“Go now,” pleaded Gladys, “and I’ll come to your rooms this evening.”
“Not on your life! I’m here now, and I am going to stay.”
“Let go of me--you are hurting my shoulder.”
There was a sound of scuffing. I tried the door. It was locked. I put
my shoulder to it. The lock snapped.
Gladys gave a cry, leaped away from the man--a man whom I had never
seen before. The full-lipped, black-browed type, big, soft. As I took
in the scene--the tousled woman, the flushed-faced man--a great wave of
disgust almost overwhelmed me.
“Well,” said the man, sneeringly, “what are you going to do about it?”
“If you take her away now and treat her right--nothing.”
“And if I don’t take her away?”
“I’ll meet that situation when it comes.”
“It has come,” he said, with a laugh, and walked out.
I am tall, slender, delicate-looking, but I knew I was a match for that
overfed brute.
I listened to the clatter of his feet on the stairs. Then I followed
him.
* * * * *
The man was hastening toward a street car.
I cranked Gladys’ car and followed. It was easy to keep the street car
in sight and to keep an eye on his sleek black head.
He left the car at Hanson Street. I, without a glance toward him, kept
on ahead. I turned at the corner, in time to see him enter an office
building. I was not far behind him when he took the elevator. The man
in the elevator gave me the number of his office.
He was telling a joke to his typist as I entered, but his laughter died
when he saw me.
“You dirty thief! You’ll never cheat another man out of money!”
His look of astonishment, as I shouted these words, was amusing. He
tried to give blow for blow, but I meant what I said when I shouted at
him “I’ve come here to kill you!”
To choke the life out of an overfed beast is not so hard to an
infuriated man. In less than a quarter of an hour he was dead. The
police, for whom the typist had called, filled the room even before I
had straightened my disheveled clothing.
I practically tried my own case, and I was skillful enough to make
every word, apparently uttered in my own defense, sound black against
me.
Gladys tried to save me by telling the true story of the affair, but I
made a picture of her as a devoted, self-sacrificing wife, willing to
ruin even her spotless name to save her husband. I enjoyed seeing her
cringe as I did this.
So skillfully had she and the big brute managed that there was not a
bit of evidence to substantiate her story. On the other hand, there was
the typist’s story to help me, and, too, it was known I had speculated
in the past, and that I had lost some money.
I made the most of everything against me, and it was enough. I was
sentenced to hang on the ninth day of June at sunrise.
Gladys came to the jail to see me while the trial was going on, but
I managed to act just as if my story were the true one and hers the
false, and, though she pleaded with me to let the truth come out, I
would not admit that the truth had _not_ come out. The sentence was a
terrible shock to her. Her mother carried her from the court-room in a
faint. Before she recovered I was in prison.
* * * * *
I shall welcome the hour of sunrise as I never welcomed any moment of
my life.
Not until then will the fear of a reprieve leave me. Gladys is moving
heaven and earth to locate the Governor. God grant that she does not
succeed!
It is four forty-five. I have spent much time at the window, gazing
out into the darkness. What comes after death? That is the question, I
suppose, that all men ask at the end of life. I have never done so. It
is a futile question--one which none of us can answer. But I believe
there will be surcease from the nausea that comes to those who have
known disillusion and disappointment.
Ten minutes of five--now surely I am safe from even a chance of a
reprieve!
Footsteps in the corridor! Is it my escort to the gallows, or--what I
fear most on earth?
* * * * *
A statement by the warden of Larsen Penitentiary:
“_If Traylor had spent the brief period, always allotted to a
criminal for a few last words, his reprieve would have reached us
in time to stay the execution; but he walked calmly, unfalteringly
up to the gallows and helped us, with steady hands, adjust the cap
and ropes--and he was dead two minutes before the Governor’s message
reached us._”
_For a Grim Tale With a Terrifying
End We Recommend_
_The_
SKULL
_By_ HAROLD WARD
Kimball held up his hand, warningly.
