Arthur would not leave the little village of Venning. Neither Susie nor
the doctor could get him to make any decision. None of them spoke of
the night which they had spent in the woods of Skene; but it coloured
all their thoughts, and they were not free for a single moment from the
ghastly memory of it. They seemed still to hear the sound of that
passionate weeping. Arthur was moody. When he was with them, he spoke
little; he opposed a stubborn resistance to their efforts at diverting
his mind. He spent long hours by himself, in the country, and they had
no idea what he did. Susie was terribly anxious. He had lost his
balance so completely that she was prepared for any rashness. She
divined that his hatred of Haddo was no longer within the bounds of
reason. The desire for vengeance filled him entirely, so that he was
capable of any violence.
Several days went by.
At last, in concert with Dr Porhoët, she determined to make one more
attempt. It was late at night, and they sat with open windows in the
sitting-room of the inn. There was a singular oppressiveness in the air
which suggested that a thunderstorm was at hand. Susie prayed for it;
for she ascribed to the peculiar heat of the last few days much of
Arthur’s sullen irritability.
“Arthur, you _must_ tell us what you are going to do,” she said. “It is
useless to stay here. We are all so ill and nervous that we cannot
consider anything rationally. We want you to come away with us
tomorrow.”
“You can go if you choose,” he said. “I shall remain till that man is
dead.”
“It is madness to talk like that. You can do nothing. You are only
making yourself worse by staying here.”
“I have quite made up my mind.”
“The law can offer you no help, and what else can you do?”
She asked the question, meaning if possible to get from him some hint
of his intentions; but the grimness of his answer, though it only
confirmed her vague suspicions, startled her.
“If I can do nothing else, I shall shoot him like a dog.”
She could think of nothing to say, and for a while they remained in
silence. Then he got up.
“I think I should prefer it if you went,” he said. “You can only hamper
me.”
“I shall stay here as long as you do.”
“Why?”
“Because if you do anything, I shall be compromised. I may be arrested.
I think the fear of that may restrain you.”
He looked at her steadily. She met his eyes with a calmness which
showed that she meant exactly what she said, and he turned uneasily
away. A silence even greater than before fell upon them. They did not
move. It was so still in the room that it might have been empty. The
breathlessness of the air increased, so that it was horribly
oppressive. Suddenly there was a loud rattle of thunder, and a flash of
lightning tore across the heavy clouds. Susie thanked Heaven for the
storm which would give presently a welcome freshness. She felt
excessively ill at ease, and it was a relief to ascribe her sensation
to a state of the atmosphere. Again the thunder rolled. It was so loud
that it seemed to be immediately above their heads. And the wind rose
suddenly and swept with a long moan through the trees that surrounded
the house. It was a sound so human that it might have come from the
souls of dead men suffering hopeless torments of regret.
The lamp went out, so suddenly that Susie was vaguely frightened. It
gave one flicker, and they were in total darkness. It seemed as though
someone had leaned over the chimney and blown it out. The night was
very black, and they could not see the window which opened on to the
country. The darkness was so peculiar that for a moment no one stirred.
Then Susie heard Dr Porhoët slip his hand across the table to find
matches, but it seemed that they were not there. Again a loud peal of
thunder startled them, but the rain would not fall. They panted for
fresh air. On a sudden Susie’s heart gave a bound, and she sprang up.
“There’s someone in the room.”
The words were no sooner out of her mouth than she heard Arthur fling
himself upon the intruder. She knew at once, with the certainty of an
intuition, that it was Haddo. But how had he come in? What did he want?
She tried to cry out, but no sound came from her throat. Dr Porhoët
seemed bound to his chair. He did not move. He made no sound. She knew
that an awful struggle was proceeding. It was a struggle to the death
between two men who hated one another, but the most terrible part of it
was that nothing was heard. They were perfectly noiseless. She tried to
do something, but she could not stir. And Arthur’s heart exulted, for
his enemy was in his grasp, under his hands, and he would not let him
go while life was in him. He clenched his teeth and tightened his
straining muscles. Susie heard his laboured breathing, but she only
heard the breathing of one man. She wondered in abject terror what that
could mean. They struggled silently, hand to hand, and Arthur knew that
his strength was greater. He had made up his mind what to do and
directed all his energy to a definite end. His enemy was
extraordinarily powerful, but Arthur appeared to create some strength
from the sheer force of his will. It seemed for hours that they
struggled. He could not bear him down.
