When the time for his examination drew near Malcolm Malcolmson made up
his mind to go somewhere to read by himself. He feared the attractions
of the seaside, and also he feared completely rural isolation, for of
old he knew it charms, and so he determined to find some unpretentious
little town where there would be nothing to distract him. He refrained
from asking suggestions from any of his friends, for he argued that
each would recommend some place of which he had knowledge, and where he
had already acquaintances. As Malcolmson wished to avoid friends he had
no wish to encumber himself with the attention of friends’ friends, and
so he determined to look out for a place for himself. He packed a
portmanteau with some clothes and all the books he required, and then
took ticket for the first name on the local time-table which he did not
know.
When at the end of three hours’ journey he alighted at Benchurch, he
felt satisfied that he had so far obliterated his tracks as to be sure
of having a peaceful opportunity of pursuing his studies. He went
straight to the one inn which the sleepy little place contained, and
put up for the night. Benchurch was a market town, and once in three
weeks was crowded to excess, but for the remainder of the twenty-one
days it was as attractive as a desert. Malcolmson looked around the day
after his arrival to try to find quarters more isolated than even so
quiet an inn as “The Good Traveller” afforded. There was only one place
which took his fancy, and it certainly satisfied his wildest ideas
regarding quiet; in fact, quiet was not the proper word to apply to
it—desolation was the only term conveying any suitable idea of its
isolation. It was an old rambling, heavy-built house of the Jacobean
style, with heavy gables and windows, unusually small, and set higher
than was customary in such houses, and was surrounded with a high brick
wall massively built. Indeed, on examination, it looked more like a
fortified house than an ordinary dwelling. But all these things pleased
Malcolmson. “Here,” he thought, “is the very spot I have been looking
for, and if I can get opportunity of using it I shall be happy.” His
joy was increased when he realised beyond doubt that it was not at
present inhabited.
From the post-office he got the name of the agent, who was rarely
surprised at the application to rent a part of the old house. Mr.
Carnford, the local lawyer and agent, was a genial old gentleman, and
frankly confessed his delight at anyone being willing to live in the
house.
“To tell you the truth,” said he, “I should be only too happy, on
behalf of the owners, to let anyone have the house rent free for a term
of years if only to accustom the people here to see it inhabited. It
has been so long empty that some kind of absurd prejudice has grown up
about it, and this can be best put down by its occupation—if only,” he
added with a sly glance at Malcolmson, “by a scholar like yourself, who
wants its quiet for a time.”
Malcolmson thought it needless to ask the agent about the “absurd
prejudice”; he knew he would get more information, if he should require
it, on that subject from other quarters. He paid his three months’
rent, got a receipt, and the name of an old woman who would probably
undertake to “do” for him, and came away with the keys in his pocket.
He then went to the landlady of the inn, who was a cheerful and most
kindly person, and asked her advice as to such stores and provisions as
he would be likely to require. She threw up her hands in amazement when
he told her where he was going to settle himself.
“Not in the Judge’s House!” she said, and grew pale as she spoke. He
explained the locality of the house, saying that he did not know its
name. When he had finished she answered:
“Aye, sure enough—sure enough the very place! It is the Judge’s House
sure enough.” He asked her to tell him about the place, why so called,
and what there was against it. She told him that it was so called
locally because it had been many years before—how long she could not
say, as she was herself from another part of the country, but she
thought it must have been a hundred years or more—the abode of a judge
who was held in great terror on account of his harsh sentences and his
hostility to prisoners at Assizes. As to what there was against the
house itself she could not tell. She had often asked, but no one could
inform her; but there was a general feeling that there was _something_,
and for her own part she would not take all the money in Drinkwater’s
Bank and stay in the house an hour by herself. Then she apologised to
Malcolmson for her disturbing talk.