“Listen!” he exclaimed in a whisper.
Then he shoved the bottle back from his elbow and reached for his
revolver, which hung just above the table. Buckling the belt about his
waist, he leaped for the door and threw it open.
The house, raised on pile foundations a dozen feet above the ground,
shook beneath the rush of retreating footsteps. With the swiftness of
a wild animal, he gathered himself for the spring--and landed squarely
astride the back of the last of the blacks to quit the place.
The weight of the white man brought the native to the ground. Seizing
the black by the hair, he jerked him to his feet, keeping the naked
body between himself and the crowd that lurked in the darkness, just
beyond the ring of light that shone down through the open door.
“What name?” he demanded in the _beche-de-mer_ of the Islands. “What
for you come around big fella house? I knock seven bells out of you
quick!”
Still grasping the man’s kinky wool with his left hand, his right shot
out, landing a terrific blow on the native’s mouth. The black, spitting
blood and broken teeth, squirmed in agony and attempted to give a side
glance at his fellows. Seeing that none intended to aid him, he jerked
his head to one side in an effort to escape. The white man straightened
it with another blow.
“What name?” he demanded again.
“Me good fella boy,” the black answered with an effort. “Me fella
missionary!”
“Then you say one fella prayer damn quick!”
Kimball rained blow after blow on his face. The savage shrieked with
agony. In the shadow, the blacks shuffled uneasily, like a herd of
cattle ready to stampede, but the white man seemingly gave them no heed.
At last, the punishment completed, he jerked the bow and arrows from
the unresisting hand of his victim and, whirling him suddenly, gave him
a kick and a shove which landed him on all fours in the midst of the
others. Then, turning, seemingly ignoring the thoroughly frightened
blacks, he reëntered the house.
Throwing the bow and arrows on the table, he poured himself a stiff
drink of gin and downed it at a gulp. And then, sitting down beside
the table, he picked up the weapon and examined it gingerly.
“Poisoned!” he remarked casually to the man lying on the bed. “I
knocked bloody hell out of Tulagi as a lesson to the rest of ’em.
They’re getting insolent, with only one of us to handle ’em. Wish to
heaven you were up and around again.”
“Upon the platform, eh?” the sick man listlessly inquired.
Kimball nodded.
“They’re gettin’ bold,” he said shortly. “Five hundred niggers are too
many for one man to keep straight. It’s been plain hell since you went
down--and then the dog had to turn up his toes. When Donaldson comes
in next week with the _Scary-Saray_ we’ll have to send after a new
nigger-chaser. Chipin’s got a couple extra ones he’s been trainin’ over
at Berande.”
The sick man rolled over with a groan.
“Thank heaven I was taken sick!” he remarked bitterly. “It’s hard, God
knows, but it gave me a chance to find out just what sort of a cur you
are, Kimball.”
Kimball scowled. He half opened his mouth as if to answer. Then,
thinking better of it, he poured himself another drink and resumed his
occupation of examining the weapon he had taken from the native. He
swayed slightly in his chair under the load of liquor he was carrying,
yet his voice was unblurred as, after a minute’s silence, he looked
across at the other.
“Can’t you get that out of your head, Hansen?” he remarked. “I’m
getting bloody well fed up on it.”
Hansen raised himself on an elbow and angrily shook his fist at the
other.
“Oh, you’re ‘getting bloody well fed up on it,’ are you?” he mimicked.
“I should think you would be! I suppose I’m hurtin’ your delicate
feelings by mentioning it to you, eh? It’s nothing a man should howl
about, is it?--having one he thought was his best friend pull off a
dirty stunt like that!”
Kimball poured himself another drink. His hand shook slightly as he
raised the glass to his lips.
“Oh, forget it and go to sleep!” he growled.
“Yes, ‘forget it,’ you damned crooked, lyin’, double-crosser! I’m apt
t’ forget how you wrote to Gladys and told her I’d taken a nigger wife!