Suddenly, he knew that the other was frightened and sought to escape
from him. Arthur tightened his grasp; for nothing in the world now
would he ever loosen his hold. He took a deep, quick breath, and then
put out all his strength in a tremendous effort. They swayed from side
to side. Arthur felt as if his muscles were being torn from the bones,
he could not continue for more than a moment longer; but the agony that
flashed across his mind at the thought of failure braced him to a
sudden angry jerk. All at once Haddo collapsed, and they fell heavily
to the ground. Arthur was breathing more quickly now. He thought that
if he could keep on for one instant longer, he would be safe. He threw
all his weight on the form that rolled beneath him, and bore down
furiously on the man’s arm. He twisted it sharply, with all his might,
and felt it give way. He gave a low cry of triumph; the arm was broken.
And now his enemy was seized with panic; he struggled madly, he wanted
only to get away from those long hands that were killing him. They
seemed to be of iron. Arthur seized the huge bullock throat and dug his
fingers into it, and they sunk into the heavy rolls of fat; and he
flung the whole weight of his body into them. He exulted, for he knew
that his enemy was in his power at last; he was strangling him,
strangling the life out of him. He wanted light so that he might see
the horror of that vast face, and the deadly fear, and the staring
eyes. And still he pressed with those iron hands. And now the movements
were strangely convulsive. His victim writhed in the agony of death.
His struggles were desperate, but the avenging hands held him as in a
vice. And then the movements grew spasmodic, and then they grew weaker.
Still the hands pressed upon the gigantic throat, and Arthur forgot
everything. He was mad with rage and fury and hate and sorrow. He
thought of Margaret’s anguish and of her fiendish torture, and he
wished the man had ten lives so that he might take them one by one. And
at last all was still, and that vast mass of flesh was motionless, and
he knew that his enemy was dead. He loosened his grasp and slipped one
hand over the heart. It would never beat again. The man was stone dead.
Arthur got up and straightened himself. The darkness was intense still,
and he could see nothing. Susie heard him, and at length she was able
to speak.
“Arthur, what have you done?”
“I’ve killed him,” he said hoarsely.
“O God, what shall we do?”
Arthur began to laugh aloud, hysterically, and in the darkness his
hilarity was terrifying.
“For God’s sake let us have some light.”
“I’ve found the matches,” said Dr Porhoët.
He seemed to awake suddenly from his long stupor. He struck one, and it
would not light. He struck another, and Susie took off the globe and
the chimney as he kindled the wick. Then he held up the lamp, and they
saw Arthur looking at them. His face was ghastly. The sweat ran off his
forehead in great beads, and his eyes were bloodshot. He trembled in
every limb. Then Dr Porhoët advanced with the lamp and held it forward.
They looked down on the floor for the man who lay there dead. Susie
gave a sudden cry of horror.
There was no one there.
Arthur stepped back in terrified surprise. There was no one in the
room, living or dead, but the three friends. The ground sank under
Susie’s feet, she felt horribly ill, and she fainted. When she awoke,
seeming difficultly to emerge from an eternal night, Arthur was holding
down her head.
“Bend down,” he said. “Bend down.”
All that had happened came back to her, and she burst into tears. Her
self-control deserted her, and, clinging to him for protection, she
sobbed as though her heart would break. She was shaking from head to
foot. The strangeness of this last horror had overcome her, and she
could have shrieked with fright.
“It’s all right,” he said. “You need not be afraid.”
“Oh, what does it mean?”
“You must pluck up courage. We’re going now to Skene.”
She sprang to her feet, as though to get away from him; her heart beat
wildly.
“No, I can’t; I’m frightened.”
“We must see what it means. We have no time to lose, or the morning
will be upon us before we get back.”
Then she sought to prevent him.
“Oh, for God’s sake, don’t go, Arthur. Something awful may await you
there. Don’t risk your life.”
“There is no danger. I tell you the man is dead.”
“If anything happened to you …”
She stopped, trying to restrain her sobs; she dared not go on. But he
seemed to know what was in her mind.
“I will take no risks, because of you. I know that whether I live or
die is not a—matter of indifference to you.”
She looked up and saw that his eyes were fixed upon her gravely. She
reddened. A curious feeling came into her heart.
“I will go with you wherever you choose,” she said humbly.
“Come, then.”
