The Haunted Man
When I arrived at the studio on the following afternoon I found the
door open and Polton waiting just inside with his hat and overcoat on
and his bag in his hand.
“I am glad you are punctual, Sir,” he said, with his benevolent smile.
“I wanted to get back to the chambers in good time to-day. It won’t
matter to-morrow, which is fortunate, as you may be late.”
“Why may I be late to-morrow?” I asked.
“I have a message for you from the doctor,” he replied. “It is about
what you were discussing last night. He told me to tell you that he is
expecting a visit from an officer of the Criminal Investigation
Department, and he would like you to be present, if it would be
convenient. About half-past ten, Sir.”
“I will certainly be there,” said I.
“Thank you, Sir,” said he. “And the doctor told me to warn you, in
case you should arrive after the officer, not to make any comment on
anything that may be said, or to seem to know anything about the
subject of the interview.”
“This is very mysterious, Polton,” I remarked.
“Why, not particularly, Sir,” he replied. “You see the officer is
coming to give certain information, but he will try to get some for
himself if he can. But he won’t get anything out of the doctor; and
the only way for you to prevent his pumping you is to say nothing and
appear to know nothing.”
I laughed at his ingenuous wiliness. “Why,” I exclaimed, “you are as
bad as the doctor, Polton. A regular Machiavelli.”
“I never heard of him,” said Polton, “but most Scotsmen are pretty
close. Oh, and there is another little matter that I wanted to speak
to you about—on my own account this time. I gathered from the doctor,
in confidence, that some one had been following you about. Now, Sir,
don’t you think it would be very useful to be able to see behind you
without turning your head?”
“By Jove!” I exclaimed. “It would indeed! Capital! I never thought of
it. I will have a supplementary eye fixed in the back of my head
without delay.”
Polton crinkled deprecatingly. “No need for that, Sir,” said he. “I
have invented quite a lot of different appliances for enabling you to
see behind you; reflecting spectacles and walking sticks with prisms
in the handle, and so on. But for use at night I think this will
answer your purpose best.”
He produced from his pocket an object somewhat like a watchmaker’s
eye-glass, and having fixed it in his eye to show me how it worked,
handed it to me with the request that I would try it. I did so, and
was considerably surprised at the efficiency of the appliance; for it
gave me a perfectly clear view of the street almost directly behind
me.
“I am very much obliged to you, Polton,” I said, enthusiastically.
“This is a most valuable gift, especially under the present
circumstances.”
He was profoundly gratified. “I think you will find it useful, Sir,”
he said. “The doctor uses these things sometimes, and so do I if the
occasion arises. You see, Sir, if you are being shadowed it is a fatal
thing to turn round and look behind you. You never get a chance of
seeing what the stalker is like, and you put him on his guard.”
I saw this clearly enough and once more thanked him for his timely
gift. Then, having shaken his hand and sped him on his way, I entered
the lobby and shut the outer door, at the same time transferring
Thorndyke’s photograph from my letter-case to my jacket pocket. When I
passed through into the studio I found Marion putting the finishing
touches to a plaster case. She greeted me with a smile as I entered
and then plunged her hand once more into the bowl of rapidly
thickening plaster; whereupon I took the opportunity to lay the
photograph on a side-bench as I walked towards the table on which she
was working.
“Good afternoon, Marion,” said I.
“Good afternoon, Stephen,” she responded, adding, “I cannot shake
hands until I have washed,” and held out her emplastered hands in
evidence.
“That will be too late,” said I; and as she looked up at me
inquiringly I stooped and kissed her.
“You are very resourceful,” she remarked with a smile and a warm
blush, as she scooped up another handful of plaster; and then, as if
to cover her slight confusion, she asked: “What was all that solemn
pow-wow about with Mr. Polton? And why did he wait for you at the door
in that suspicious manner? Had he some secret message for you?”
“I don’t know whether it was intended to be secret,” I answered; “but
it isn’t going to be so far as you are concerned;” and I repeated to
her the substance of Thorndyke’s message, to which she listened with
an eagerness that rather surprised me, until her further inquiries
explained it.
“This sounds rather encouraging,” she said; “as if Dr. Thorndyke had
been making some progress in his investigations. I wonder if he has.
Do you think he really knows much more than we do?”
“I am sure he does,” I replied; “but how much more, I cannot guess. He
is extraordinarily close. But I have a feeling that the end is not so
very far off. He seems to be quite hopeful of laying his hand on this
villain.”
“Oh! I hope you are right, Stephen,” she exclaimed. “I have been
getting so anxious. There has seemed to be no end to this deadlock.
And yet it can’t go on indefinitely.”