Wanted her yourself, didn’t you, you low-down, gin-guzzling rat! It was
just a piece of luck that I was taken sick and you had t’ look after
the plantation instead of goin’ after th’mail last time, or I’d never
have got that letter from her telling me why she’d turned me down.”
“I’m telling you now, for th’ last time, that I didn’t write that
stuff to her!” Kimball snarled back. “I’m tellin’ you it’s a lie. I
showed you the letter I wrote to her, giving her my word of honor that
somebody’d been doin’ you dirt.”
“Who else is there here on the Island that knew her back home?” Hansen
demanded, dropping back onto the pillows again. “And who else knew that
we were engaged?”
“How in hell do I know?” Kimball answered thickly, reaching unsteadily
for the bottle. “You’re a sick man, Hansen, or I’d beat you up for th’
way you’re talkin’ to me.”
The sick man raised himself from the pillows again with a snort of
anger, his face flushed, his eyes gleaming feverishly.
“It’s a long road that’s got no turn in it!” he muttered. “It’s my
money that’s in this plantation, Kimball--my money against your
experience. And keep that damned arrow pointed th’ other way, you fool!
You’re drunk--too drunk to be monkeyin’ with weapons. You’d just as
soon shoot me as not: if you do, I’ll get you if I have to come back
from th’ grave to do it! And remember this, Kimball: Soon’s I’m able to
be up and around again, we’ll have a settlement. And out you’ll go from
this plantation, you--”
Whether it was an accident, or plain murder nobody knows. Kimball was
drunk--beastly so. The arrow was loaded in the bow and clasped between
his trembling fingers, the bow-string taut. And Hansen had annoyed
him, angered him, bullied him, cursed him. At any rate, as he slumped
forward in his chair, the bow-string slipped from between his thumb
and finger, and--
Hansen dropped back onto the pillows with a smothered scream, the arrow
buried deep in his temple!
_II._
It was past midnight when Kimball awoke from his drunken stupor.
For an instant, he had no recollection of what had happened. The oil
lamp still burned brightly, throwing the figure of the man on the bed
in bold relief.
Kimball half arose on his tiptoes so as not to awaken Hansen. His foot
touched the bow lying on the floor. Then a flood of realization swept
over him. He suddenly remembered that he was a murderer.
Whether he had killed Hansen intentionally or not he was unable to
recall. Memory had ceased on the second he sprawled forward, his tired
brain benumbed with the liquor he had consumed during the evening. He
knew that they had quarreled--that Hansen had been more abusive than
usual and had cursed him.
He stepped across to the bed. A single glance at the bloated face
already turning black--at the glassy eyes staring back at him
fixedly--told him that his surmise had been correct: the arrow had been
dipped in poison. He shuddered as he pushed the remaining arrows, which
he had taken from Tulagi, to the back of the table and poured himself
another drink.
He must act at once. Donaldson and the _Scary-Saray_ would arrive
within a few days. And Donaldson was no fool. Nor was Svensen, his
mate. Both of them knew that there was bad blood between the partners.
And should one of the house boys find the body in the morning it would
cause no end of talk among the niggers. Some of them would be certain
to talk to Donaldson. The big trader might be able to put two and two
together and take his suspicions to the authorities.
Reaching up, he pulled down his revolver and, buckling the belt around
his waist, tiptoed to the door. The rain was falling in torrents,
and the sound of the surf was booming loudly. The sky was split by
lightning, while the thunder rolled and grumbled.
It was a typical island squall; he knew it would last but a short time.
Yet, while it lasted, the blacks would all be under cover, making him
safe from spying eyes if he acted at once.
But fear--fear of he knew not what--caused him to pull down the shades
until not a vestige of light showed at sides or bottom.
Then, nerving himself with another pull at the bottle, he turned down
the lamp until the room was in semi-darkness. Again he stepped to the
door and, holding it open an inch or two, listened.