“It is too bad of me, sir, and you—and a young gentlemen, too—if you
will pardon me saying it, going to live there all alone. If you were my
boy—and you’ll excuse me for saying it—you wouldn’t sleep there a
night, not if I had to go there myself and pull the big alarm bell
that’s on the roof!” The good creature was so manifestly in earnest,
and was so kindly in her intentions, that Malcolmson, although amused,
was touched. He told her kindly how much he appreciated her interest in
him, and added:
“But, my dear Mrs. Witham, indeed you need not be concerned about me! A
man who is reading for the Mathematical Tripos has too much to think of
to be disturbed by any of these mysterious ‘somethings’, and his work
is of too exact and prosaic a kind to allow of his having any corner in
his mind for mysteries of any kind. Harmonical Progression,
Permutations and Combinations, and Elliptic Functions have sufficient
mysteries for me!” Mrs. Witham kindly undertook to see after his
commissions, and he went himself to look for the old woman who had been
recommended to him. When he returned to the Judge’s House with her,
after an interval of a couple of hours, he found Mrs. Witham herself
waiting with several men and boys carrying parcels, and an
upholsterer’s man with a bed in a car, for she said, though tables and
chairs might be all very well, a bed that hadn’t been aired for mayhap
fifty years was not proper for young bones to lie on. She was evidently
curious to see the inside of the house; and though manifestly so afraid
of the “somethings” that at the slightest sound she clutched on to
Malcolmson, whom she never left for a moment, went over the whole
place.
After his examination of the house, Malcolmson decided to take up his
abode in the great dining-room, which was big enough to serve for all
his requirements; and Mrs. Witham, with the aid of the charwoman, Mrs.
Dempster, proceeded to arrange matters. When the hampers were brought
in and unpacked, Malcolmson saw that with much kind forethought she had
sent from her own kitchen sufficient provisions to last for a few days.
Before going she expressed all sorts of kind wishes; and at the door
turned and said:
“And perhaps, sir, as the room is big and draughty it might be well to
have one of those big screens put round your bed at night—though, truth
to tell, I would die myself if I were to be so shut in with all kinds
of—of ‘things’, that put their heads round the sides, or over the top,
and look on me!” The image which she had called up was too much for her
nerves, and she fled incontinently.
Mrs. Dempster sniffed in a superior manner as the landlady disappeared,
and remarked that for her own part she wasn’t afraid of all the bogies
in the kingdom.
“I’ll tell you what it is, sir,” she said; “bogies is all kinds and
sorts of things—except bogies! Rats and mice, and beetles; and creaky
doors, and loose slates, and broken panes, and stiff drawer handles,
that stay out when you pull them and then fall down in the middle of
the night. Look at the wainscot of the room! It is old—hundreds of
years old! Do you think there’s no rats and beetles there! And do you
imagine, sir, that you won’t see none of them? Rats is bogies, I tell
you, and bogies is rats; and don’t you get to think anything else!”
“Mrs. Dempster,” said Malcolmson gravely, making her a polite bow, “you
know more than a Senior Wrangler! And let me say, that, as a mark of
esteem for your indubitable soundness of head and heart, I shall, when
I go, give you possession of this house, and let you stay here by
yourself for the last two months of my tenancy, for four weeks will
serve my purpose.”
“Thank you kindly, sir!” she answered, “but I couldn’t sleep away from
home a night. I am in Greenhow’s Charity, and if I slept a night away
from my rooms I should lose all I have got to live on. The rules is
very strict; and there’s too many watching for a vacancy for me to run
any risks in the matter. Only for that, sir, I’d gladly come here and
attend on you altogether during your stay.”
“My good woman,” said Malcolmson hastily, “I have come here on purpose
to obtain solitude; and believe me that I am grateful to the late
Greenhow for having so organised his admirable charity—whatever it
is—that I am perforce denied the opportunity of suffering from such a
form of temptation! Saint Anthony himself could not be more rigid on
the point!”
The old woman laughed harshly. “Ah, you young gentlemen,” she said,
“you don’t fear for naught; and belike you’ll get all the solitude you
want here.” She set to work with her cleaning; and by nightfall, when
Malcolmson returned from his walk—he always had one of his books to
study as he walked—he found the room swept and tidied, a fire burning
in the old hearth, the lamp lit, and the table spread for supper with
Mrs. Witham’s excellent fare. “This is comfort, indeed,” he said, as he
rubbed his hands.
When he had finished his supper, and lifted the tray to the other end
of the great oak dining-table, he got out his books again, put fresh
wood on the fire, trimmed his lamp, and set himself down to a spell of
real hard work. He went on without pause till about eleven o’clock,
when he knocked off for a bit to fix his fire and lamp, and to make
himself a cup of tea. He had always been a tea-drinker, and during his
college life had sat late at work and had taken tea late. The rest was
a great luxury to him, and he enjoyed it with a sense of delicious,
voluptuous ease. The renewed fire leaped and sparkled, and threw quaint
shadows through the great old room; and as he sipped his hot tea he
revelled in the sense of isolation from his kind. Then it was that he
began to notice for the first time what a noise the rats were making.
