The night set in gusty and tempestuous, and the moon was all girt with
ragged clouds. The wind blew in melancholy gusts, sobbing and sighing
over the moor, and setting all the gorse bushes agroaning. From time to
time a little sputter of rain pattered up against the window-pane. I sat
until near midnight, glancing over the fragment on immortality by
Iamblichus, the Alexandrian platonist, of whom the Emperor Julian said
that he was posterior to Plato in time but not in genius. At last,
shutting up my book, I opened my door and took a last look at the dreary
fell and still more dreary sky. As I protruded my head, a swoop of wind
caught me and sent the red ashes of my pipe sparkling and dancing through
the darkness. At the same moment the moon shone brilliantly out from
between two clouds, and I saw, sitting on the hillside, not two hundred
yards from my door, the man who called himself the surgeon of Gaster
Fell. He was squatted among the heather, his elbows upon his knees, and
his chin resting upon his hands, as motionless as a stone, with his gaze
fixed steadily upon the door of my dwelling.
At the sight of this ill-omened sentinel, a chill of horror and of fear
shot through me, for his gloomy and mysterious associations had cast a
glamour round the man, and the hour and place were in keeping with his
sinister presence. In a moment, however, a manly glow of resentment and
self-confidence drove this petty emotion from my mind, and I strode
fearlessly in his direction. He rose as I approached and faced me, with
the moon shining on his grave, bearded face and glittering on his
eyeballs. "What is the meaning of this?" I cried, as I came upon him.
"What right have you to play the spy on me?"
I could see the flush of anger rise on his face. "Your stay in the
country has made you forget your manners," he said. "The moor is free to
all."
"You will say next that my house is free to all," I said, hotly. "You
have had the impertience to ransack it in my absence this afternoon."
He started, and his features showed the most intense excitement. "I
swear to you that I had no hand in it!" he cried. "I have never set foot
in your house in my life. Oh, sir, sir, if you will but believe me,
there is a danger hanging over you, and you would do well to be careful."
"I have had enough of you," I said. "I saw that cowardly blow you struck
when you thought no human eye rested upon you. I have been to your
cottage, too, and know all that it has to tell. If there is a law in
England, you shall hang for what you have done. As to me, I am an old
soldier, sir, and I am armed. I shall not fasten my door. But if you or
any other villain attempt to cross my threshold it shall be at your own
risk." With these words, I swung round upon my heel and strode into my
cabin.
For two days the wind freshened and increased, with constant squalls of
rain until on the third night the most furious storm was raging which I
can ever recollect in England. I felt that it was positively useless to
go to bed, nor could I concentrate my mind sufficiently to read a book. I
turned my lamp half down to moderate the glare, and leaning back in my
chair, I gave myself up to reverie. I must have lost all perception of
time, for I have no recollection how long I sat there on the borderland
betwixt thought and slumber. At last, about 3 or possibly 4 o'clock, I
came to myself with a start--not only came to myself, but with every
sense and nerve upon the strain. Looking round my chamber in the dim
light, I could not see anything to justify my sudden trepidation. The
homely room, the rain-blurred window and the rude wooden door were all as
they had been. I had begun to persuade myself that some half-formed
dream had sent that vague thrill through my nerves, when in a moment I
became conscious of what it was. It was a sound--the sound of a human
step outside my solitary cottage.
Amid the thunder and the rain and the wind I could hear it--a dull,
stealthy footfall, now on the grass, now on the stones--occasionally
stopping entirely, then resumed, and ever drawing nearer. I sat
breathlessly, listening to the eerie sound. It had stopped now at my
very door, and was replaced by a panting and gasping, as of one who has
travelled fast and far.
By the flickering light of the expiring lamp I could see that the latch
of my door was twitching, as though a gentle pressure was exerted on it
from without. Slowly, slowly, it rose, until it was free of the catch,
and then there was a pause of a quarter minute or more, while I still eat
silent with dilated eyes and drawn sabre. Then, very slowly, the door
began to revolve upon its hinges, and the keen air of the night came
whistling through the slit. Very cautiously it was pushed open, so that
never a sound came from the rusty hinges. As the aperture enlarged, I
became aware of a dark, shadowy figure upon my threshold, and of a pale
face that looked in at me. The features were human, but the eyes were
not. They seemed to burn through the darkness with a greenish brilliancy
of their own; and in their baleful, shifty glare I was conscious of the
very spirit of murder. Springing from my chair, I had raised my naked
sword, when, with a wild shouting, a second figure dashed up to my door.
At its approach my shadowy visitant uttered a shrill cry, and fled away
across the fells, yelping like a beaten hound.
Tingling with my recent fear, I stood at my door, peering through the
night with the discordant cry of the fugitives still ringing in my ears.
At that moment a vivid flash of lightning illuminated the whole landscape
and made it as clear as day. By its light I saw far away upon the
hillside two dark figures pursuing each other with extreme rapidity
across the fells. Even at that distance the contrast between them forbid
all doubt as to their identity. The first was the small, elderly man,
whom I had supposed to be dead; the second was my neighbour, the surgeon.
For an instant they stood out clear and hard in the unearthly light; in
the next, the darkness had closed over them, and they were gone. As I
turned to re-enter my chamber, my foot rattled against something on my
threshold. Stooping, I found it was a straight knife, fashioned entirely
of lead, and so soft and brittle that it was a strange choice for a
weapon. To render it more harmless, the top had been cut square off. The
edge, however, had been assiduously sharpened against a stone, as was
evident from the markings upon it, so that it was still a dangerous
implement in the grasp of a determined man.
And what was the meaning of it all? you ask. Many a drama which I have
come across in my wandering life, some as strange and as striking as this
one, has lacked the ultimate explanation which you demand. Fate is a
grand weaver of tales; but she ends them, as a rule, in defiance of all
artistic laws, and with an unbecoming want of regard for literary
propriety. As it happens, however, I have a letter before me as I write
which I may add without comment, and which will clear all that may remain
dark.
"KIRKBY LUNATIC ASYLUM,
"_September_ 4_th_, 1885.
"SIR,--I am deeply conscious that some apology and explanation is due
to you for the very startling and, in your eyes, mysterious events
which have recently occurred, and which have so seriously interfered
with the retired existence which you desire to lead. I should have
called upon you on the morning after the recapture of my father, but
my knowledge of your dislike to visitors and also of--you will excuse
my saying it--your very violent temper, led me to think that it was
better to communicate with you by letter.
"My poor father was a hard-working general practitioner in Birmingham,
where his name is still remembered and respected. About ten years ago
he began to show signs of mental aberration, which we were inclined to
put down to overwork and the effects of a sunstroke. Feeling my own
incompetence to pronounce upon a case of such importance, I at once
sought the highest advice in Birmingham and London. Among others we
consulted the eminent alienist, Mr. Fraser Brown, who pronounced my
father's case to be intermittent in its nature, but dangerous during
the paroxysms. 'It may take a homicidal, or it may take a religious
turn,' he said; 'or it may prove to be a mixture of both. For months
he may be as well as you or me, and then in a moment he may break out.
You will incur a great responsibility if you leave him without
supervision.'
"I need say no more, sir. You will understand the terrible task which
has fallen upon my poor sister and me in endeavouring to save my
father from the asylum which in his sane moments filled him with
horror. I can only regret that your peace has been disturbed by our
misfortunes, and I offer you in my sister's name and my own our
apologies."
"Yours truly,
"J. CAMERON."