My summons was quickly answered by a sharp-featured man, who was
evidently not a servant.
"Tell me, who brought me here? Whose house is this?" I demanded.
He gazed at me, open-mouthed, in astonishment.
"I--er--You're not well, sir, I think. This is your own house."
"Mine?" I cried incredulously. "Nonsense. Who are you, pray?"
"I'm your secretary," he replied, adding, "I--I'll return in a moment;"
and then, in evident alarm, he disappeared.
I had no time to reflect upon the mystery of the situation before there
entered a tall, beautiful woman, of what might be termed the Junoesque
type, attired in a handsome dinner-gown.
"Why, my dear, whatever have you been saying to Norton? You've quite
frightened him," she exclaimed, laughing. "How is it that you're not
dressed? You remember we promised to dine with the Websters to-night."
"I--I confess I don't understand you, madam," I gasped, for my brain was
in a whirl, and everything seemed in maddening confusion. The pain in
my head was intense.
"What's the matter? What has happened?" she cried in alarm. "Don't you
recognise me--Lena, your wife?"
"My wife?" I gasped, astounded. "No, I've never seen you before. It's
some trick. Where is the box--the box that was with me in the train?"
Her look of distress deepened, as she said, "Calm yourself, my dear.
You are not well, and must have advice."
"I want none," I replied hotly. "I desire nothing beyond the box.
These are not my clothes," I said, glancing in puzzled confusion at the
coat I wore. "Where are mine?"
"I don't comprehend your meaning," said the handsome woman who called
herself my wife. "Your mind must be wandering, Harry."
"That's not my name. I am Charles Deane."
"No, no, dear," she cried. "You are under some strange delusion. What
can have happened to you? You are Henry Medhurst, and I am Lena
Medhurst, your wife."
"Where and when did you marry me, pray?"
"In Cape Town, five years ago."
"In Cape Town? And where are we now?"
"This is your house, situate, I think, to be exact, two and a half miles
from Johannesburg. Is there anything else you desire to know?" she
added, with a smile, half inclined to believe that I was joking.
The crowd of thoughts and feelings that burst upon my mind was
indescribable. Was I still myself, or was it all a delusion?
No. It was a stern reality; a deep, inexplicable mystery.
"I married you five years ago, you say. Then what year of grace is
this?"
"Come," replied my wife, "such fooling is out of place, dear. You know
as well as I that it is 1893."
"What!" I cried, feeling myself grow rigid in amazement. "_Yesterday
was ten years ago_!"
I was undoubtedly wide awake and sensible, but that I was really myself
I began to doubt. I struggled to comprehend the situation, but failed.
How I came to be in South Africa, the possessor of such a mansion, the
husband of such a wife, was a problem beyond solution. I felt
light-headed, for the horrible suspense was goading me into a frenzy of
madness.
"There must be some--some serious mistake," I said calmly. "I've never
had the pleasure of setting eyes upon you before this evening, and am
utterly at a loss to understand who or what I am."
She regarded me with a terrified expression; her face suddenly blanched,
and she would have fallen, had I not caught her and placed her upon the
settee.
Ringing the bell again, a maid-servant answered my summons.
"Your mistress has fainted. Call some one to her assistance," I said;
and then I proceeded to explore the house. It was a splendid modern
mansion, and by the bright moonlight I discerned that it was surrounded
by a well-kept lawn and clumps of fine old trees.
I was utterly unable to realise that the journey to Paris had been made
ten years before; nevertheless, my aged appearance, my beard, the fact
of my marriage, and my apparent opulence, all combined to confirm her
statement. In vain I tried to recollect the incidents of that memorable
night; but, beyond the knowledge that I received a terrible blow, I
could remember nothing.
Pacing in distraction the broad terrace that ran before the house, I
suddenly heard footsteps behind me. Turning, I confronted the man who
called himself my secretary.
"Griffiths, the manager of Pike's Reef, has just arrived from Pretoria,
and wishes to see you on important business, sir."
"To see me? What for?"
"He desires instructions regarding the Reef. They've struck the lead at
last, and the crushings show it to be one of the richest veins in the
Randt. Shall I bring him to you?"