Satisfied, he returned to the bed and picked up the dead form of Hansen
and threw it across his shoulder with a mighty effort. He extinguished
the lamp with a single puff as he passed the table.
Then, feeling his way carefully with his feet lest he strike against
some piece of furniture in the darkness, he sought the door.
Bending his body against the force of the wind, he gained the steps and
dodged around the corner of the house opposite the blacks’ quarters. At
the edge of the cocoanut grove, he again paused to listen.
Not a sound came from the direction of the black barracks. Presently,
beating against the wind, he see-sawed through the grove for a quarter
of a mile.
Satisfied that he was far enough from the house, he dropped his ghastly
burden to the ground and turned back. The storm would obliterate his
tracks by morning. With the coming of daylight, he would give the
alarm, as if he had just discovered the absence of Hansen.
He had gone over the whole thing in his mind as he struggled along. It
would be easy enough to foist his story upon the simple-minded blacks.
He would tell them that the sick man had gotten up in the night and
wandered away. Fevers are common in the Islands: so, too, is delirium.
And, when the body was found with the arrow in the skull, they would
believe that their master had fallen a victim to some wandering savage.
There were half a dozen runaways--deserters from the plantation--hiding
back in the bush, afraid to go into the hills for fear of the ferocious
hill men and, at the same time, fearful of the punishment certain to
be meted out to them should they return to the plantation. One of them
would be blamed for Hansen’s death. The blacks would vouch for such a
story when he told it to Donaldson and Svensen upon their arrival.
He had covered a small part of the distance back to the house, his
head bent low in thought, when a rustling among the palms at his right
caused him to turn suddenly. As he did so, a spear whizzed past his
head, imbedding itself in the tree beside him.
Whirling, he drew his revolver and pumped the clip of shells in the
direction from which the spear had been thrown. It was too dark to
make for good shooting; and an instant later a flash of lightning
showed him a naked figure dodging behind a tree in the distance. Too
late, he realized that he had left the house without an extra clip of
cartridges. Unarmed, he broke into a run, dodging here and there among
the long avenues of trees until he reached the edge of the grove.
The blacks were already tumbling out of their quarters, chattering
excitedly.
“Ornburi!” he snapped at one of the houseboys. “You tell ’m fella
boys sick marster, him run away. Got devil-devil in head. Me go after
him. Meet bad black fella. Black fella kill him mebbe. You look. You
catch ’m black fella, plenty _kai-kai_ in morning, no work, plenty
tobacco--plenty everything!”
As Ornburi stepped forward, proud of being singled out from among his
fellows, and explained to the late comers what had happened, Kimball
dashed back up the steps and into the house. Returning an instant later
with his rifle and bandolier of cartridges, he found the blacks arming
themselves with their native weapons, squealing and chattering their
glee at the prospect of the man-hunt and the holiday to follow in case
of their success.
In spite of his efforts to maintain some semblance of order, however,
assisted by the elated Ornburi, it was nearly daylight when the
expedition was ready to start. The rain was nearly over, but a glance
showed him that the night’s downpour had completely washed out the
trail he had made. Dodging here and there among the trees, savagely
alert for their hidden enemies, it was almost an hour before the
natives had covered the distance that Kimball, loaded down as he had
been, had covered in twenty minutes.
The body of Hansen lay where he had thrown it.
_But the head had been hacked off!_
_III._
In his own mind, Kimball had no doubt as to the identity of the black
who had hurled the spear at him in the darkness, for a checkup of the
laborers showed Tulagi missing.
Bitter at the trouncing Kimball had administered, the native had
bolted. Hiding in the darkness, nursing his anger, fate had thrown in
his way the man who had whipped him. The same fate had caused him to
miss his mark when he had thrown the spear.
And Tulagi was of a tribe that believed in taking heads for souvenirs.