They stepped out into the night. And now, without rain, the storm had
passed away, and the stars were shining. They walked quickly. Arthur
went in front of them. Dr Porhoët and Susie followed him, side by side,
and they had to hasten their steps in order not to be left behind. It
seemed to them that the horror of the night was passed, and there was a
fragrancy in the air which was wonderfully refreshing. The sky was
beautiful. And at last they came to Skene. Arthur led them again to the
opening in the palisade, and he took Susie’s hand. Presently they stood
in the place from which a few days before they had seen the house. As
then, it stood in massive blackness against the night and, as then, the
attic windows shone out with brilliant lights. Susie started, for she
had expected that the whole place would be in darkness.
“There is no danger, I promise you,” said Arthur gently. “We are going
to find out the meaning of all this mystery.”
He began to walk towards the house.
“Have you a weapon of some sort?” asked the doctor.
Arthur handed him a revolver.
“Take this. It will reassure you, but you will have no need of it. I
bought it the other day when—I had other plans.”
Susie gave a little shudder. They reached the drive and walked to the
great portico which adorned the facade of the house. Arthur tried the
handle, but it would not open.
“Will you wait here?” he said. “I can get through one of the windows,
and I will let you in.”
He left them. They stood quietly there, with anxious hearts; they could
not guess what they would see. They were afraid that something would
happen to Arthur, and Susie regretted that she had not insisted on
going with him. Suddenly she remembered that awful moment when the
light of the lamp had been thrown where all expected to see a body, and
there was nothing.
“What do you think it meant?” she cried suddenly. “What is the
explanation?”
“Perhaps we shall see now,” answered the doctor.
Arthur still lingered, and she could not imagine what had become of
him. All sorts of horrible fancies passed through her mind, and she
dreaded she knew not what. At last they heard a footstep inside the
house, and the door was opened.
“I was convinced that nobody slept here, but I was obliged to make
sure. I had some difficulty in getting in.”
Susie hesitated to enter. She did not know what horrors awaited her,
and the darkness was terrifying.
“I cannot see,” she said.
“I’ve brought a torch,” said Arthur.
He pressed a button, and a narrow ray of bright light was cast upon the
floor. Dr Porhoët and Susie went in. Arthur carefully closed the door,
and flashed the light of his torch all round them. They stood in a
large hall, the floor of which was scattered with the skins of lions
that Haddo on his celebrated expedition had killed in Africa. There
were perhaps a dozen, and their number gave a wild, barbaric note. A
great oak staircase led to the upper floors.
“We must go through all the rooms,” said Arthur.
He did not expect to find Haddo till they came to the lighted attics,
but it seemed needful nevertheless to pass right through the house on
their way. A flash of his torch had shown him that the walls of the
hall were decorated with all manner of armour, ancient swords of
Eastern handiwork, barbaric weapons from central Africa, savage
implements of medieval warfare; and an idea came to him. He took down a
huge battle-axe and swung it in his hand.
“Now come.”
Silently, holding their breath as though they feared to wake the dead,
they went into the first room. They saw it difficultly with their scant
light, since the thin shaft of brilliancy, emphasising acutely the
surrounding darkness, revealed it only piece by piece. It was a large
room, evidently unused, for the furniture was covered with holland, and
there was a mustiness about it which suggested that the windows were
seldom opened. As in many old houses, the rooms led not from a passage
but into one another, and they walked through many till they came back
into the hall. They had all a desolate, uninhabited air. Their
sombreness was increased by the oak with which they were panelled.
There was panelling in the hall too, and on the stairs that led broadly
to the top of the house. As they ascended, Arthur stopped for one
moment and passed his hand over the polished wood.
“It would burn like tinder,” he said.
They went through the rooms on the first floor, and they were as empty
and as cheerless. Presently they came to that which had been
Margaret’s. In a bowl were dead flowers. Her brushes were still on the
toilet table. But it was a gloomy chamber, with its dark oak, and, so
comfortless that Susie shuddered. Arthur stood for a time and looked at
it, but he said nothing. They found themselves again on the stairs and
they went to the second storey. But here they seemed to be at the top
of the house.
“How does one get up to the attics?” said Arthur, looking about him
with surprise.
He paused for a while to think. Then he nodded his head.
“There must be some steps leading out of one of the rooms.”
They went on. And now the ceilings were much lower, with heavy beams,
and there was no furniture at all. The emptiness seemed to make
everything more terrifying. They felt that they were on the threshold
of a great mystery, and Susie’s heart began to beat fast. Arthur
conducted his examination with the greatest method; he walked round
each room carefully, looking for a door that might lead to a staircase;
but there was no sign of one.
