THE ASHANTEE DEVIL-STICK.
"Life in death!" repeated Maurice, in puzzled tones. "And what do you
mean by that mystical jargon, doctor?"
"Ah, my friend, there comes in the riddle."
"Paralysis?" suggested David, in a jesting manner, but with some
seriousness.
"No; that is not the answer."
"Catalepsy?" guessed Major Jen, giving his mustache a nervous twist.
"Nor that, either."
Maurice, whose nerves were proof against such fantasies, laughed
disbelievingly.
"I don't believe you know the answer to your own riddle," he said
calmly.
Etwald shrugged his shoulders.
"I don't know for certain, Mr. Alymer, but I can guess."
"Tell us your guess, doctor; as it interests me so nearly, I have a
right to know."
"Bad news comes quickly enough in the telling," said the doctor,
judicially, "so I shall say nothing more. Life in death is your fate,
Mr. Alymer; unless," he added, with a swift and penetrating glance,
"you choose to avert the calamity."
"Can I do so?"
"Yes, and in an easy manner. Never get married."
Maurice flushed crimson, and, resenting the mocking tone of Etwald,
half rose from his seat; but without moving a finger, Etwald continued
in a cold tone:
"You are in love with a young lady, and you wish to marry her!"
"Quite right, quite right!" broke in Major Jen, heartily. "I want
Maurice to marry."
"Then you want him to meet his fate of life in death!" said Etwald,
curtly.
The others stared at him, and with the skepticism of thoroughly
healthy minds refused to attach much importance to Etwald's mysticism.
Jen was the first to speak, and he did so in rather a stiff way, quite
different from his usual jovial style of conversation.
"My dear Etwald, if I did not know you so well, I should take you for
a charlatan."
"I am no charlatan, major," rejoined Etwald, coolly. "I ask no money
for my performance."
"So it is a performance, after all?" said David, carelessly.
"If you choose to call it so. Only I repeat my warning to Mr. Alymer.
Never get married."
Maurice laughed.
"I am afraid it is too late for me to take your advice, doctor," he
said, merrily. "I am in love."
"I know you are, and I admire your taste."
"Pardon me, doctor," said Maurice, stiffly. "I mention no names."
"Neither do I, but I think of one name, my friend."
Here David, who had been fidgeting with his cigar, broke in
impatiently.
"Now you are making a mystery out of a plain, common-sense question,"
he said, irritably. "We all know that Maurice is in love," here he
raised his eyes suddenly, and looked keenly at his friend, "with Lady
Meg Brance."
Major Jen chuckled and rubbed his hands together in a satisfied
manner. Etwald bent his sombre looks on Maurice, and that young man,
biting his lip, took up the implied challenge in Sarby's remark, and
answered plainly:
"I am not in love with Lady Meg, my dear fellow," said he, sharply;
"but if you must know, I admire"--this with emphasis--"Miss Dallas."
The brow of Sarby grew black, and in his turn he rose to his feet.
"I am glad to hear it is only 'admire,'" he remarked, slowly, "for had
the word been any other I should have resented it."
"You! And upon what grounds?" cried Alymer, flushing out in a rage.
"That is my business."
"And mine, too," said Maurice, hotly. "Isabella is--"
"I forbid you to call Miss Dallas by that name," declared David, in an
overbearing manner.
"You--you--you forbid me!"
"Come, come, boys!" said Jen, annoyed at this scene between two
hot-headed young men, who were not yet gifted with the self-restraint
of experience.
"Don't talk like this. You are at my table. There is a stranger" (here
he bowed ceremoniously to Etwald) "or shall I say a friend, present!"
"Say a friend," observed Etwald, calmly, "although I am about to say
that which may cause these two young gentlemen to look upon me as an
enemy."
"What do you mean?" asked Maurice, turning his still frowning face
toward this strange and enigmatic man.
"What I say, Mr. Alymer! You--admire Miss Dallas?"
"Why bring her name into the question? Yes, I admire Miss Dallas."