With the coming of Donaldson and Svensen in the _Scary-Saray_ three
days later, giving him enough white aid to handle the plantation
without fear of an uprising, Kimball renewed the search for the
runaway. Tulagi, at large, would be a constant menace, not only to his
own safety, but to the peace and quiet of the blacks. The runaway was a
man of considerable influence among the others, and there was already
too much dissatisfaction among the laborers to allow any additional
trouble to creep in.
The body of the murdered Hansen had been decently buried close to the
edge of the cocoanut grove under Kimball’s direction.
Donaldson and Svensen never for a moment doubted his story, which
was corroborated by Ornburi and the blacks. Such things are not
uncommon among the Islands. Both volunteered to aid him in running
down the supposed murderer. For the supremacy of the white man must be
maintained for the common good of all.
It was near the end of the second day that they found that for which
they were searching. Beside a skeleton lay a skull, the point of an
arrow driven through the temple. A great ant hill close by told a
grisly story.
That one of Kimball’s bullets had found its mark there was little
doubt. Tulagi, wounded nigh unto death, had, nevertheless stopped long
enough to hack off the ghastly souvenir, then made his way back toward
the hills as best he could.
Exhausted from loss of blood, he had dropped, only to fall a victim to
the ants.
_IV._
As the three white men made their way toward the clearing, the sight of
a schooner anchored close to the _Scary-Saray_ met their gaze. Drawn up
on the beach, close to the house, was a whale boat.
“From the looks of her, that’ll be Captain Grant’s _Dolphin_ from
Malatita,” Donaldson remarked, shading his eyes from the glare of the
sun. “Didn’t know he ever got this far. Wonder if his daughter’s with
him? Ever see her, Kimball? She’s a peach!”
Before Kimball, walking slightly behind the others and carrying the
skull, could make a reply, a man and woman emerged from the house to
meet them. Donaldson turned quickly.
“That’s her!” he exclaimed. “Prettiest girl on the Islands. Hide that
damned skull, Kimball! It’s no sight for a woman of her breeding to
see.”
They were a scant hundred yards apart now, the girl waving her
handkerchief to them.
“It’s a wonder you wouldn’t stay at home to welcome your guests, Karl,”
she called out. “And Fred Hansen--where is he?”
Kimball strode ahead of the others.
“Gladys!” he exclaimed.
“Hide that damned skull, I tell you!” Donaldson growled in an undertone.
They were almost together now. Kimball shoved the skull under his coat.
As he did so, it nearly dropped from his sweaty hands and, in an effort
to hold it, his finger slid into one of the eyeless sockets.
The point of the arrow, protruding through the bone, scratched his
skin. For the moment he forgot it in the happiness of meeting the woman
he loved.
“Dad wanted to make a trading trip out this way, and brought me along
for company,” she was saying, as he stepped forward to grasp her
outstretched hand. “Say that you’re surprised to see me.”
Before she could reach him, his legs doubled under him and he fell
forward. The skull, dropping from beneath his coat, rolled and bounded
half a dozen yards away, bringing up at the foot of a little hummock.
They leaped forward to catch him as he fell. But too late. With a
mighty effort he raised himself to his knees.
“Hansen!” he screamed. “I killed him! He swore that he’d get even, and
he has! _The--damned--thing--was poisoned!_”
He pitched forward onto his face.
At the foot of the hummock, the skull grinned sardonically.
[Illustration]
_A Novelette of Weird Happenings--_
_The_
Ape-Man
_By_ J. B. M. CLARKE, JR.
“Let’s go and call on him now then,” said Norton in his impulsive way,
rising and crossing to the window.
The fine rain, which had been swishing intermittently against the panes
with each gust of wind, had ceased for some time, and as Norton lifted
the blind and peered forth he got the first glimpse of a wan moon
struggling through an uneven copper-edged break in the swift-moving
clouds.
“I was to have gone over there this evening,” he said, “but ’phoned the
engagement off on account of the storm. However, it’s not too late....”