“Surely,” he thought, “they cannot have been at it all the time I was
reading. Had they been, I must have noticed it!” Presently, when the
noise increased, he satisfied himself that it was really new. It was
evident that at first the rats had been frightened at the presence of a
stranger, and the light of fire and lamp; but that as the time went on
they had grown bolder and were now disporting themselves as was their
wont.
How busy they were! and hark to the strange noises! Up and down behind
the old wainscot, over the ceiling and under the floor they raced, and
gnawed, and scratched! Malcolmson smiled to himself as he recalled to
mind the saying of Mrs. Dempster, “Bogies is rats, and rats is bogies!”
The tea began to have its effect of intellectual and nervous stimulus,
he saw with joy another long spell of work to be done before the night
was past, and in the sense of security which it gave him, he allowed
himself the luxury of a good look round the room. He took his lamp in
one hand, and went all around, wondering that so quaint and beautiful
an old house had been so long neglected. The carving of the oak on the
panels of the wainscot was fine, and on and round the doors and windows
it was beautiful and of rare merit. There were some old pictures on the
walls, but they were coated so thick with dust and dirt that he could
not distinguish any detail of them, though he held his lamp as high as
he could over his head. Here and there as he went round he saw some
crack or hole blocked for a moment by the face of a rat with its bright
eyes glittering in the light, but in an instant it was gone, and a
squeak and a scamper followed. The thing that most struck him, however,
was the rope of the great alarm bell on the roof, which hung down in a
corner of the room on the right-hand side of the fireplace. He pulled
up close to the hearth a great high-backed carved oak chair, and sat
down to his last cup of tea. When this was done he made up the fire,
and went back to his work, sitting at the corner of the table, having
the fire to his left. For a little while the rats disturbed him
somewhat with their perpetual scampering, but he got accustomed to the
noise as one does to the ticking of a clock or to the roar of moving
water; and he became so immersed in his work that everything in the
world, except the problem which he was trying to solve, passed away
from him.
He suddenly looked up, his problem was still unsolved, and there was in
the air that sense of the hour before the dawn, which is so dread to
doubtful life. The noise of the rats had ceased. Indeed it seemed to
him that it must have ceased but lately and that it was the sudden
cessation which had disturbed him. The fire had fallen low, but still
it threw out a deep red glow. As he looked he started in spite of his
_sang froid_.
There on the great high-backed carved oak chair by the right side of
the fireplace sat an enormous rat, steadily glaring at him with baleful
eyes. He made a motion to it as though to hunt it away, but it did not
stir. Then he made the motion of throwing something. Still it did not
stir, but showed its great white teeth angrily, and its cruel eyes
shone in the lamplight with an added vindictiveness.
Malcolmson felt amazed, and seizing the poker from the hearth ran at it
to kill it. Before, however, he could strike it, the rat, with a squeak
that sounded like the concentration of hate, jumped upon the floor,
and, running up the rope of the alarm bell, disappeared in the darkness
beyond the range of the green-shaded lamp. Instantly, strange to say,
the noisy scampering of the rats in the wainscot began again.
By this time Malcolmson’s mind was quite off the problem; and as a
shrill cock-crow outside told him of the approach of morning, he went
to bed and to sleep.
He slept so sound that he was not even waked by Mrs. Dempster coming in
to make up his room. It was only when she had tidied up the place and
got his breakfast ready and tapped on the screen which closed in his
bed that he woke. He was a little tired still after his night’s hard
work, but a strong cup of tea soon freshened him up and, taking his
book, he went out for his morning walk, bringing with him a few
sandwiches lest he should not care to return till dinner time. He found
a quiet walk between high elms some way outside the town, and here he
spent the greater part of the day studying his Laplace. On his return
he looked in to see Mrs. Witham and to thank her for her kindness. When
she saw him coming through the diamond-paned bay window of her sanctum
she came out to meet him and asked him in. She looked at him
searchingly and shook her head as she said:
“You must not overdo it, sir. You are paler this morning than you
should be. Too late hours and too hard work on the brain isn’t good for
any man! But tell me, sir, how did you pass the night? Well, I hope?
But my heart! sir, I was glad when Mrs. Dempster told me this morning
that you were all right and sleeping sound when she went in.”