“What will you do if you can’t find the way up?” asked Susie.
“I shall find the way up,” he answered.
They came to the staircase once more and had discovered nothing. They
looked at one another helplessly.
“It’s quite clear there is a way,” said Arthur, with impatience. “There
must be something in the nature of a hidden door somewhere or other.”
He leaned against the balustrade and meditated. The light of his
lantern threw a narrow ray upon the opposite wall.
“I feel certain it must be in one of the rooms at the end of the house.
That seems the most natural place to put a means of ascent to the
attics.”
They went back, and again he examined the panelling of a small room
that had outside walls on three sides of it. It was the only room that
did not lead into another.
“It must be here,” he said.
Presently he gave a little laugh, for he saw that a small door was
concealed by the woodwork. He pressed it where he thought there might
be a spring, and it flew open. Their torch showed them a narrow wooden
staircase. They walked up and found themselves in front of a door.
Arthur tried it, but it was locked. He smiled grimly.
“Will you get back a little,” he said.
He lifted his axe and swung it down upon the latch. The handle was
shattered, but the lock did not yield. He shook his head. As he paused
for a moment, an there was a complete silence, Susie distinctly heard a
slight noise. She put her hand on Arthur’s arm to call his attention to
it, and with strained ears they listened. There was something alive on
the other side of the door. They heard its curious sound: it was not
that of a human voice, it was not the crying of an animal, it was
extraordinary.
It was the sort of gibber, hoarse and rapid, and it filled them with an
icy terror because it was so weird and so unnatural.
“Come away, Arthur,” said Susie. “Come away.”
“There’s some living thing in there,” he answered.
He did not know why the sound horrified him. The sweat broke out on his
forehead.
“Something awful will happen to us,” whispered Susie, shaking with
uncontrollable fear.
“The only thing is to break the door down.”
The horrid gibbering was drowned by the noise he made. Quickly, without
pausing, he began to hack at the oak door with all his might. In rapid
succession his heavy blows rained down, and the sound echoed through
the empty house. There was a crash, and the door swung back. They had
been so long in almost total darkness that they were blinded for an
instant by the dazzling light. And then instinctively they started
back, for, as the door opened, a wave of heat came out upon them so
that they could hardly breathe. The place was like an oven.
They entered. It was lit by enormous lamps, the light of which was
increased by reflectors, and warmed by a great furnace. They could not
understand why so intense a heat was necessary. The narrow windows were
closed. Dr Porhoët caught sight of a thermometer and was astounded at
the temperature it indicated. The room was used evidently as a
laboratory. On broad tables were test-tubes, basins and baths of white
porcelain, measuring-glasses, and utensils of all sorts; but the
surprising thing was the great scale upon which everything was. Neither
Arthur nor Dr Porhoët had ever seen such gigantic measures nor such
large test-tubes. There were rows of bottles, like those in the
dispensary of a hospital, each containing great quantities of a
different chemical. The three friends stood in silence. The emptiness
of the room contrasted so oddly with its appearance of being in
immediate use that it was uncanny. Susie felt that he who worked there
was in the midst of his labours, and might return at any moment; he
could have only gone for an instant into another chamber in order to
see the progress of some experiment. It was quite silent. Whatever had
made those vague, unearthly noises was hushed by their approach.
The door was closed between this room and the next. Arthur opened it,
and they found themselves in a long, low attic, ceiled with great
rafters, as brilliantly lit and as hot as the first. Here too were
broad tables laden with retorts, instruments for heating, huge
test-tubes, and all manner of vessels. The furnace that warmed it gave
a steady heat. Arthur’s gaze travelled slowly from table to table, and
he wondered what Haddo’s experiments had really been. The air was heavy
with an extraordinary odour: it was not musty, like that of the closed
rooms through which they had passed, but singularly pungent,
disagreeable and sickly. He asked himself what it could spring from.
Then his eyes fell upon a huge receptacle that stood on the table
nearest to the furnace. It was covered with a white cloth. He took it
off. The vessel was about four feet high, round, and shaped somewhat
like a washing tub, but it was made of glass more than an inch thick.