It did not take much persuasion to induce Meldrum to consent, for,
although a year or two Norton’s senior and inclined in consequence to
give him paternal advice now and again, he generally indulged his whims.
“You can’t break a teacher of the lecturing habit,” was the way Norton
expressed it.
He himself was an architect, and both were single men, although Norton
was striving hard to build up a connection that would enable him
to marry one of the prettiest girls in town, with whom he was then
“keeping company.” Meldrum locked the door of his apartment behind him,
and the pair sallied forth into the fresh damp air of a night in early
spring.
“After all you have told me, I am rather curious to see your South
African friend again,” said Meldrum, setting his pace with his
friend’s. “While no doubt an interest in animals is wholesome enough,
his particular taste seems to run unpleasantly to apes and monkeys.
Some of those experiments of his, of which you spoke, seem rather
purposeless--making baboons drunk for instance....”
“If you could have seen him when he was telling me about that baboon
business you would have taken a dislike to him too,” said Norton,
making a gesture of displeasure with his hand. “Although I will admit
I had an aversion toward him from the first--I didn’t quite know why.
He had a trick of laying his hot heavy hand on my shoulder that used
to irritate me dreadfully when we were in the Inspection Department in
Washington.”
“What was he doing there?” asked Meldrum.
“He had been inspecting aeroplane spruce in British Columbia,” replied
Norton, “and he had a desk in our office. I was there for about three
months after being invalided home, before I was sent to New York.”
After a few moments’ silence, Norton added:
“He is more than queer. He is a throw-back.”
“A what?” said Meldrum, puzzled.
“A throw-back--an atavistic specimen,” said Norton firmly. “A mixture
of old and new, and a bad one at that.”
“That’s a pretty nasty accusation, Harry,” said Meldrum.
“You may think so,” said Norton obstinately, “but I tell you I’m not
simply guessing. Apart from his peculiar build, with his monstrous
length of arm and leg, short body, and small head, and his perpetual
and unnatural theories and experiments with apes and things, there is
still further evidence that I saw with my own eyes when we went to New
York together one weekend and visited the zoo. It was not my fancy,
I can assure you, Meldrum, that made me imagine the very brutes were
interested in my companion. I tell you, there was scarcely one of those
creatures that did not show excitement of some kind, some of rage,
others of fear, but generally of anger.
“One big chimpanzee went simply wild for a time--so much so that an
attendant came along to see what the trouble was. It capered furiously,
thundered at the bars of its cage, and then executed a hideous kind
of cluttering dance, beating its hands and feet on the floor with
extraordinary rapidity. Yet all Needham had done was to make a peculiar
kind of clucking noise in his throat and smile his sinister smile. I’ll
bet the brutes recognized him as one of their kind. Some of them looked
as if they expected him to open the cage doors....”
“What is he doing here in Burlington now?” asked Meldrum.
“Something in connection with lumber, I believe,” said Norton, as they
entered North Avenue and turned in the direction of the park. “He has
rented a small house out here on this street and lives there alone. He
seems to prefer being alone always.”
They walked on for some little distance, and then Norton said, “This is
the place,” and indicated a small two-story residence standing alone in
a neat garden some twenty yards from the thoroughfare.
It was quite dark save for one lighted window upstairs. The pair went
up the path to the front door and Norton, after a little fumbling,
found and pressed an electric button, without, however, producing any
effect as far as could be observed.
“The bell doesn’t seem to ring,” said Norton, pressing again and again.
“Perhaps it’s out of order.”
He knocked at the door and listened. Everything was quiet inside. Heavy
drops of water splashed down from the roof, intensifying the silence.
A trolley-car hummed on the street, throwing a brilliant light on the
trees and shrubs of the garden, and then leaving them darker than ever.
Again Norton knocked loudly, but without result.
“That’s not his bedroom, I know,” he said, nodding up at the lighted
room, “for he told me he hated the noise of the cars passing under his
window. He must have fallen asleep over a book or something. I might
throw a stone at the window.”