“Oh, I was all right,” he answered smiling, “the ‘somethings’ didn’t
worry me, as yet. Only the rats; and they had a circus, I tell you, all
over the place. There was one wicked looking old devil that sat up on
my own chair by the fire, and wouldn’t go till I took the poker to him,
and then he ran up the rope of the alarm bell and got to somewhere up
the wall or the ceiling—I couldn’t see where, it was so dark.”
“Mercy on us,” said Mrs. Witham, “an old devil, and sitting on a chair
by the fireside! Take care, sir! take care! There’s many a true word
spoken in jest.”
“How do you mean? Pon my word I don’t understand.”
“An old devil! The old devil, perhaps. There! sir, you needn’t laugh,”
for Malcolmson had broken into a hearty peal. “You young folks thinks
it easy to laugh at things that makes older ones shudder. Never mind,
sir! never mind! Please God, you’ll laugh all the time. It’s what I
wish you myself!” and the good lady beamed all over in sympathy with
his enjoyment, her fears gone for a moment.
“Oh, forgive me!” said Malcolmson presently. “Don’t think me rude; but
the idea was too much for me—that the old devil himself was on the
chair last night!” And at the thought he laughed again. Then he went
home to dinner.
This evening the scampering of the rats began earlier; indeed it had
been going on before his arrival, and only ceased whilst his presence
by its freshness disturbed them. After dinner he sat by the fire for a
while and had a smoke; and then, having cleared his table, began to
work as before. Tonight the rats disturbed him more than they had done
on the previous night. How they scampered up and down and under and
over! How they squeaked, and scratched, and gnawed! How they, getting
bolder by degrees, came to the mouths of their holes and to the chinks
and cracks and crannies in the wainscoting till their eyes shone like
tiny lamps as the firelight rose and fell. But to him, now doubtless
accustomed to them, their eyes were not wicked; only their playfulness
touched him. Sometimes the boldest of them made sallies out on the
floor or along the mouldings of the wainscot. Now and again as they
disturbed him Malcolmson made a sound to frighten them, smiting the
table with his hand or giving a fierce “Hsh, hsh,” so that they fled
straightway to their holes.
And so the early part of the night wore on; and despite the noise
Malcolmson got more and more immersed in his work.
All at once he stopped, as on the previous night, being overcome by a
sudden sense of silence. There was not the faintest sound of gnaw, or
scratch, or squeak. The silence was as of the grave. He remembered the
odd occurrence of the previous night, and instinctively he looked at
the chair standing close by the fireside. And then a very odd sensation
thrilled through him.
There, on the great old high-backed carved oak chair beside the
fireplace sat the same enormous rat, steadily glaring at him with
baleful eyes.
Instinctively he took the nearest thing to his hand, a book of
logarithms, and flung it at it. The book was badly aimed and the rat
did not stir, so again the poker performance of the previous night was
repeated; and again the rat, being closely pursued, fled up the rope of
the alarm bell. Strangely too, the departure of this rat was instantly
followed by the renewal of the noise made by the general rat community.
On this occasion, as on the previous one, Malcolmson could not see at
what part of the room the rat disappeared, for the green shade of his
lamp left the upper part of the room in darkness, and the fire had
burned low.
On looking at his watch he found it was close on midnight; and, not
sorry for the _divertissement_, he made up his fire and made himself
his nightly pot of tea. He had got through a good spell of work, and
thought himself entitled to a cigarette; and so he sat on the great oak
chair before the fire and enjoyed it. Whilst smoking he began to think
that he would like to know where the rat disappeared to, for he had
certain ideas for the morrow not entirely disconnected with a rat-trap.
Accordingly he lit another lamp and placed it so that it would shine
well into the right-hand corner of the wall by the fireplace. Then he
got all the books he had with him, and placed them handy to throw at
the vermin. Finally he lifted the rope of the alarm bell and placed the
end of it on the table, fixing the extreme end under the lamp. As he
handled it he could not help noticing how pliable it was, especially
for so strong a rope, and one not in use. “You could hang a man with
it,” he thought to himself. When his preparations were made he looked
around, and said complacently:
“There now, my friend, I think we shall learn something of you this
time!” He began his work again, and though as before somewhat disturbed
at first by the noise of the rats, soon lost himself in his
propositions and problems.
Again he was called to his immediate surroundings suddenly. This time
it might not have been the sudden silence only which took his
attention; there was a slight movement of the rope, and the lamp moved.