In it a spherical mass, a little larger than a football, of a peculiar,
livid colour. The surface was smooth, but rather coarsely grained, and
over it ran a dense system of blood-vessels. It reminded the two
medical men of those huge tumours which are preserved in spirit in
hospital museums. Susie looked at it with an incomprehensible disgust.
Suddenly she gave a cry.
“Good God, it’s moving!”
Arthur put his hand on her arm quickly to quieten her and bent down
with irresistible curiosity. They saw that it was a mass of flesh
unlike that of any human being; and it pulsated regularly. The movement
was quite distinct, up and down, like the delicate heaving of a woman’s
breast when she is asleep. Arthur touched the thing with one finger and
it shrank slightly.
“Its quite warm,” he said.
He turned it over, and it remained in the position in which he had
placed it, as if there were neither top nor bottom to it. But they
could see now, irregularly placed on one side, a few short hairs. They
were just like human hairs.
“Is it alive?” whispered Susie, struck with horror and amazement.
“Yes!”
Arthur seemed fascinated. He could not take his eyes off the loathsome
thing. He watched it slowly heave with even motion.
“What can it mean?” he asked.
He looked at Dr Porhoët with pale startled face. A thought was coming
to him, but a thought so unnatural, extravagant, and terrible that he
pushed it from him with a movement of both hands, as though it were a
material thing. Then all three turned around abruptly with a start, for
they heard again the wild gibbering which had first shocked their ears.
In the wonder of this revolting object they had forgotten all the rest.
The sound seemed extraordinarily near, and Susie drew back
instinctively, for it appeared to come from her very side.
“There’s nothing here,” said Arthur. “It must be in the next room.”
“Oh, Arthur, let us go,” cried Susie. “I’m afraid to see what may be in
store for us. It is nothing to us; and what we see may poison our sleep
for ever.”
She looked appealingly at Dr Porhoët. He was white and anxious. The
heat of that place had made the sweat break out on his forehead.
“I have seen enough. I want to see no more,” he said.
“Then you may go, both of you,” answered Arthur. “I do not wish to
force you to see anything. But I shall go on. Whatever it is, I wish to
find out.”
“But Haddo? Supposing he is there, waiting? Perhaps you are only
walking into a trap that he has set for you.”
“I am convinced that Haddo is dead.”
Again that unintelligible jargon, unhuman and shrill, fell upon their
ears, and Arthur stepped forward. Susie did not hesitate. She was
prepared to follow him anywhere. He opened the door, and there was a
sudden quiet. Whatever made those sounds was there. It was a larger
room than any on the others and much higher, for it ran along the whole
front of the house. The powerful lamps showed every corner of it at
once, but, above, the beams of the open ceiling were dark with shadow.
And here the nauseous odour, which had struck them before, was so
overpowering that for a while they could not go in. It was
indescribably foul. Even Arthur thought it would make him sick, and he
looked at the windows to see if it was possible to open them; but it
seemed they were hermetically closed. The extreme warmth made the air
more overpowering. There were four furnaces here, and they were all
alight. In order to give out more heat and to burn slowly, the fronts
of them were open, and one could see that they were filled with glowing
coke.
The room was furnished no differently from the others, but to the
various instruments for chemical operations on a large scale were added
all manner of electrical appliances. Several books were lying about,
and one had been left open face downwards on the edge of a table. But
what immediately attracted their attention was a row of those large
glass vessels like that which they had seen in the adjoining room. Each
was covered with a white cloth. They hesitated a moment, for they knew
that here they were face to face with the great enigma. At last Arthur
pulled away the cloth from one. None of them spoke. They stared with
astonished eyes. For here, too, was a strange mass of flesh, almost as
large as a new-born child, but there was in it the beginnings of
something ghastly human. It was shaped vaguely like an infant, but the
legs were joined together so that it looked like a mummy rolled up in
its coverings. There were neither feet nor knees. The trunk was
formless, but there was a curious thickening on each side; it was as if
a modeller had meant to make a figure with the arms loosely bent, but
had left the work unfinished so that they were still one with the body.
There was something that resembled a human head, covered with long
golden hair, but it was horrible; it was an uncouth mass, without eyes
or nose or mouth. The colour was a kind of sickly pink, and it was
almost transparent. There was a very slight movement in it, rhythmical
and slow. It was living too.
