STRONG SMELLING SALTS.
Stamer had by this time been provided with a second glass of the
Hanover's famous rum hot. Mr. Williams the proprietor was still
immersed in his newspaper, although Stamer's implied appreciation of
the hot rum, in the order of a second glass, had almost melted the
host into the benignity of conversation with the shabby-looking
stranger. On the appearance of the dwarf, Williams rose briskly from
his chair and greeted the new-comer cordially. Stamer did not stir
beyond drawing back a little on his stool. Out of his blue spectacles
he fixed a steady and cat-like gaze upon Leigh.
"How warm the weather keeps," said Leigh, climbing to the top of a
stool, with his back to the door of the compartment and directly
opposite Stamer. "Even at the expense of getting more dust than I can
manage well with, I think I must leave my window open," pointing
upwards to the clock-room. "The place is suffocating. Hah!
Suffocating."
"Why don't you get a fine muslin blind and then you could leave the
window open, particularly if you wet the blind."
"There's something in that, Mr. Williams; there's a great deal in what
you say, Mr. Williams. But, you see, the water would dry off very soon
in this broiling weather, and then the dust would come through. But if
I soaked the blind in oil, a non-drying oil, it would catch all the
dust and insects. Dust is as bad for my clock as steel filings from a
stone are for the lungs of a Sheffield grinder. Hah! Yes, I must get
some gauze and steep it in oil. Would you lend me the potman for a few
minutes? He would know what I want and I am rather tired for
shopping."
"Certainly, with pleasure, Mr. Leigh. Here, Binns, just put on your
coat and run on an errand for Mr. Leigh, will you."
The potman who was serving the only customer in the public bar
appeared, got his instructions and money from the clock-maker and
skipped off with smiling alacrity. The little man was open-handed in
such matters.
"Yes; the place is bad enough in the daytime," went on Leigh as he was
handed a glass of shandy-gaff, "but at night when the gas is lighted
it becomes choking simply."
"It's a good job you haven't to stay there long at night. No more than
half-an-hour with the gas on."
"Yes, about half-an-hour does for winding up. But then I sometimes
come there when you are all in bed. I often get up in the middle of
the night persuaded something has gone wrong. I begin to wonder if
that clock will get the better of me and start doing something on its
own account."
"It's twice too much to have on your mind all by yourself. Why don't
you take in a partner?" asked Williams sympathetically, "or," he
added, "give it up altogether if you find it too much for you?" If
Leigh gave up his miserable clock, Leigh and Williams might do
something together. The two great forces of their minds might be
directed to one common object and joined in one common fame.
"Partner! Hah!" cried Leigh sharply, "and have all my secrets blown
upon in twenty-four hours." Then he added significantly. "The only man
whom I would allow into that room for a minute should be deaf and dumb
and a fool."
"And not able to read or write," added Williams with answering
significance.
"And not able to read or write," said the dwarf, nodding his head to
Williams.
The publican stood a foot back from the counter and expanded his chest
with pride at the thought of being trusted by the great little man
with the secret of the strange winder of two nights ago. Then he
added, by way of impressing on Leigh his complete trustworthiness
respecting the evening which was not to be spoken of, "By-the-way Mr.
Leigh, we saw you wind up last night, sure enough."
"Oh yes, I saw you. I nodded to you."
"Yes, at ten minutes past twelve by my clock, a quarter past twelve by
my watch; for I looked, Mr. Leigh. You nodded. I told the gentlemen
here how wonderfully particular you were about time, and how your
clock would go right to a fraction of a second. If I am not mistaken
this gentleman was here. Weren't you here, sir?" Williams said,
addressing Stamer for the first time, but without moving from where he
stood.
"I happened to be here at the time, and I saw the gentleman at the
window above," said Stamer in a meek voice.
Then a remarkable thing happened.
The partition between the private bar and the public bar was about six
feet high. Just over the dwarf's head a pair of long thin hands
appeared on the top of the partition, and closed on it with the
fingers pointing downward. Then very slowly and quite silently a
round, shabby, brown hat stole upwards over the partition, followed by
a dirty yellow-brown forehead, and last of all a pair of gleaming blue
eyes that for a moment looked into the private bar, and then silently
the eyes, the forehead, and the hat, sank below the rail, and finally
the hands were withdrawn from the top of the partition. From the
moment of the appearance of the hands on the rail until they left it
did not occupy ten seconds.
No one in the private bar saw the apparition.
"Well," said Leigh, who showed no disposition to include Stamer in the
conversation, "I can have a breath of air to-night when I am winding
up. I am free till then. I think I'll go and look after that mummy.
Oh! here's Binns with the muslin. Thank you, Binns, this will do
capitally."
He took the little silver flask out of his pocket, and poured a few
drops from it into his hand and sniffed it up, and then made a noisy
expiration.