Without stirring, he looked to see if his pile of books was within
range, and then cast his eye along the rope. As he looked he saw the
great rat drop from the rope on the oak arm-chair and sit there glaring
at him. He raised a book in his right hand, and taking careful aim,
flung it at the rat. The latter, with a quick movement, sprang aside
and dodged the missile. He then took another book, and a third, and
flung them one after another at the rat, but each time unsuccessfully.
At last, as he stood with a book poised in his hand to throw, the rat
squeaked and seemed afraid. This made Malcolmson more than ever eager
to strike, and the book flew and struck the rat a resounding blow. It
gave a terrified squeak, and turning on his pursuer a look of terrible
malevolence, ran up the chair-back and made a great jump to the rope of
the alarm bell and ran up it like lightning. The lamp rocked under the
sudden strain, but it was a heavy one and did not topple over.
Malcolmson kept his eyes on the rat, and saw it by the light of the
second lamp leap to a moulding of the wainscot and disappear through a
hole in one of the great pictures which hung on the wall, obscured and
invisible through its coating of dirt and dust.
“I shall look up my friend’s habitation in the morning,” said the
student, as he went over to collect his books. “The third picture from
the fireplace; I shall not forget.” He picked up the books one by one,
commenting on them as he lifted them. “_Conic Sections_ he does not
mind, nor _Cycloidal Oscillations_, nor the _Principia_, nor
_Quaternions_, nor _Thermodynamics_. Now for the book that fetched
him!” Malcolmson took it up and looked at it. As he did so he started,
and a sudden pallor overspread his face. He looked round uneasily and
shivered slightly, as he murmured to himself:
“The Bible my mother gave me! What an odd coincidence.” He sat down to
work again, and the rats in the wainscot renewed their gambols. They
did not disturb him, however; somehow their presence gave him a sense
of companionship. But he could not attend to his work, and after
striving to master the subject on which he was engaged gave it up in
despair, and went to bed as the first streak of dawn stole in through
the eastern window.
He slept heavily but uneasily, and dreamed much; and when Mrs. Dempster
woke him late in the morning he seemed ill at ease, and for a few
minutes did not seem to realise exactly where he was. His first request
rather surprised the servant.
“Mrs. Dempster, when I am out to-day I wish you would get the steps and
dust or wash those pictures—specially that one the third from the
fireplace—I want to see what they are.”
Late in the afternoon Malcolmson worked at his books in the shaded
walk, and the cheerfulness of the previous day came back to him as the
day wore on, and he found that his reading was progressing well. He had
worked out to a satisfactory conclusion all the problems which had as
yet baffled him, and it was in a state of jubilation that he paid a
visit to Mrs. Witham at “The Good Traveller”. He found a stranger in
the cosy sitting-room with the landlady, who was introduced to him as
Dr. Thornhill. She was not quite at ease, and this, combined with the
doctor’s plunging at once into a series of questions, made Malcolmson
come to the conclusion that his presence was not an accident, so
without preliminary he said:
“Dr. Thornhill, I shall with pleasure answer you any question you may
choose to ask me if you will answer me one question first.”
The doctor seemed surprised, but he smiled and answered at once, “Done!
What is it?”
“Did Mrs. Witham ask you to come here and see me and advise me?”
Dr. Thornhill for a moment was taken aback, and Mrs. Witham got fiery
red and turned away; but the doctor was a frank and ready man, and he
answered at once and openly.
“She did: but she didn’t intend you to know it. I suppose it was my
clumsy haste that made you suspect. She told me that she did not like
the idea of your being in that house all by yourself, and that she
thought you took too much strong tea. In fact, she wants me to advise
you if possible to give up the tea and the very late hours. I was a
keen student in my time, so I suppose I may take the liberty of a
college man, and without offence, advise you not quite as a stranger.”
Malcolmson with a bright smile held out his hand. “Shake! as they say
in America,” he said. “I must thank you for your kindness and Mrs.
Witham too, and your kindness deserves a return on my part. I promise
to take no more strong tea—no tea at all till you let me—and I shall go
to bed tonight at one o’clock at latest. Will that do?”
“Capital,” said the doctor. “Now tell us all that you noticed in the
old house,” and so Malcolmson then and there told in minute detail all
that had happened in the last two nights. He was interrupted every now
and then by some exclamation from Mrs. Witham, till finally when he
told of the episode of the Bible the landlady’s pent-up emotions found
vent in a shriek; and it was not till a stiff glass of brandy and water
had been administered that she grew composed again. Dr. Thornhill
listened with a face of growing gravity, and when the narrative was
complete and Mrs. Witham had been restored he asked:
“The rat always went up the rope of the alarm bell?”