Then quickly Arthur removed the covering from all the other jars but
one; and in a flash of the eyes they saw abominations so awful that
Susie had to clench her fists in order not to scream. There was one
monstrous thing in which the limbs approached nearly to the human. It
was extraordinarily heaped up, with fat tiny arms, little bloated legs,
and an absurd squat body, so that it looked like a Chinese mandarin in
porcelain. In another the trunk was almost like that of a human child,
except that it was patched strangely with red and grey. But the terror
of it was that at the neck it branched hideously, and there were two
distinct heads, monstrously large, but duly provided with all their
features. The features were a caricature of humanity so shameful that
one could hardly bear to look. And as the light fell on it, the eyes of
each head opened slowly. They had no pigment in them, but were pink,
like the eyes of white rabbits; and they stared for a moment with an
odd, unseeing glance. Then they were shut again, and what was curiously
terrifying was that the movements were not quite simultaneous; the
eyelids of one head fell slowly just before those of the other. And in
another place was a ghastly monster in which it seemed that two bodies
had been dreadfully entangled with one another. It was a creature of
nightmare, with four arms and four legs, and this one actually moved.
With a peculiar motion it crawled along the bottom of the great
receptacle in which it was kept, towards the three persons who looked
at it. It seemed to wonder what they did. Susie started back with
fright, as it raised itself on its four legs and tried to reach up to
them.
Susie turned away and hid her face. She could not look at those ghastly
counterfeits of humanity. She was terrified and ashamed.
“Do you understand what this means?” said Dr Porhoët to Arthur, in an
awed voice. “It means that he has discovered the secret of life.”
“Was it for these vile monstrosities that Margaret was sacrificed in
all her loveliness?”
The two men looked at one another with sad, wondering eyes.
“Don’t you remember that he talked of the manufacture of human beings?
It’s these misshapen things that he’s succeeding in producing,” said
the doctor.
“There is one more that we haven’t seen,” said Arthur.
He pointed to the covering which still hid the largest of the vases. He
had a feeling that it contained the most fearful of all these monsters;
and it was not without an effort that he drew the cloth away. But no
sooner had he done this than something sprang up, so that instinctively
he started back, and it began to gibber in piercing tones. These were
the unearthly sounds that they had heard. It was not a voice, it was a
kind of raucous crying, hoarse yet shrill, uneven like the barking of a
dog, and appalling. The sounds came forth in rapid succession, angrily,
as though the being that uttered them sought to express itself in
furious words. It was mad with passion and beat against the glass walls
of its prison with clenched fists. For the hands were human hands, and
the body, though much larger, was of the shape of a new-born child. The
creature must have stood about four feet high. The head was horribly
misshapen. The skull was enormous, smooth and distended like that of a
hydrocephalic, and the forehead protruded over the face hideously. The
features were almost unformed, preternaturally small under the great,
overhanging brow; and they had an expression of fiendish malignity.
The tiny, misshapen countenance writhed with convulsive fury, and from
the mouth poured out a foaming spume. It raised its voice higher and
higher, shrieking senseless gibberish in its rage. Then it began to
hurl its whole body madly against the glass walls and to beat its head.
It appeared to have a sudden incomprehensible hatred for the three
strangers. It was trying to fly at them. The toothless gums moved
spasmodically, and it threw its face into horrible grimaces. That
nameless, loathsome abortion was the nearest that Oliver Haddo had come
to the human form.
“Come away,” said Arthur. “We must not look at this.”
He quickly flung the covering over the jar.
“Yes, for God’s sake let us go,” said Susie.
“We haven’t done yet,” answered Arthur. “We haven’t found the author of
all this.”
He looked at the room in which they were, but there was no door except
that by which they had entered. Then he uttered a startled cry, and
stepping forward fell on his knee.
On the other side of the long tables heaped up with instruments, hidden
so that at first they had not seen him, Oliver Haddo lay on the floor,
dead. His blue eyes were staring wide, and they seemed larger than they
had ever been. They kept still the expression of terror which they had
worn in the moment of his agony, and his heavy face was distorted with
deadly fear. It was purple and dark, and the eyes were injected with
blood.
“He died of suffocation,” whispered Dr Porhoët.
Arthur pointed to the neck. There could be seen on it distinctly the
marks of the avenging fingers that had strangled the life out of him.
It was impossible to hesitate.
“I told you that I had killed him,” said Arthur.
Then he remembered something more. He took hold of the right arm. He
was convinced that it had been broken during that desperate struggle in
the darkness. He felt it carefully and listened. He heard plainly the
two parts of the bone rub against one another. The dead man’s arm was
broken just in the place where he had broken it. Arthur stood up. He
took one last look at his enemy. That vast mass of flesh lay heaped up
on the floor in horrible disorder.