“What do you mean, Marion?” I asked.
“I mean,” she answered, “that you can’t go on wasting your time here
and letting your career go. Of course, it is delightful to have you
here. I don’t dare to think what the place will be like without you.
But it makes me wretched to think how much you are sacrificing for
me.”
“I am not really sacrificing anything,” said I. “On the contrary, I am
spending my time most profitably in the pursuit of knowledge and most
happily in a sweet companionship which I wouldn’t exchange for
anything in the world.”
“It is very nice of you to say that,” she said, “but, still, I shall
be very relieved when the danger is over and you are free.”
“Free!” I exclaimed, “I don’t want to be free. When my apprenticeship
has run out I am coming on as journeyman. And now I had better get my
blouse on and start work.”
I went to the further end of the studio, and, taking the blouse down
from its peg, proceeded to exchange it for my coat. Suddenly I was
startled by a sharp cry, and, turning round, beheld Marion stooping
over the photograph with an expression of the utmost horror.
“Where did this come from?” she demanded, turning a white,
terror-stricken face on me.
“I put it there, Marion,” I answered somewhat sheepishly, hurrying to
her side. “But what is the matter? Do you know the man?”
“Do I know him?” she repeated. “Of course I do. It is he—the man who
came here that night.”
“Are you quite sure?” I asked. “Are you certain that it is not just a
chance resemblance?”
She shook her head emphatically. “It is he, Stephen. I can swear to
him. It is no mere resemblance. It is a likeness, and a perfect one,
though it is such a bad photograph. But where did you get it? And why
didn’t you show it to me when you came in?”
I told her how I came by it and explained Thorndyke’s instructions.
“Then,” she said, “Dr. Thorndyke knows who the man is.”
“He says he doesn’t, and he was very close and rather obscure as to
how the photograph came into his possession.”
“It is very mysterious,” said she, with another terrified glance at
the photograph. Then suddenly she snatched it up and with averted face
held it out to me. Put it away, Stephen,” she entreated. “I can’t bear
the sight of that horrible face. It brings back afresh all the terrors
of that awful night.”
I hastily returned the photograph to my letter-case, and, taking her
arm, led her back to the work-table. “Now,” I said, “let us forget it
and get on with our work;” and I proceeded to turn the case over and
fix it in the new position with lumps of clay. For a little while she
watched me in silence, and I could see by her pallor that she was
still suffering from the shock of that unexpected encounter. But
presently she picked up a scraper and joined me in trimming up the
edges of the case, cutting out the “key-ways” and making ready for the
second half; and by degrees her colour came back and the interest of
the work banished her terrors.
We were, in fact, extremely industrious. We not only finished the
case—it was an arm from the shoulder which was to be made—cut the
pouring-holes, and varnished the inside with knotting, but we filled
one-half with the melted gelatine which was to form the actual mould
in which the wax would be cast. This brought the day’s work to an end,
for nothing more could be done until the gelatine had set—a matter of
at least twelve hours.
“It is too late to begin anything fresh,” said Marion. “You had better
come and have supper with me and Arabella.”
I agreed readily enough to this proposal, and when we had tidied up in
readiness for the morning’s work we set forth at a brisk pace—for it
was a cold evening—towards Highgate, gossiping cheerfully as we went.
By the time we reached Ivy Cottage eight o’clock was striking, and
“the village” was beginning to settle down for the night. The
premature quiet reminded me that the adjacent town would presently be
settling down, too, and that I should do well to start for home before
the streets had become too deserted.
Nevertheless, so pleasantly did the time slip away in the cosy
sitting-room with my two companions that it was close upon half-past
ten when I rose to take my departure. Marion escorted me to the door,
and as I stood in the hall buttoning up my overcoat, she said:
“You needn’t worry if you are detained to-morrow. We shall be making
the wax cast of the bust, and I am certain Mr. Polton won’t leave the
studio until it is finished, whether you are there or not. He is
perfectly mad on wax-work. He wormed all the secrets of the trade out
of me the very first time we were alone, and he is extraordinarily
quick at learning. But I can’t imagine what use the knowledge will be
to him.”
“Perhaps he thinks of starting an opposition establishment,” I
suggested, “or he may have an eye to a partnership. But if he has he
will have a competitor, and one with a prior claim. Good-night, dear
child. Save some of the wax-work for me to-morrow.”
She promised to restrain Polton’s enthusiasm as far as possible, and
wishing me “Good night,” held out her hand, but submitted without
demur to being kissed; and I took my departure in high spirits, more
engrossed with the pleasant leave-taking than with the necessity of
keeping a bright look-out.