“Always.”
“I suppose you know,” said the Doctor after a pause, “what the rope
is?”
“No!”
“It is,” said the Doctor slowly, “the very rope which the hangman used
for all the victims of the Judge’s judicial rancour!” Here he was
interrupted by another scream from Mrs. Witham, and steps had to be
taken for her recovery. Malcolmson having looked at his watch, and
found that it was close to his dinner hour, had gone home before her
complete recovery.
When Mrs. Witham was herself again she almost assailed the Doctor with
angry questions as to what he meant by putting such horrible ideas into
the poor young man’s mind. “He has quite enough there already to upset
him,” she added. Dr. Thornhill replied:
“My dear madam, I had a distinct purpose in it! I wanted to draw his
attention to the bell rope, and to fix it there. It may be that he is
in a highly overwrought state, and has been studying too much, although
I am bound to say that he seems as sound and healthy a young man,
mentally and bodily, as ever I saw—but then the rats—and that
suggestion of the devil.” The doctor shook his head and went on. “I
would have offered to go and stay the first night with him but that I
felt sure it would have been a cause of offence. He may get in the
night some strange fright or hallucination; and if he does I want him
to pull that rope. All alone as he is it will give us warning, and we
may reach him in time to be of service. I shall be sitting up pretty
late tonight and shall keep my ears open. Do not be alarmed if
Benchurch gets a surprise before morning.”
“Oh, Doctor, what do you mean? What do you mean?”
“I mean this; that possibly—nay, more probably—we shall hear the great
alarm bell from the Judge’s House tonight,” and the Doctor made about
as effective an exit as could be thought of.
When Malcolmson arrived home he found that it was a little after his
usual time, and Mrs. Dempster had gone away—the rules of Greenhow’s
Charity were not to be neglected. He was glad to see that the place was
bright and tidy with a cheerful fire and a well-trimmed lamp. The
evening was colder than might have been expected in April, and a heavy
wind was blowing with such rapidly-increasing strength that there was
every promise of a storm during the night. For a few minutes after his
entrance the noise of the rats ceased; but so soon as they became
accustomed to his presence they began again. He was glad to hear them,
for he felt once more the feeling of companionship in their noise, and
his mind ran back to the strange fact that they only ceased to manifest
themselves when that other—the great rat with the baleful eyes—came
upon the scene. The reading-lamp only was lit and its green shade kept
the ceiling and the upper part of the room in darkness, so that the
cheerful light from the hearth spreading over the floor and shining on
the white cloth laid over the end of the table was warm and cheery.
Malcolmson sat down to his dinner with a good appetite and a buoyant
spirit. After his dinner and a cigarette he sat steadily down to work,
determined not to let anything disturb him, for he remembered his
promise to the doctor, and made up his mind to make the best of the
time at his disposal.
For an hour or so he worked all right, and then his thoughts began to
wander from his books. The actual circumstances around him, the calls
on his physical attention, and his nervous susceptibility were not to
be denied. By this time the wind had become a gale, and the gale a
storm. The old house, solid though it was, seemed to shake to its
foundations, and the storm roared and raged through its many chimneys
and its queer old gables, producing strange, unearthly sounds in the
empty rooms and corridors. Even the great alarm bell on the roof must
have felt the force of the wind, for the rope rose and fell slightly,
as though the bell were moved a little from time to time and the limber
rope fell on the oak floor with a hard and hollow sound.
As Malcolmson listened to it he bethought himself of the doctor’s
words, “It is the rope which the hangman used for the victims of the
Judge’s judicial rancour,” and he went over to the corner of the
fireplace and took it in his hand to look at it. There seemed a sort of
deadly interest in it, and as he stood there he lost himself for a
moment in speculation as to who these victims were, and the grim wish
of the Judge to have such a ghastly relic ever under his eyes. As he
stood there the swaying of the bell on the roof still lifted the rope
now and again; but presently there came a new sensation—a sort of
tremor in the rope, as though something was moving along it.
Looking up instinctively Malcolmson saw the great rat coming slowly
down towards him, glaring at him steadily. He dropped the rope and
started back with a muttered curse, and the rat turning ran up the rope
again and disappeared, and at the same instant Malcolmson became
conscious that the noise of the rats, which had ceased for a while,
began again.