"Very refreshing. Very refreshing, indeed. I know I needn't ask you,
Williams. I know you never touch it. You have no idea of how
refreshing it is."
The smell of eau-de-cologne filled the air.
Stamer watched the small silver flask with eyes that blazed balefully
behind the safe screen of his blue glasses.
"Would you oblige me," he said in a timid voice, holding out his hand
as he spoke.
Leigh was in the act of returning the tiny flask to his waistcoat
pocket. He arrested it a moment, and then let it fall in out of sight,
saying sharply: "You wouldn't like it, sir. Very few people do like
it. You must be used to it."
Stamer's suspicions were now fully roused. This was the very drug
Leigh had used with Timmons. It produced little or no effect on the
dwarf, for as he explained, he was accustomed to it, but on a man who
had never inhaled it before the effect would be instant, and long and
complete insensibility. "I should like very much to try. I can stand
very strong smelling salts."
"Oh! indeed. Can you? Then you would like to try some strong smelling
salts?" said Leigh with a sneer as he scornfully surveyed the shabby
man who had got off his stool and was standing within a few feet of
him. "Well, I have no more in the flask. That was the last drop, but I
have some in this." Out of his other waistcoat pocket he took a small
glass bottle with a ground cap and ground stopper. He twisted off the
cap and loosened the stopper. "This is very strong, remember."
"All right." If he became insensible here and at this time it would do
no harm. There was plenty of help at hand, and nothing at stake, not
as with Timmons last night in that house over the way.
"Snuff up heartily," said the dwarf, holding out the bottle towards
the other with the stopper removed.
Stamer leaned on one of the high stools with both his hands, and put
his nose over the bottle. With a yell he threw his arms wildly into
the air and fell back on the floor as if he were shot.
Williams sprang up on the counter and cried: "What's this! He isn't
dead?" in terror.
The potman flew over the counter into the public bar, and rushed into
the private compartment.
The solitary customer in the public bar drew himself up once more and
stared at the prostrate man with round blue eyes.
Leigh laughed harshly as he replaced the stopper and screwed on the
cap.
"Dead! Not he! He's all right! He said he could stand strong salts. I
gave him the strongest ammonia. That's all."
The potman had lifted Stamer from the ground, propped him against the
wall and flung half a bottle of water over his head.
Stamer recovered himself instantly. His spectacles were in pieces on
the floor. He did not, considering his false beard and whiskers, care
for any more of the potman's kindnesses. He stooped, picked up his hat
and walked quickly out of the Hanover.
"I like to see a man like that," said Leigh, calmly blowing a dense
cloud of cigar-smoke from his mouth and nodding his head in the
direction Stamer had taken.
"You nearly killed the man," said Williams, dropping down from the
counter inside the bar and staring at Leigh with frightened eyes that
looked larger than usual owing to the increased pallor of his face.
"Pooh! Nonsense! That stuff wouldn't kill anyone unless he had a weak
heart or smashed his head in his fall. I got it merely to try the
effect of it combined with a powerful galvanic battery, on the nasal
muscles of my mummy. Now, if that man were dead we'd get him all right
again in a jiffy with one sniff of it. I was saying I like a man like
him. You see, he was impudent and intruded himself on me when he had
no right to do anything of the kind, and he insisted on smelling my
strong salts. Well, he had his wish, and he came to grief, and he
picked himself up, or rather Binns picked him up, and he never said
anything but went away. He knew he was in the wrong, and he knew he
got worsted, and he simply walked away. That is the spirit which makes
Englishmen so great all the world over. When they are beaten they
shake hands and say no more about the affair. That's true British
pluck." Leigh blew another dense cloud of smoke in front of him and
looked complacently at Williams.
"Well," said the publican in a tone of doubt, "he didn't exactly shake
hands, you know. He does look a bit down in the world, seems to me an
undertaker's man out of work, but I rather wonder he didn't kick up a
row. Many another man would."
"A man of any other nationality would, but not a Britisher. If,
however, you fancy the poor chap is out of work and he comes back and
grumbles about the thing, give him half-a-sovereign from me."
"Mr. Leigh, I must say that is very handsome of you, sir," said
Williams, thawing thoroughly. He was a kind-hearted man, and did think
the victim of the trick ought to get some sort of compensation.
Meanwhile, Stamer had reached the open air and was seemingly in no
great hurry to go back to the Hanover to claim the provision Leigh had
made for his injury. He did not seem in a hurry to go anywhere, and a
person who knew of what had taken place in the private bar, and seeing
him move slowly up Welbeck Place with his left shoulder to the wall
and his eyes on the window of the workshop, would think he was either
behaving very like a kicked cur and slinking away with the desire of
attracting as little attention as possible, or that he was meditating
the mean revenge of breaking the dwarf's window.
