I am no longer myself. I vanished involuntarily. Truth to tell, I was
befooled by Fortune.
As confidential messenger in the service of the Bank of France, it was
my duty to convey notes and bullion to various European capitals, and so
constantly did I travel between London and Paris, and to Rome, Berlin,
and Vienna, that my long journeys became terribly irksome, and I longed
for rest and quiet. There is much excitement and anxiety in such a
life, when one is entrusted with large sums of money which are
impossible to hide in one's pocket.
In the year 1883, England, as is frequently the case, was remitting a
quantity of gold coin to France, and consequently, during the month of
June, I was making two, and sometimes three, journeys between Paris and
London weekly. Incessant travelling, such as this, soon wearies even
those inured to long railway journeys, especially if one very often has
to arrive in London in the morning only to leave again the same night.
A long trip, say to the Austrian or Turkish capitals, was much more to
my taste than the wearying monotony of the Dover-Calais route, and the
inevitable turmoil between Paris and the English metropolis.
One warm night--although excessively tired, having arrived in London at
an early hour that morning--I was compelled to return, and left Charing
Cross by the mail train at half-past eight. I had with me a box from
the Bank of England containing a large quantity of bullion. As far as
Dover I was alone, smoking and dozing over a newspaper, but when I
alighted on the pier, the weather had changed. It rained in torrents,
and a violent wind was blowing in a manner that was indicative of a
"dirty" night.
My expectations in this respect proved correct, and I was glad to arrive
at Calais, where I selected an empty first-class compartment, bade the
porter deposit my weighty box on the seat, and, wrapping myself
comfortably in my travelling rug, settled myself for the remainder of
the journey. While such a quantity of gold was in my possession, I
dared not sleep, yet, fatigued as I was, I experienced great difficulty
in keeping awake. It was always possible that while coin was in my
custody I might be watched and followed by thieves, therefore a loaded
revolver constantly reposed in my pocket ready for an emergency.
Few persons were travelling that night, and I was fortunate in having
the compartment to myself as far as Abbeville. Then there entered two
well-dressed Frenchmen, who, after scrutinising me rather closely, sank
into opposite corners of the carriage. Seldom I felt uneasy regarding
fellow-travellers; nevertheless, I confess that as I looked at them, I
felt a strange, vague shadow of distrust. Instinctively I felt for my
revolver, assuring myself that it was ready if required. Somehow I had
a suspicion that the men had been on board the Channel boat, and were
following me for some evil purpose. But they sat opposite one another
smoking, occasionally indulging in conversation, though always keeping
their faces concealed as much as possible from the pale, flickering rays
of the lamp overhead.
As we sped south, I became more fully convinced that they meant
mischief. Looking at my watch, I found that in twenty minutes we should
be at Amiens, and determined to change into another carriage there.
Patiently I sat, gazing out of the window watching the grey streak of
dawn break over the low, distant hills, when suddenly I felt a terrible
crushing blow on the top of my skull.
At the same moment I drew forth my revolver and pulled the trigger.
Then a darkness fell upon me, and I remember nothing more.
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The sensation was horrible; the pain excruciating. It seemed as though
a thousand red-hot needles were being thrust into my brain.
Slowly the terrible throbbing in my head abated, and I found myself
seated in an armchair in a well-furnished, though unfamiliar,
drawing-room. It was lit by tiny electric lamps, shaded with canary
silk; and, as I gazed round in abject astonishment, I noticed a pretty
fernery beyond, which looked like a mermaid's grotto in the depths of
the sea, so dense was the mass of dimly-illuminated greenery.
My first thoughts were of my charge, and I felt for my pouch, in which I
had carried a bundle of bank-notes.
It was not there! Placing my hand upon my chin, I was startled to find
that I had a beard, while on the previous night I had been clean shaven!
And the box of bullion--where was that?
I started to my feet, and as I did so, my figure was reflected in a long
mirror. I staggered back in dismay, for, although last night I was a
sprightly and spruce young man of thirty, my hair was now turning grey,
and my face so aged and wrinkled that I could scarcely recognise myself!
Where was I? What could it all mean?