All this set him thinking, and it occurred to him that he had not
investigated the lair of the rat or looked at the pictures, as he had
intended. He lit the other lamp without the shade, and, holding it up
went and stood opposite the third picture from the fireplace on the
right-hand side where he had seen the rat disappear on the previous
night.
At the first glance he started back so suddenly that he almost dropped
the lamp, and a deadly pallor overspread his face. His knees shook, and
heavy drops of sweat came on his forehead, and he trembled like an
aspen. But he was young and plucky, and pulled himself together, and
after the pause of a few seconds stepped forward again, raised the
lamp, and examined the picture which had been dusted and washed, and
now stood out clearly.
It was of a judge dressed in his robes of scarlet and ermine. His face
was strong and merciless, evil, crafty, and vindictive, with a sensual
mouth, hooked nose of ruddy colour, and shaped like the beak of a bird
of prey. The rest of the face was of a cadaverous colour. The eyes were
of peculiar brilliance and with a terribly malignant expression. As he
looked at them, Malcolmson grew cold, for he saw there the very
counterpart of the eyes of the great rat. The lamp almost fell from his
hand, he saw the rat with its baleful eyes peering out through the hole
in the corner of the picture, and noted the sudden cessation of the
noise of the other rats. However, he pulled himself together, and went
on with his examination of the picture.
The Judge was seated in a great high-backed carved oak chair, on the
right-hand side of a great stone fireplace where, in the corner, a rope
hung down from the ceiling, its end lying coiled on the floor. With a
feeling of something like horror, Malcolmson recognised the scene of
the room as it stood, and gazed around him in an awestruck manner as
though he expected to find some strange presence behind him. Then he
looked over to the corner of the fireplace—and with a loud cry he let
the lamp fall from his hand.
There, in the Judge’s arm-chair, with the rope hanging behind, sat the
rat with the Judge’s baleful eyes, now intensified and with a fiendish
leer. Save for the howling of the storm without there was silence.
The fallen lamp recalled Malcolmson to himself. Fortunately it was of
metal, and so the oil was not spilt. However, the practical need of
attending to it settled at once his nervous apprehensions. When he had
turned it out, he wiped his brow and thought for a moment.
“This will not do,” he said to himself. “If I go on like this I shall
become a crazy fool. This must stop! I promised the doctor I would not
take tea. Faith, he was pretty right! My nerves must have been getting
into a queer state. Funny I did not notice it. I never felt better in
my life. However, it is all right now, and I shall not be such a fool
again.”
Then he mixed himself a good stiff glass of brandy and water and
resolutely sat down to his work.
It was nearly an hour when he looked up from his book, disturbed by the
sudden stillness. Without, the wind howled and roared louder than ever,
and the rain drove in sheets against the windows, beating like hail on
the glass; but within there was no sound whatever save the echo of the
wind as it roared in the great chimney, and now and then a hiss as a
few raindrops found their way down the chimney in a lull of the storm.
The fire had fallen low and had ceased to flame, though it threw out a
red glow. Malcolmson listened attentively, and presently heard a thin,
squeaking noise, very faint. It came from the corner of the room where
the rope hung down, and he thought it was the creaking of the rope on
the floor as the swaying of the bell raised and lowered it. Looking up,
however, he saw in the dim light the great rat clinging to the rope and
gnawing it. The rope was already nearly gnawed through—he could see the
lighter colour where the strands were laid bare. As he looked the job
was completed, and the severed end of the rope fell clattering on the
oaken floor, whilst for an instant the great rat remained like a knob
or tassel at the end of the rope, which now began to sway to and fro.
Malcolmson felt for a moment another pang of terror as he thought that
now the possibility of calling the outer world to his assistance was
cut off, but an intense anger took its place, and seizing the book he
was reading he hurled it at the rat. The blow was well aimed, but
before the missile could reach him the rat dropped off and struck the
floor with a soft thud. Malcolmson instantly rushed over towards him,
but it darted away and disappeared in the darkness of the shadows of
the room. Malcolmson felt that his work was over for the night, and
determined then and there to vary the monotony of the proceedings by a
hunt for the rat, and took off the green shade of the lamp so as to
insure a wider spreading light. As he did so the gloom of the upper
part of the room was relieved, and in the new flood of light, great by
comparison with the previous darkness, the pictures on the wall stood
out boldly. From where he stood, Malcolmson saw right opposite to him
the third picture on the wall from the right of the fireplace. He
rubbed his eyes in surprise, and then a great fear began to come upon
him.