But Stamer was not sneaking away. He was simply taking observations in
a comprehensive and leisurely manner. Above all, he was not dreaming
of breaking the clockmaker's window. On the contrary he was hugging
himself with delight at the notion that he would not have to break
Leigh's window. No, there would not be the least necessity for that.
As the window was now no doubt it would be necessary to smash one pane
at least. But with that muslin blind well-soaked in oil stretched
across the open, caused by the raising of the lower sash there would
be no need whatever of injuring the dwarf's glass.
He passed very slowly down Welbeck Place towards the mews under the
window which lighted the private bar, and through which he had watched
the winding up of the clock last night. His eyes, now wanting the blue
spectacles, explored and examined every feature of Forbes's with as
close a scrutiny as though he were inspecting it to ascertain its
stability.
When he had deliberately taken in all that eyes could see in the gable
of Forbes's bakery, he turned his attention to his left, and looked
with care unmingled with anxiety at the gable or rather second side of
the Hanover. Then he passed slowly on. It might almost be fancied from
his tedious steps that he had hurt his back or his legs in his fall,
but he did not limp or wriggle or drag his legs.
Beyond the Hanover, that is on this side between the end of the public
house and the Welbeck Mews, were two poor two-storey houses, let in
tenements to men who found employment about the mews. These houses
Stamer observed closely also, and then passed under the archway into
the mews. Here he looked back on the gables of the tenement houses.
They were, he saw, double-roofed, with a gutter in the middle, and
from the gutter to the mews descended a water-pipe into the ground.
When there was nothing more to be noted in the outside of the gables,
Stamer pulled his hat over his eyes and struck out briskly across the
mews, which he quitted by the southern outlet.
As he finished his inspection and left the mews he thought:
"So that was the stuff he gave Timmons, was it? I suppose it had more
effect on him or he got more of it. It didn't take my senses away for
more than a flash of lightning, but more of it might knock me silly
for a while. Besides, Timmons is not as strong a man as I. It is a
wonder it did not kill him. I felt as if the roof of my skull was
blown off. I felt inclined to draw and let him have an ounce. But
then, although he may be playing into the hands of the police, he
isn't a policeman. He couldn't have done the drill, although his boots
are as big as the regulation boots. Then, even if I did draw on him I
couldn't have got away. There were too many people about.
"So he'll wind up his clock to-night between twelve and half-past,
will he? It will take him the longest half-hour he ever spent in all
his life! There's plenty of time to get the tools ready, and for a
little practice too."
Stamer had no personal resentment against Leigh because of the trick
put upon him. A convict never has the sense of the sacred
inviolateness of his person that belongs to men of even the most
depraved character who have never "done time." He had arrived at his
deadly intent not from feelings of revenge but from motives of
prudence. Leigh possessed dangerous information, and Leigh was guilty
of treason and was trying to compass betrayal; therefore he must be
put away, and put away at once.
Meanwhile the man who drew himself up by his hands, and looked over
the partition between the public and private bar, had left the
Hanover. He was a very tall man with grizzled, mutton-chop whiskers
and an exceedingly long, rusty neck. He wore a round-topped brown hat,
and tweed clothes, a washed-out blue neckerchief, the knot of which
hung low on his chest. He had no linen collar, and as he walked
carried his hands thrust deep into his trousers' pockets.
He too, had come to Chetwynd Street, to the Hanover, to gather any
facts he might meet about this strange clockmaker and his strange
ways. He had gone into the public bar for he did not wish to encounter
face to face the man about whom he was inquisitive. He had sent a boy
for Stamer's wife and left her in charge of his marine store in
Tunbridge Street, saying he was unexpectedly obliged to go to the
Surrey Dock. He told her of the visit Stamer had paid him that
morning, and said he thought her husband was getting a bit crazy. Then
he left her, having given her instructions about the place and
promising to be back in a couple of hours.
Timmons was more than three hours gone, and when he re-entered
Tunbridge Street Mrs. Stamer came in great excitement to meet him,
saying she had no notion he would be so long and that if Tom came back
during her absence he would be furious, as she had left no word where
she was to be found. To this Timmons replied shortly that he didn't
suppose Stamer would have come back, and parted from her almost
rudely, which showed he was in a mind far from ordinary, for he was
always jocular and polite after his fashion to the woman.
When he was alone in his own place he began walking up and down in a
state of great perturbation.
"I don't know what to make of it--I don't know what to make of it," he
thought. "Stamer is no fool, and I know he would not lie to me. He
says he saw Leigh wind up the clock at the time Leigh was standing
with me under the church tower. The landlord of that public-house says
he saw him, and Leigh himself says he nodded to the landlord at a
quarter past twelve! I'm not mad, and I wasn't drunk. What can it
mean? I can make nothing of it.