I was nearing the bottom of the High-street when the prevailing quiet
recalled me to the grim realities of my position, and I was on the
point of stopping to take a look round when I bethought me of Polton’s
appliance and also of that cunning artificer’s advice not to put a
possible “stalker” on his guard. I accordingly felt in my pocket, and
having found the appliance carefully fixed it in my eye without
altering my pace. The first result was a collision with a lamp-post,
which served to remind me of the necessity of keeping both eyes open.
The instrument was, in fact, not very easy to use while walking, and
it took me a minute or two to learn how to manage it. Presently,
however, I found myself able to divide my attention between the
pathway in front and the view behind, and then it was that I became
aware of a man following me at a distance of about a hundred yards. Of
course, there was nothing remarkable or suspicious in this, for it was
a main thoroughfare and by no means deserted at this comparatively
early hour. Nevertheless, I kept the man in view, noting that he wore
a cloth cap and a monkey-jacket, that he carried no stick or umbrella,
and that when I slightly slackened my pace he did not seem to overtake
me. As this suggested that he was accommodating his pace to mine, I
decided to put the matter to the test by giving him an opportunity to
pass me at the next side turning.
At this moment the Roman Catholic Church came into view and I recalled
that at its side a narrow lane—Dartmouth Park Hill—ran down steeply
between high fences towards Kentish Town. Instantly I decided to turn
into the lane—which bent sharply to the left behind the church—walk a
few yards down it and then return slowly. If my follower were a
harmless stranger he would then have passed on down Highgate Hill,
whereas if he were stalking me I should meet him at the entrance to
the lane and could then see what he was like.
But I was not very well satisfied with this plan, for the obvious
manœuvre would show him that he was suspected; and as I approached the
church, a better plan suggested itself. On one side by the entrance to
the lane were some low railings and a gate with large brick piers. In
a moment I had vaulted over the railings and taken up a position
behind one of the piers, where I stood motionless, listening intently.
Very soon I caught the sound of distinctly rapid footsteps, which
suddenly grew louder as my follower came opposite the entrance to the
lane, and louder still as, without a moment’s hesitation, he turned
into it.
From my hiding-place in the deep shadow of the pier I could safely
peep out into the wide space at the entrance of the lane; and as this
space was well lighted by a lamp I was able to get an excellent view
of my follower. And very much puzzled I was therewith. Naturally I had
expected to recognize the man whose photograph I had in my pocket. But
this was quite a different type of man. It is true that he was
shortish and rather slightly built, and that he had a beard: but there
the resemblance ended. His face, which I could see plainly by the
lamp-light, so far from being of an aquiline or vulturine cast, was
rather of the blunt and bibulous type. The short, though rather
bulbous nose, made up in colour what it lacked in size, and its florid
tint extended into the cheek on either side in the form of what
dermatologists call _acne rosacea_.
I say that his appearance puzzled me; but it was not his appearance
alone. For the latter showed that he was a stranger to me and
suggested that he was going down the lane on his lawful occasions; but
his movements did not support that suggestion. He had turned into the
lane and passed my hiding-place at a very quick walk. But just as he
reached the sharp turn he slackened his pace, stepping lightly, and
then stopped for a moment, listening intently and peering forward into
the darkness of the lane. At length he started again and disappeared
round the corner, and by the sound of his retreating footsteps I could
tell that he was once more putting on the pace.
I listened until these sounds had nearly died away and was just about
to emerge from my shelter when I became aware of footsteps approaching
from the opposite direction, and as I did not choose to be seen in the
act of climbing the railings I decided to remain perdu until this
person had passed. These footsteps, too, had a distinctly hurried
sound, a fact which I noted with some surprise; but I was a good deal
more surprised when the newcomer turned sharply into the entrance,
walked swiftly past my ambush, and then, as he approached the corner,
suddenly slowed down, advancing cautiously on tip-toe, and finally
halted to listen and stare into the obscurity of the lane.
I peered out at this new arrival with an amazement that I cannot
describe. Like the first man, he was a complete stranger to me: a
tallish, athletic-looking man of about thirty-five, not ill-looking,
and having something of a military air; fair-complexioned, with a
sandy moustache, but otherwise clean-shaved and dressed in a suit of
thick tweed, with no overcoat. I could see these details clearly by
the light of the lamp; and even as I was noting them, he disappeared
round the corner and I could hear him walking quickly but lightly down
the lane.
