I am as the scholar in the old myt

eserted by the power which has helped me hitherto. I do not kno

hen the supreme moment will come, but sooner or later it

evitable; before long I shall receive sentence, and from th

entence to execution will not be long.

cannot remain here a prisoner any longer. I shall go out to-nigh

hen the streets are full of crowds and clamours, and make a la

fort to escape.

was with profound astonishment that Dyson closed the little boo

nd thought of the strange series of incidents which had brought hi

to touch with the plots and counterplots connected with the Go

berius. He had bestowed the coin carefully away, and h



huddered at the bare possibility of its place of deposit becomin

nown to the evil band who seemed to possess such extraordina

ources of information.

had grown late while he read, and he put the pocket-book away

oping with all his heart that the unhappy Walters might even at th

eventh hour escape the doom he dreaded.



rn of the lane they saw a mouldering and ancient gate standin

pen, and the prospect of a house at the end of a moss-grow

arriage drive.

here is a survival for you,' said Dyson; 'it has come to its last days

magine. Look how the laurels have grown gaunt and weedy, an

ack and bare beneath; look at the house, covered with yelloash, and patched with green damp. Why, the very notice-board

hich informs all and singular that the place is to be let, has cracke

nd half fallen,'

uppose we go in and see it,' said Phillipps; 'I don't think there

nybody about.'

hey turned up the drive, and walked slowly towards this remnant

d days. It was a large, straggling house, with curved wings at eithe

nd, and behind a series of irregular roofs and projections, showin

at the place had been added to at divers dates; the two wings we

ofed in cupola fashion, and at one side, as they came nearer, the

ould see a stableyard, and a clock turret with a bell, and the daasses of gloomy cedars. Amidst all the lineaments of dissolutio

ere was but one note of contrast: the sun was setting beyond th

m trees; and all the west and south were in flames; on the uppe

ndows of the house the glow shone reflected, and it seemed as

ood and fire were mingled. Before the yellow front of the mansio

ained, as Dyson had remarked, with gangrenous patches, greend blackening, stretched what once had been, no doubt, a well-ke

wn, but it was now rough and ragged, and nettles and great dock

nd all manner of coarse weeds, struggled in the places of th

ower-beds. The urns had fallen from their pillars beside the wal

nd lay broken in shards upon the ground, and everywhere fro

ass-plot and path a fungoid growth had sprung up and multiplie

nd lay dank and slimy like a festering sore upon the earth. In th

iddle of the rank grass of the lawn was a desolate fountain; the ri



the basin was crumbling and pulverized with decay, and within th

ater stood stagnant, with green scum for the lilies that had onc

oomed there; rust had eaten into the bronze flesh of the Triton tha

ood in the middle, and the conch-shell he held was broken.

ere,' said Dyson, 'one might moralize over decay and death. Her

the stage is decked out with the symbols of dissolution; thedarn gloom and twilight hang heavy around us, and everywher

thin the pale dankness has found a harbour, and the very air

hanged and brought to accord with the scene. To me, I confess, th

eserted house is as moral as a graveyard, and I find somethin

ublime in that lonely Triton, deserted in the midst of his water-poo

e is the last of the gods; they have left him, and he remembers thound of water falling on water, and the days that were sweet.'

like your reflections extremely,' said Phillipps; 'but I may mentio

at the door of the house is open,'

et us go in, then,'

he door was just ajar, and they passed into the mouldy hall an

oked in at a room on one side. It was a large room, going far bac

nd the rich, old, red flock paper was peeling from the walls in lon

rips, and blackened with vague patches of rising damp; the ancie

ay, the dank reeking earth rising up again, and subduing all th

ork of men's hands after the conquest of many years. The floor waick with the dust of decay, and the painted ceiling fading from a

ay colours and light fancies of cupids in a career, and disfigure

th sores of dampness, seemed transmuted into other work. N

nger the amorini chased one another pleasantly, with limbs tha

ought not to advance, and hands that merely simulated the act

asping at the wreathed flowers; but it appeared some savag

urlesque of the old careless world and of its cherished conventionnd the dance of the Loves had become a Dance of Death; blac



ustules and festering sores swelled and clustered on fair limbs an

miling faces showed corruption, and the fairy blood had boiled wi

e germs of foul disease; it was a parable of the leaven workin

nd worms devouring for a banquet the heart of the rose.

rangely, under the painted ceiling, against the decaying walls, tw

d chairs still stood alone, the sole furniture of the empty placgh-backed, with curving arms and twisted legs, covered with fade

old leaf, and upholstered in tattered damask, they too were a part

e symbolism, and struck Dyson with surprise. 'What have we here

e said. 'Who has sat in these chairs? Who, clad in peach-bloo

atin, with lace ruffles and diamond buckles, all golden, a con

eurettes to his companion? Phillipps, we are in another age. I wishad some snuff to offer you, but failing that, I beg to offer you a sea

nd we will sit and smoke tobacco. A horrid practice, but I am n

edant.'

hey sat down on the queer old chairs, and looked out of the dim an

imy panes to the ruined lawn, and the fallen urns, and the deserte

riton. Presently Dyson ceased his imitation of eighteenth centurs; he no longer pulled forward imaginary ruffles, or tapped

hostly snuff-box.

s a foolish fancy,' he said at last; 'but I keep thinking I hear a nois

e some one groaning. Listen; no, I can't hear it now. There it

gain! Did you notice it, Phillipps?'

o, I can't say I heard anything. But I believe that old places like th

e like shells from the shore, ever echoing with noises. The o

eams, mouldering piecemeal, yield a little and groan; and such

ouse as this I can fancy all resonant at night with voices, the voice

matter so slowly and so surely transformed into other shapes, th

oice of the worm that gnaws at last the very heart of the oak, th

oice of stone grinding on stone, and the voice of the conquest



me.'

hey sat still in the old arm-chairs, and grew graver in the mus

ncient air, the air of a hundred years ago.

don't like the place,' said Phillipps, after a long pause. 'To me

eems as if there were a sickly, unwholesome smell about it, a smesomething burning.'

ou are right; there is an evil odour here. I wonder what it is. Har

d you hear that?'

hollow sound, a noise of infinite sadness and infinite pain, broke

pon the silence, and the two men looked fearfully at one anotheorror, and the sense of unknown things, glimmering in their eyes.

ome,' said Dyson, 'we must see into this,' and they went into th

all and listened in the silence.

o you know,' said Phillipps, 'it seems absurd, but I could almoncy that the smell is that of burning flesh.'

hey went up the hollow-sounding stairs, and the odour became thic

nd noisome, stifling the breath, and a vapour, sickening as th

mell of the chamber of death, choked them. A door was open, an

ey entered the large upper room, and clung hard to one anothe

huddering at the sight they saw.

naked man was lying on the floor, his arms and legs stretche

de apart, and bound to pegs that had been hammered into th

oards. The body was torn and mutilated in the most hideou

shion, scarred with the marks of red-hot irons, a shameful ruin

e human shape. But upon the middle of the body a fire of coals wamouldering; the flesh had been burnt through. The man was dea

ut the smoke of his torment mounted still a black va our.



he young man with spectacles,' said Mr. Dyson.

The Three Impostors - Arthur Machen

Documents

Transcript of The Three Impostors - Arthur Machen