"And you, Mr. Sarby, I can tell from your attitude, from your look;
you love Miss Dallas."
David was taken aback by this strange speaking.
"Yes. I--I--I do love Miss Dallas."
"I guessed as much," resumed Etwald, with a cold smile. "Now, it is
strange--"
"It is strange that a lady's name should be thus introduced," said
Jen, annoyed at the tone of the conversation. "Let us drop the
subject. Another cigar, Maurice. David, the wine is with you. Dr.
Etwald--"
"One moment, major. I wish we three to understand one another"--here
the doctor hesitated, then went on in an impressive voice--"about Miss
Dallas!"
"Why do you speak of her?" asked Maurice, fiercely, while David looked
loweringly at Etwald.
"Because I love her!"
"You love her!"
The two young men burst out simultaneously with the speech in tones of
sheer astonishment, and stared at Etwald as at some strangle animal.
That this elderly man--Etwald was midway between thirty and forty, but
that looked elderly to these boys of twenty-five--should dare to love
Isabella Dallas, was a thing unheard of. She so young, so beautiful,
so full of divine youth and diviner womanhood; he so sombre, pale and
worn with intellectual vigils; with a mysterious past, a doubtful
present and a problematic future.
Maurice and David, divided one against the other by their passion for
the same woman, united in a feeling of rage and contempt against this
interloper, who dared to make a third in their worship of Isabella.
They looked at Etwald, they looked at one another, and finally both
began to laugh. Jen frowned at the sound of their mirth, but Etwald,
in nowise discomposed, sat unsmiling in his seat waiting for further
developments.
"Oh, it is too absurd!" said Maurice, resuming his seat.
"Why?"
Etwald put the question with the greatest calmness, stared steadily at
the young man, and waited for the reply, which he knew would be
difficult to make.
"Oh, because--because--"
"Never mind explaining, Mr. Alymer. I can guess your objection. I am
too old, too plain, too poor for this charming young lady. You, on the
contrary, are young, passing well off, and handsome--all the gifts of
fortune are on your side. Decidedly," added the doctor, "you hold the
best hand. Well, we shall see who will win this game--as we may call
it."
"And what about me?" said David. "You forget that I am a third player.
Come, Etwald, you have prophesied about Maurice; now read my fate."
"No," said Etwald, rising. "We have talked long enough on this
subject. It is plain that we three men are in love with the same
woman. You can't blame me, nor I you. Miss Dallas is a sufficiently
beautiful excuse for our madness. I spoke out simply because I want
you both to understand the position. You are warned, and we can now do
battle for the smiles of this charming lady. Let the best man win!"
"Nothing could be fairer than that," said Jen, quickly; "but I agree
with you, doctor, that the subject has been sufficiently discussed;
but, indeed, if you will pardon me saying so, it should have never
been begun. Let us go to the smoking-room."
Thither the three young men went in the wake of the major. It was a
comfortable room, with one wide window, which at the present moment
was open. Outside, the light of the newly-risen moon bathed lawn and
trees and flowers in a flood of cold silver; and the warm radiance of
the lamp poured out rays of gold into the wonderful white world
without. The three men sat down in comfortable chairs, and the major
went to get out a particular brand of cigars which he offered to
favored guests.
Self-contained as ever, Etwald looked up at the wall near him, and
seemed to be considering a decoration of savage arms, which looked
barbaric and wild, between two oil-paintings. When Jen came back with
the cigars, his gaze followed that of his guest, and he made a remark
about the weapons.
"All those came from Ashantee and the West Coast of Africa," said he,
touching a vicious-looking axe. "This is a sacrificial axe; this
murderous looking blade is the sword of the executioner of King
Koffee; and this," here he laid his fingers lightly upon a slender
stick of green wood, with a golden top set roughly with large
turquoise stones, "is a poison-wand!"
"A poison-wand!" echoed Etwald, a sudden light showing in his cold
eyes. "I never heard of such a thing."