As soon as he was gone I looked out from my hiding-place and listened
attentively. There was no one in sight, nor could I hear any one
approaching. I accordingly came forth, and, quickly climbing over the
railings, stood for a few moments irresolute. The obviously reasonable
thing to do was to make off down Highgate Hill as fast as I could and
take the first conveyance that I could get homeward. But the
appearance of that second man had inflamed me with curiosity. What was
he here for? Was he shadowing me or was he in pursuit of the other
man? Either supposition was incredible, but one of them must be true.
The end of it was that curiosity got the better of discretion and I,
too, started down the lane, walking as fast as I could and treading as
lightly as circumstances permitted.
The second man was some considerable distance ahead, for his footsteps
came to me but faintly, and I did not seem to be gaining on him; and I
took it that his speed was a fair measure of that of the man in front.
Keeping thus within hearing of my quarry, I sped on, turning over the
amazing situation in my bewildered mind. The first man was a mystery
to me, though apparently not to Thorndyke. Who could he be, and why on
earth was he taking this prodigious amount of trouble to get rid of a
harmless person like myself? For there could be no mistake as to the
magnitude of the efforts that he was making. He must have waited
outside the studio; followed Marion and me to her home, and there kept
a patient vigil of over two hours, waiting for me to come out. It was
a stupendous labour. And what was it all about? I could not form the
most shadowy guess; while as to the other man, the very thought of him
reduced me to a state of hopeless bewilderment.
As my reflections petered out to this rather nebulous conclusion, I
halted for a moment to listen for the footsteps ahead. They were still
audible, though they sounded somewhat farther away. But now I caught
the sound of other footsteps, approaching from behind. Some one else
was coming down the lane. Of course, there was nothing surprising in
that circumstance, for, after all, this was a public thoroughfare,
little frequented as it was, especially after dark. Nevertheless,
something in the character of those footsteps put me on the qui vive.
For this man, too, was walking quickly—very quickly—and with a certain
stealthiness, as if he had rubber-soled boots, and, like the rest of
us, was making as little noise as possible.
I walked on at my previous rapid pace, keeping my ears cocked now both
fore and aft; and, as I went, my mind surged with wild speculations.
Could it be that I had yet another follower? The thing was becoming
grotesque. My bewilderment began to mingle with a spice of grim
amusement; but still I listened, not without anxiety, to those
footsteps from behind, which seemed to be growing rapidly more
distinct. Whoever this newcomer might be, he was no mean walker, for
he was overtaking me apace; and this fact gave a pretty broad hint as
to his size and strength.
I looked back from time to time, but without stopping or slackening my
pace, trying to pierce the deep obscurity of the narrow, closed-in
lane. But it was a dark winter’s night, and the high fences shut out
even the glimmer from the murky sky. It was not until the approaching
footfalls sounded quite near that I was able, at length, to make out a
smear of deeper darkness on the general obscurity. Then I drew out my
pistol and, withdrawing the safety catch, put my hand, grasping it,
into my overcoat pocket. Having thus made ready for possible
contingencies, I watched the black shape emerge from the darkness
until it developed into a tall, portly man, bearing down on me with
long, swinging strides, when I halted and drew back against the fence
to let him pass.
But he had no intention of passing. As he came up to me, he, too,
halted, and, looking into my face with undissembled curiosity, he
addressed me in a brusque though not uncivil tone.
“Now, sir, I must ask you to explain what is going on.”
“What do you mean?” I demanded.
“I’ll tell you,” he replied. “I saw you, a little time ago, climb over
the railings and hide behind a gate-post. Then I saw a man come up in
a deuce of a hurry and turn into the lane. I saw him stop and listen
for a moment and then bustle off down the hill. Close on this fellow’s
heels comes another man, also in a devil of a hurry. _He_ turns into
the lane, too, and suddenly he pulls up and creeps forward on tip-toe
like a cat on hot bricks. _He_ stops and listens, too; and then off he
goes down the lane like a lamplighter. Then out you come from behind
the gate-post, over the railings you climb, and then _you_ creep up to
the corner and listen, and then off _you_ go down the hill like
another lamplighter. Now, sir, what’s it all about?”
“I assume,” said I, repressing a strong tendency to giggle, “that you
have some authority for making these inquiries?”
“I have, sir,” he replied. “I am a police officer on plain-clothes
duty. I happened to be at the corner of Hornsey-lane when I saw you
coming down the High-street walking in a queer sort of way as if you
couldn’t see where you were going. So I drew back into the shadow and
had a look at you. Then I saw you nip into the lane and climb over the
railings, so I waited to see what was going to happen next. And then
those other two came along. Well, now, I ask you again, sir, what’s
going on? What is it all about?”
“The fact is,” I said a little sheepishly, “I thought the first man
was following me, so I hid just to see what he was up to.”
“What about the second man?”