“No I wouldn’t do that,” said Meldrum, walking back a few paces and
staring up. “Perhaps we had better just go away. I can meet him again.”
“But I would like you to see him, now that you’ve come,” said Norton.
“Wait a minute.”
He tried the door and found it unlocked. Entering the hall, he called:
“Needham, Ho, Needham!”
Again they listened, and again nothing happened. As he groped in the
darkness, Norton’s hand encountered the electric switch and he turned
on the light. A narrow stairway was revealed, leading overhead.
“Just wait a minute,” he said to Meldrum, “and I’ll run upstairs. I’m
sure he’s there.”
He disappeared swiftly, and, after an interval of a few moments, came
quietly down again.
“Come up,” he said, beckoning to his friend. “He is sound asleep in his
chair. Come and look.”
_II._
Together they crept up. The room door was ajar, and they noiselessly
entered what was evidently a sitting-room. Needham sat in a large
armchair, with his back to the window, sleeping quietly. A reading lamp
on the table was the sole source of illumination, and, since it was
fitted with a heavy red shade, the upper portion of the chamber was in
comparative darkness.
The full light of the lamp, however, fell upon the form of the sleeping
man, who had sunk low in his chair and was indeed in an extraordinary
attitude. His book had fallen to the floor, and his long arms hung over
the sides of the chair, the hands resting palm upwards on the rug. His
huge thighs sloped upward from the depths of the chair to the point
made by his knees, and his long shins disappeared below the table.
Norton glanced at Meldrum, who was looking at the sleeper curiously.
“Ho, Needham!” said Norton, loudly. “Wake up!”
The slumberer was roused at last, but in a startling manner. With a
lightning movement, he sat bolt upright and clutched the arms of the
chair, his features working convulsively, while a stream of horrible
gibberish, delivered in a high piercing tone, burst from his lips.
Norton went as pale as death, while Meldrum remained rooted to the spot
where he stood.
Then, recovering himself, Norton ran forward and, seizing Needham by
the arm, shook him violently, exclaiming:
“It’s all right, Needham! It’s only Norton come to see you.”
The man in the chair regained his composure as quickly as he had lost
it, and, as if unaware that anything unusual had happened, got to his
feet and said:
“Hullo, Norton, old chap! Take a seat. I must have fallen asleep and
had some beastly dream or something. Sit down.”
He crossed to the wall near the fireplace and switched on some lights
that illuminated the whole room. Then, seeing Meldrum for the first
time, he advanced toward him and shook hands.
“It’s not quite the right thing to steal into a man’s house in this
way, I know,” said Meldrum. “I am sorry if we startled you. We rang and
raised a rumpus down below, but without effect. I was taking a walk
with Norton after the storm, and it occurred to him to come up and see
you and apologize for his absence this evening. So we came together.”
“It’s quite all right,” said Needham, in his peculiar nasal tones. “I
am glad you came. I sleep pretty heavily and had a beastly dream just
when you came in. I was back in Africa.”
He was moving about as he spoke, placing a box of cigars, a bottle
of whisky, some glasses and a siphon of soda-water on the table,
and Meldrum observed him carefully. His peculiar build was not so
noticeable when he was on his feet, the design of his loose tweed suit
seeming to make him appear better proportioned. At times he looked
almost handsome, but at other times, with a different perspective, the
extraordinary length of his arms and legs was very apparent, while
still another view made him appear almost grotesque, the singular shape
of his small head, with its closely-cropped black hair, offending the
sense of just proportions. His eyes were brown with muddy whites,
and the sinister effect of his high cackling laugh (which was very
frequent), accompanied as it was by a downward movement of his large
hooked nose and an upward twist of his little black mustache, was not
lost upon the observant teacher.