"No," I replied savagely; "I want to be alone. I haven't the slightest
notion of what you're talking about."
"Surely you know Griffiths, sir? He used to manage your old mine, the
Bellefontaine, and is now in charge at Pike's Reef."
"I don't know him, and have no desire to make his acquaintance. Send
him away," I said abruptly.
The man, who seemed puzzled, hesitated for a moment, and, after
muttering some words in an undertone, re-entered the house.
For nearly half an hour I had remained alone, until the maid appeared,
saying, "Mistress would like to see you in the drawing-room, sir."
I obeyed the summons, and on entering the room, found the woman who
called me husband seated on a low chair, while near her stood a short,
stout old gentleman, in a frock-coat of rather ancient cut, and wearing
gold-rimmed pince-nez.
"Ah, my dear Medhurst!" exclaimed the man, greeting me effusively. "How
are you this evening?"
"I haven't the pleasure of knowing you, sir," I said indifferently.
"You don't know Dr. Beale? Come, come, this won't do at all," he said,
smiling.
I assured him that I had never set eyes upon him before, and went on to
explain how I had been travelling to Paris and suddenly struck
insensible, only to regain consciousness and find myself in Africa--
rich, married, and ten years older.
The doctor listened with grave attention, and subsequently we entered
upon a long and rather heated discussion. All I wanted to discover was
how I came to be there.
"Monomania, evidently," observed the doctor in a low voice, when we had
been talking for some time. "It develops frequently into the most
violent form of madness. He will have to be kept in seclusion and
watched."
Again I resented the imputation that I was going insane, to which the
medical luminary replied, "Very well, my dear fellow, very well. We
will believe what you say. Calm yourself; for your wife is nervous and
weak, remember."
I turned away disgusted. All my efforts to explain the remarkable facts
had only been met with incredulity by the idiotic, soft-spoken old
doctor, who undoubtedly imagined I was mad.
In desperation I strode out of the house, and spent the night in
wandering about the grounds, and walking aimlessly through unfamiliar
roads, subsequently sitting down upon the fallen trunk of a tree, where
I fell asleep.
When I retraced my footsteps, the bright morning sun was glinting
through the foliage of the dense wood that seemed to almost surround the
house.
From a servant I learnt that my _soi-disant_ wife was too unwell to
leave her room; and as I wandered through the place, I entered one
apartment which was evidently a study--my own, possibly. Glancing round
at the books, the two great iron safes, and the telephone instruments, I
seated myself at the littered writing-table. Turning over the papers
before me, I saw they related to mining enterprises involving large
sums. Many of them were evidently in my handwriting, but the signatures
were "Henry Medhurst," and the note-paper bore the heading, "Great
Bellefontaine Gold Mines, Offices, 127 Commissioner Street,
Johannesburg."
Upwards of an hour I sat plunged in thought, bewildered by the events of
the past few hours. I felt I must make some strenuous effort to solve
the enigma, and account for the intervening ten years that I had lost.
I could not have been asleep in the manner of the legendary Rip Van
Winkle, but must have been existing during the period. Yet where did I
live? And how?
It seemed clear from the doctor's words that if I remained, I should be
placed under restraint as an imbecile. Therefore the thought suggested
itself that I should return to Europe, and endeavour to find out what
befell me on that midnight journey. Recollecting that I should require
funds, I searched the drawers of the writing-table, and found a
cash-box, in which was nearly four hundred pounds in gold and notes.
This was sufficient for the journey; and, with a feeling of joy, I
transferred it to my pockets, and prepared for departure.
A few hasty lines I wrote to my self-styled wife, informing her of my
intention, and stating that I should return as soon as I had gained the
information necessary to restore my peace of mind. Afterwards I went to
my room, crammed a few necessaries into a travelling-bag, and, without
uttering a word of farewell, left the City of Gold _en route_ for
England.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Arrived in London, I set about tracing my career; but from the outset I
found it a task fraught by many difficulties. I must have altered
considerably in personal appearance during my absence, for none of my
friends recognised me. There was but one agency that seemed likely to
render me assistance, namely, the Press. The files of the _Times_ and
_Telegraph_ for 1883 I searched diligently, but gleaned nothing from
them. Indeed, I spent several weeks in looking through various daily
and weekly papers, published about the time of my fatal journey, without
result, until one day it occurred to me that the French Press might aid
me. Accordingly, I went to Paris, and on the following day called at
the office of the _Gaulois_, where I obtained the file for the year I
required. Turning to the paper for the day following my sudden
oblivion, my eye fell upon the headline, "Terrible Accident on the
Northern Railway." Eagerly I read and reread every word, for here was
what seemed a clue to the mystery.