“I don’t know anything about him.”
“What do you know about the first man?”
“Nothing, except that he certainly was following me.”
“Why should he be following you?”
“I can’t imagine. He is a stranger to me, and so is the other man.”
“Hm,” said the officer, regarding me with a distrustful eye. “Damn
funny affair. I think you had better walk up to the station with me
and give us a few particulars about yourself.”
“I will with pleasure,” said I. “But I am not altogether a stranger
there. Inspector Follett knows me quite well. My name is Gray—Dr.
Gray.”
The officer did not reply for a few moments. He seemed to be listening
to something. And now my ear caught the sound of footsteps approaching
hurriedly from down the lane. As they drew near, my friend peered into
the darkness and muttered in an undertone:
“Will that be one of ’em coming back?” He listened again for a moment
or two, and then, resuming his inquiries, said aloud: “You say
Inspector Follett knows you. Well, perhaps you had better come and see
Inspector Follett.”
As he finished speaking, he again listened intently, and his mouth
opened slightly. I suspect my own did, too. For the footsteps had
ceased. There was now a dead silence in the lane.
“That chap has stopped to listen,” my new friend remarked in a low
voice. “We had better see what his game is. Come along, sir;” and with
this he strode off at a pace that taxed my powers to keep up with him.
But at the very moment that he started, the footsteps became audible
again, only now they were obviously retreating; and straining my ears
I caught the faint sound of other and more distant footfalls, also
retreating, so far as I could judge, and in the same hurried fashion.
For a couple of minutes the officer swung along like a professional
pedestrian, and I struggled on just behind him, perspiring freely, and
wishing that I could shed my overcoat. Still, despite our efforts,
there was no sign of our gaining on the men ahead. My friend evidently
realized this, for he presently growled over his shoulder, “This won’t
do,” and forthwith broke into a run.
Instantly this acceleration communicated itself to the men in front.
The rhythm of both sets of footfalls showed that our fore-runners were
literally justifying that description of them; and as both had
necessarily given up any attempt to move silently, the sounds of their
retreat were borne to us quite distinctly. And from those sounds the
unsatisfactory conclusion emerged that they were drawing ahead pretty
rapidly. My friend, the officer, was, as I have said, an uncommonly
fine walker. But he was no runner. His figure was against him. He was
fully six feet in height and he had a “presence.” He could have walked
me off my legs; but when it came to running I found myself ambling
behind him with such ease that I was able to get out my pistol and,
after replacing the safety-catch, stow the weapon in my hip pocket,
out of harm’s way.
However, if my friend was no sprinter he was certainly a stayer, for
he lumbered on doggedly until the lane entered the new neighbourhood
of Dartmouth Park; and here it was that the next act opened. We had
just passed the end of the first of the streets when I saw a
surprisingly agile policeman dart out from a shady corner and follow
on in our wake in proper Lillie-bridge style. I immediately put on a
spurt and shot past my companion, and a few moments later sounds of
objurgation arose from behind. I stopped at once and turned back, just
in time to hear an apologetic voice exclaim:
“I’m sure I beg your pardon, Mr. Plonk. I didn’t reckernize you in the
dark.”
“No, of course you wouldn’t,” replied the plain-clothes officer. “Did
you see two men run past here just now?”
“I did,” answered the constable. “One after the other, and both
running as if the devil was after them. I was half-way up the street,
but I popped down to have a look at them, and when I got to the corner
I heard you coming. So I just kept out of sight and waited for you.”
“Quite right too,” said Mr. Plonk. “Well, I don’t see or hear anything
of those chaps now.”
“No,” agreed the constable, “and you are not likely to. There’s a
regular maze of new streets about here. You can take it that they’ve
got clear away.”
“Yes, I’m afraid they have,” said Plonk. “Well, it can’t be helped,
and there’s nothing much in it. Good night, constable.”
He moved off briskly, not wishing, apparently, to discuss the affair,
and in a few minutes we came to the wide cross-roads. Here he halted
and looked me over by the light of a street lamp. Apparently the
result was satisfactory, for he said: “It’s hardly worth while to take
you all the way back to the station at this time of night. Where do
you live?”
I told him Camden-square and offered a card in corroboration.
“Then you are pretty close home,” said he, inspecting my card. “Very
well, Doctor. I’ll speak to Inspector Follett about this affair, and
if you have any further trouble of this sort you had better let us
know. And you had better let us have a description of the men in any
case.”
I promised to send him the particulars on the following day, and we
then parted with mutual good wishes, he making his way towards
Holloway-road and I setting my face homeward by way of the
Brecknock-road and keeping an uncommonly sharp look-out as I went.