In the centre of the picture was a great irregular patch of brown
canvas, as fresh as when it was stretched on the frame. The background
was as before, with chair and chimney-corner and rope, but the figure
of the Judge had disappeared.
Malcolmson, almost in a chill of horror, turned slowly round, and then
he began to shake and tremble like a man in a palsy. His strength
seemed to have left him, and he was incapable of action or movement,
hardly even of thought. He could only see and hear.
There, on the great high-backed carved oak chair sat the Judge in his
robes of scarlet and ermine, with his baleful eyes glaring
vindictively, and a smile of triumph on the resolute, cruel mouth, as
he lifted with his hands a _black cap_. Malcolmson felt as if the blood
was running from his heart, as one does in moments of prolonged
suspense. There was a singing in his ears. Without, he could hear the
roar and howl of the tempest, and through it, swept on the storm, came
the striking of midnight by the great chimes in the market place. He
stood for a space of time that seemed to him endless still as a statue,
and with wide-open, horror-struck eyes, breathless. As the clock
struck, so the smile of triumph on the Judge’s face intensified, and at
the last stroke of midnight he placed the black cap on his head.
Slowly and deliberately the Judge rose from his chair and picked up the
piece of the rope of the alarm bell which lay on the floor, drew it
through his hands as if he enjoyed its touch, and then deliberately
began to knot one end of it, fashioning it into a noose. This he
tightened and tested with his foot, pulling hard at it till he was
satisfied and then making a running noose of it, which he held in his
hand. Then he began to move along the table on the opposite side to
Malcolmson keeping his eyes on him until he had passed him, when with a
quick movement he stood in front of the door. Malcolmson then began to
feel that he was trapped, and tried to think of what he should do.
There was some fascination in the Judge’s eyes, which he never took off
him, and he had, perforce, to look. He saw the Judge approach—still
keeping between him and the door—and raise the noose and throw it
towards him as if to entangle him. With a great effort he made a quick
movement to one side, and saw the rope fall beside him, and heard it
strike the oaken floor. Again the Judge raised the noose and tried to
ensnare him, ever keeping his baleful eyes fixed on him, and each time
by a mighty effort the student just managed to evade it. So this went
on for many times, the Judge seeming never discouraged nor discomposed
at failure, but playing as a cat does with a mouse. At last in despair,
which had reached its climax, Malcolmson cast a quick glance round him.
The lamp seemed to have blazed up, and there was a fairly good light in
the room. At the many rat-holes and in the chinks and crannies of the
wainscot he saw the rats’ eyes; and this aspect, that was purely
physical, gave him a gleam of comfort. He looked around and saw that
the rope of the great alarm bell was laden with rats. Every inch of it
was covered with them, and more and more were pouring through the small
circular hole in the ceiling whence it emerged, so that with their
weight the bell was beginning to sway.
Hark! it had swayed till the clapper had touched the bell. The sound
was but a tiny one, but the bell was only beginning to sway, and it
would increase.
At the sound the Judge, who had been keeping his eyes fixed on
Malcolmson, looked up, and a scowl of diabolical anger overspread his
face. His eyes fairly glowed like hot coals, and he stamped his foot
with a sound that seemed to make the house shake. A dreadful peal of
thunder broke overhead as he raised the rope again, whilst the rats
kept running up and down the rope as though working against time. This
time, instead of throwing it, he drew close to his victim, and held
open the noose as he approached. As he came closer there seemed
something paralysing in his very presence, and Malcolmson stood rigid
as a corpse. He felt the Judge’s icy fingers touch his throat as he
adjusted the rope. The noose tightened—tightened. Then the Judge,
taking the rigid form of the student in his arms, carried him over and
placed him standing in the oak chair, and stepping up beside him, put
his hand up and caught the end of the swaying rope of the alarm bell.
As he raised his hand the rats fled squeaking, and disappeared through
the hole in the ceiling. Taking the end of the noose which was round
Malcolmson’s neck he tied it to the hanging-bell rope, and then
descending pulled away the chair.
When the alarm bell of the Judge’s House began to sound a crowd soon
assembled. Lights and torches of various kinds appeared, and soon a
silent crowd was hurrying to the spot. They knocked loudly at the door,
but there was no reply. Then they burst in the door, and poured into
the great dining-room, the doctor at the head.
There at the end of the rope of the great alarm bell hung the body of
the student, and on the face of the Judge in the picture was a
malignant smile.