“Now that you have seen, will you come away?” said Susie, interrupting
him.
The words seemed to bring him suddenly to himself.
“Yes, we must go quickly.”
They turned away and with hurried steps walked through those bright
attics till they came to the stairs.
“Now go down and wait for me at the door,” said Arthur. “I will follow
you immediately.”
“What are you going to do?” asked Susie.
“Never mind. Do as I tell you. I have not finished here yet.”
They went down the great oak staircase and waited in the hall. They
wondered what Arthur was about. Presently he came running down.
“Be quick!” he cried. “We have no time to lose.”
“What have you done, Arthur?”
There’s no time to tell you now.”
He hurried them out and slammed the door behind him. He took Susie’s
hand.
“Now we must run. Come.”
She did not know what his haste signified, but her heart beat
furiously. He dragged her along. Dr Porhoët hurried on behind them.
Arthur plunged into the wood. He would not leave them time to breathe.
“You must be quick,” he said.
At last they came to the opening in the fence, and he helped them to
get through. Then he carefully replaced the wooden paling and, taking
Susie’s arm began to walk rapidly towards their inn.
“I’m frightfully tired,” she said. “I simply can’t go so fast.”
“You must. Presently you can rest as long as you like.”
They walked very quickly for a while. Now and then Arthur looked back.
The night was still quite dark, and the stars shone out in their
myriads. At last he slackened their pace.
“Now you can go more slowly,” he said.
Susie saw the smiling glance that he gave her. His eyes were full of
tenderness. He put his arm affectionately round her shoulders to
support her.
“I’m afraid you’re quite exhausted, poor thing,” he said. “I’m sorry to
have had to hustle you so much.”
“It doesn’t matter at all.”
She leaned against him comfortably. With that protecting arm about her,
she felt capable of any fatigue. Dr Porhoët stopped.
“You must really let me roll myself a cigarette,” he said.
“You may do whatever you like,” answered Arthur.
There was a different ring in his voice now, and it was soft with a
good-humour that they had not heard in it for many months. He appeared
singularly relieved. Susie was ready to forget the terrible past and
give herself over to the happiness that seemed at last in store for
her. They began to saunter slowly on. And now they could take pleasure
in the exquisite night. The air was very suave, odorous with the
heather that was all about them, and there was an enchanting peace in
that scene which wonderfully soothed their weariness. It was dark
still, but they knew the dawn was at hand, and Susie rejoiced in the
approaching day. In the east the azure of the night began to thin away
into pale amethyst, and the trees seemed gradually to stand out from
the darkness in a ghostly beauty. Suddenly birds began to sing all
around them in a splendid chorus. From their feet a lark sprang up with
a rustle of wings and, mounting proudly upon the air, chanted blithe
canticles to greet the morning. They stood upon a little hill.
“Let us wait here and see the sun rise,” said Susie.
“As you will.”
They stood all three of them, and Susie took in deep, joyful breaths of
the sweet air of dawn. The whole land, spread at her feet, was clothed
in the purple dimness that heralds day, and she exulted in its beauty.
But she noticed that Arthur, unlike herself and Dr Porhoët, did not
look toward the east. His eyes were fixed steadily upon the place from
which they had come. What did he look for in the darkness of the west?
She turned round, and a cry broke from her lips, for the shadows there
were lurid with a deep red glow.
“It looks like a fire,” she said.
“It is. Skene is burning like tinder.”
And as he spoke it seemed that the roof fell in, for suddenly vast
flames sprang up, rising high into the still night air; and they saw
that the house they had just left was blazing furiously. It was a
magnificent sight from the distant hill on which they stood to watch
the fire as it soared and sank, as it shot scarlet tongues along like
strange Titanic monsters, as it raged from room to room. Skene was
burning. It was beyond the reach of human help. In a little while there
would be no trace of all those crimes and all those horrors. Now it was
one mass of flame. It looked like some primeval furnace, where the gods
might work unheard-of miracles.
“Arthur, what have you done?” asked Susie, in a tone that was hardly
audible.
He did not answer directly. He put his arm about her shoulder again, so
that she was obliged to turn round.
“Look, the sun is rising.”
In the east, a long ray of light climbed up the sky, and the sun,
yellow and round, appeared upon the face of the earth.