It appeared that the train in which I had travelled, when approaching
Longpre, ran into some trucks, and was completely wrecked, seven persons
being killed and about twenty injured. In a first-class compartment two
passengers were discovered, one of whom had among his luggage a box
containing a large sum in English gold and notes. Neither men had been
injured by the accident; but one, presumably, in order to obtain
possession of the money, had shot his fellow-traveller dead, and was
making off with his booty when he was apprehended, and brought to Paris.
In the papers of following days I found a report of the examination
before the Juge d'instruction, and the subsequent trial before the
Assize Court of the Seine. According to the newspaper accounts, the man
charged with wilful murder was young and well-dressed, but seemed
enveloped in mystery, inasmuch as he conducted himself strangely,
refusing to give his name or any account of himself, and preserving an
immutable silence throughout the many days the case lasted. Judging
from the prominence given to the report, the trial must have been a
celebrated one, and considerable excitement was created in the French
capital, owing to the fact that several prominent members of the medical
profession, who had examined the accused, agreed that he was suffering
from some strange mental affection, the precise nature of which they
were unable to discover. It was owing to this that the culprit escaped
the guillotine, being sentenced to hard labour for life, and
transportation to the penal colony of New Caledonia.
Which was I, the murderer or the murdered?
I felt confident I was one or the other. Therefore, I resolved to find
out whether this mysterious convict was still alive; and if so, to seek
an explanation from him. The thought occurred to me that an official in
the Prisons Department, whom I had known, might be able to furnish me
with the information. After some difficulty I discovered him, but he
had long ago retired into private life. So entirely had my personal
appearance changed, that he did not recognise me. Therefore, by
representing that I was an English solicitor, anxious to discover a
next-of-kin, and offering to pay handsomely for the investigation, I
prevailed upon him to seek an interview with the chief of the
department, and ascertain whether the convict was still living.
When I called a few days later, he placed in my hands a memorandum
signed by the chief, certifying that after two years at La Nouvelle--as
the French prison island is termed,--prisoner Number 8469, committed for
life for murder, had effected his escape by means of an open boat in
company with Jean Montbazon, who had been convicted of forging Spanish
bonds. Both were known to have landed on the Queensland coast after a
perilous voyage; but they had disappeared before the Australian police
were communicated with, and all efforts to trace them had been futile.
Having, however, been employed in the Government mines near Noumea, it
was expected that they had obtained work in one of the remote mining
districts, where they could effectively hide until the search was over.
To find this man Montbazon was no easy task, but if I chanced to be
successful, he might, I thought, tell me something of his whilom comrade
in adversity.
I was puzzled how to proceed, but at length resorted to advertising as
the only expedient. In the chief French and Colonial newspapers I
caused to be inserted a brief paragraph addressed to "Jean Montbazon,
late of Noumea," stating that his companion upon the voyage from New
Caledonia to Australia wished particularly to meet him, and giving my
address at the Table Bay Hotel, Cape Town, whither I proceeded.
Patiently I awaited a reply, but although I had spent a large sum upon
the advertisement, it apparently failed to reach the man whose
acquaintance I desired to make.
For many weeks I remained at the hotel, feeling no desire to return to
Johannesburg until I had cleared up the mystery and accounted for my
lost identity. Times without number I was tempted to relinquish the
effort to trace my past, yet with sheer, dogged perversity, I remained
and hoped.
At last my patience was rewarded, for one evening, while I was sitting
on the balcony of the hotel, enjoying a cigar in the starlight, the
waiter brought me a visitor.
Judge my dismay when I recognised the face of my secretary.
"Well, old fellow," he exclaimed familiarly, "and what means all this
confounded mystery?"