David, who was watching him, felt an instinctive feeling that Etwald
was telling a lie. He saw that the man could hardly keep his seat for
his eagerness to examine and handle the strange weapon. However, he
said nothing, but watched and watched, when Maurice made a remark
about the stick.
"Oh, that is Uncle Jen's greatest treasure," he said, smiling. "He can
tell twenty stories about that innocent-looking cane."
"Innocent-looking!" echoed Jen, taking down the green wand. "How can
you say such a thing? Look here, Etwald," and he laid the stick on the
table. "No, don't touch it, man," he added, hastily, "there is plenty
of venom in it yet. 'Tis as dangerous as a snake bite. If you touch
this slender iron spike projecting from the end, you die!"
Again David noted that the tigerish light leaped up in the eyes of
Etwald, but he had sufficient control of his features to preserve a
look of courteous curiosity. He carefully handled and examined the
instrument of death.
It was a little over a foot long, of a hard-looking green wood; the
handle of gold was coarsely molded in a barbaric fashion round the
turquoise stones, and these, of all hues, from green to the palest of
blue, were imbedded like lumps of quartz in the rough gold. Round this
strange implement there lingered a rich and heavy perfume, sickly and
sensuous.
"See here!" said Jen, pressing or rather squeezing the handle. "I
tighten my grip upon this, and the sting of the serpent shows itself!"
Whereupon Etwald glanced at the end of the wood and saw a tiny needle
of iron push itself out. When Jen relaxed his pressure on the gold
handle, this iron tongue slipped back and disappeared entirely.
"I got this at Kumassie," explained Jen, when he had fully exhibited
the gruesome mechanism of the devil-stick. "It belonged to the high
priest. Whenever he or the king disliked any man who was too powerful
to be openly slain, they used this wand. What excuse they made I don't
know, but I suppose it had something to do with fetish worship.
However, the slightest touch of this needle produces death."
"It is poisoned at the tip?"
"Not exactly. The needle within is hollow, and a store of poison is
contained in the handle up here. When squeezed these turquoise stones
press a bag within and the poison runs down to the point of the
needle. In fact, the whole infernal contrivance is modeled upon a
serpent's fang."
"But it is quite harmless now," said David, as Jen replaced the wand
in its old place on the wall. "Else you wouldn't have it there."
"Well, no doubt the poison has dried up," said Jen, with a nod. "All
the same, I shouldn't like to prick myself with that needle. I might
die," finished the major, with the naive simplicity of a child.
"You may break, you may shatter the vase as you will,
But the scent of the roses will cling round it still"--
quoted Maurice, with a laugh. "No doubt the devil-stick can still do
harm. Ugh! What a gruesome idea. I'd remove it from so conspicuous a
position if I were you, Uncle Jen; someone might come to grief over
it."
"Rubbish, my boy. It has been hanging on the wall for years, and has
never hurt anyone yet!"
Etwald said nothing. With his eyes fixed upon the devil-stick, he
meditated deeply. The barrister, whose belief was that Etwald knew
more about the wand than he chose to say, watched him closely. He
noticed that the doctor eyed the stick, then, after a pause, let his
gaze wander to the face of Maurice. Another pause, and he was looking
at David, who received the fire of this strange man's eyes without
blanching.
There was something so mesmeric in the gaze that David felt
uncomfortable and as though he were enveloped in an evil atmosphere.
To his surprise he found that his eyes also were attracted to the
devil-stick, and a longing to handle it began to possess him. Clearly
Etwald was trying to hypnotize him for some evil purpose. By an effort
of will David broke through these nightmare chains and rose to his
feet. The next moment he was in the open air, in the cold moonlight,
breathing hard and fast.
Within, Maurice and the major were talking gaily, and the sound of
their voices and laughter came clearly to the ears of David. But
silent in his deep chair sat Etwald, and the burning glance of his
eyes seemed to beam menacingly through the air and compel the young
man to evil thoughts. David looked at Etwald, dark and voiceless; and
over his head, in the yellow lamplight, he saw the glittering golden
handle of the devil-stick.