"There may be something in what Stamer says after all. This miserable,
hump-backed creature may be only laying a trap for us. If I thought I
was to be caught after my years of care and caution by a mannikin like
that, I'd slit his wizand for him. I did not like his way last night,
and the more I think of it the less I like it. I think I had better be
off this job. I don't like it, but I don't care to fail, particularly
after telling Stamer all about it.
"What business had that fool Stamer to walk straight into the lion's
mouth? What did he want in Chetwynd Street? No doubt he went there on
the same errand as I, to try to find out something more about last
night. Well, a nice thing he did find out. What infernal stuff did the
dwarf give Stamer to smell? It was a mercy it did not kill the man. If
it had killed Stamer, and there had been an inquest, it would have
made a nice mess. No one could tell what might have come out about
Stamer, about the whole lot, about myself!
"It is plain no one ought to have further dealings with that little
man. Anyone who could give stuff like that to a man to smell in broad
daylight, and in the presence of witnesses, would not stick at a
trifle in the dark and when no one was by. Yes, I must cut the dwarf.
Fortunately, there is nothing in Leigh's possession he can use against
me. I took good care of that.
"How will Stamer take the affair? Will he cherish anger? Will he want
revenge?
"Well, if he will let him."
These were not the words in which Timmons thought, but they represent
the substance of his cogitations.
Meanwhile, Oscar Leigh had left Chetwynd Street, and gone back to the
clock-room to fix the new blind Binns, the potman, had bought for him.
He had not intended returning that day, but he had nothing special to
do, and the blind was a new idea and new ideas interested him.
He let himself in by the private door, and went straight to the
clock-room. He had a bottle of sweet oil, and the roll of muslin. He
oiled the muslin, and having stretched and nailed it in position,
raised the lower sash of the window about two feet from the sill. The
muslin was double, and the two sheets were kept half an inch apart by
two rods, so that any dust getting through the outer fold might be
caught by the inner one. Having settled this screen to his
satisfaction, he left the room and descended once more.
"My clock," he thought, "will be enough for fame. I will not meddle
with this Miracle Gold. I am committed to nothing, and anything
Timmons may say will be only slander, even if he did dare to speak."
He reached the street, and wandered on aimlessly.
"My clock when it is finished will be the most perfect piece of
mechanism ever designed and executed by one man. It will be classed
among the wonders of the world, and be spoken of with admiration as
long as civilization lasts.
"But I must take care it does not get the upper hand of me. Already
the multiplicity of the movements confuse my head at times when I am
not near it. I must be careful of my head, or my great work will
suffer. Sometimes I see those figure of time all modelled and
fashioned and in their proper dispositions executing their assigned
evolutions. At times I am in doubt about them. They grow faint, and
cobwebby, and misty, as though they were huddled together in some dim
room, to which one ray of light was suddenly admitted. I must be
careful of my head.
"Long ago, and also until not very long ago, when I added a new effect
or movement it fell into its proper place and troubled me no more.
Now, when I am away from my clock, when I cannot see and touch it, I
often forget a movement, or give it a wrong direction, draw from it a
false result.
"I am too much a man of one idea. I have imagination enough for a score
of hands and ten stout bodies, and I have only a pair of hands and
THIS!"
He paused and looked down at his protuberant chest and twisted trunk,
and shrunken, bent legs, and enormous feet.
"I am a bad specimen of the work of Nature's journeyman, to put it as
some one does, and I am abominably made--all except the head!"
He threw up his head and glanced around with scornful challenge in his
eye.
"Hey!" cried a man's voice in alarm.
He looked up.
The chest of a horse was within a hand's breadth of his shoulder. The
horse's head was flung aloft. The horse snorting and quivering, and
bearing back upon his haunches.
Leigh sprang aside and looked around. He was in the middle of
Piccadilly at Hyde Park Corner. He had almost been ridden over by a
group of equestrians.
The gentleman whose horse had nearly touched him, took off his hat and
apologised.
"You stopped suddenly right under the horse's head," said the
gentleman. "I am extremely sorry."
Leigh raised his stick to strike the head of the horse.
The rider pulled his horse sharply away and muttered something under
his breath.
"Oh, Sir Julius," cried a voice in terror, "it's Mr. Leigh!"
The dwarf's stick fell from his hand. "God's mercy in Heaven!" he
cried in a whisper, as he took off his hat slowly, "Miss Ashton!"
Then, bareheaded and without his stick, he went up to the side of her
horse, and said in a hoarse whisper, "I will have nothing to do with
that Miracle Gold!"
A groom who had dismounted handed him his stick, and putting on his
hat, he hastened away through the crowd which had begun to gather,
leaving Dora in a state of mingled alarm and pity.
"Is he mad?" said Sir Julius Whinfield as the dwarf disappeared and
the equestrians moved on.
"I'm sure I don't know. I think not. For a moment he terrified me, and
now he breaks my heart!"
"Breaks your heart?"
"Oh, he ought not to be human! There surely can be no woe like his!"