The room itself was dirty and untidy in the extreme. Stale tobacco
fumes filled the air, and articles of wearing apparel were scattered
around. Some unwashed dishes stood on a small table near the fireplace,
and remnants of food lay on the floor. Books, papers and magazines were
flung about in disorder and Needham’s huge muddy boots lay where he had
thrown them, below the chair on which Norton sat.
“What were you doing back in Africa?” asked Meldrum pleasantly, helping
himself to a cigar.
“Back amongst those beastly baboons,” said Needham, with his unpleasant
laugh, at the same time proceeding to fill the glasses. “You know, I
once ran into a bunch of them when I was out alone on a hunting trip,
and I saw a curious sight. There was a big fight on among them--there
would be about twenty of them, I should think. I saw the whole
business, and it was some fight, I can tell you. Rocks and chunks of
wood were flying in all directions, and they were clubbing one another
in great shape. As far as I could judge, they were roughly divided into
two lots, but it was pretty much of a mix-up.
“But there was one old gray fellow that took my fancy rather. He seemed
to be the chief egger-on. Whenever things looked like calming down a
bit, he stirred them up again by means of a number of curious calls.
I could not quite make out what part he was playing, or what side he
favored, for he seemed to keep pretty well outside of the fight, only
concerning himself with those that went down. He finished them up in
the most methodical manner as they lay. And if two were attacking one
he would throw himself in on the side of the two to help finish the
odd fellow--and then he seemed to set the remaining two fighting one
another. I think he gave false signals at times. At any rate, he was
the freshest of the three or four survivors when it was all over. And
then they sat down and had a kind of powwow.”
Norton glanced again at Meldrum, who smiled at him slightly, then said
to Needham:
“Really? How very extraordinary that you should witness all this. Did
they not attempt to molest you?”
“No,” said Needham, with his evil smile. “They didn’t attempt to
interfere with us--didn’t seem to mind me at all, which is rather
unusual for them, for they are shy of humans as a rule. I stood on
a big boulder and watched the whole business. The old chap had his
eye on me, but either he understood firearms (I had my rifle and
revolver, of course), or else I was lucky when I imitated some of his
peculiar noises. He seemed quite scared when I came away with one of
his favorite calls, and when they finally cleared out, after covering
up the dead with branches and leaves, he gave me a most significant
look--seeming to beg that I would not give him away.
“At least that’s how it appeared to me. And, strangely enough, I was
instrumental in capturing the very same animal later on, together with
some others, during a hunt. I lured them to a certain spot by that very
noise.”
He had thrown himself down in his easy chair again, and as he laughed
afresh his crooked yellow teeth uncovered, and his little eyes
glittered unpleasantly. Meldrum was filled with a strong sense of
repulsion.
“What was that particular noise like?” Norton struck in for the first
time.
Needham put down his glass and, laying his head back slightly, made a
peculiar kind of clucking gurgle in his throat. In an instant, from
the corner behind Norton’s chair, came a shrill chatter of terror,
and a little red figure hurried across the floor and dived below the
table. Norton almost dropped his glass, and Meldrum gave a startled
exclamation. Needham alone was calm.
“Ah Fifi, you rascal!” he said. “Did I scare you again? That’s too bad.
Come here.”
A small long-tailed monkey, clad in a little red jacket, came slowly
from below the table and advanced timidly toward Needham, who spoke
coaxingly to it, and finally made a kind of rippling noise with his
tongue that seemed to reassure it, for it jumped on the arm of his
chair and sat quietly blinking at the visitors. Needham tickled its
head with his large forefinger.
“I bought Fifi from an Italian,” he said, noting his guests’ look of
astonishment. “She is good company--catches flies, switches the lights
on and off, and does other useful things--eh, Fifi?”
The little animal looked up at him intelligently, and with a sudden
movement Needham wound his great fingers about its throat. With a
plaintive cry, the little creature made futile efforts to tear away the
strong hand about its neck, plucking frantically with its small paws.
“Don’t!” said Norton in a sharp voice. “I can’t bear to see animals
tormented.”
“I’m not hurting her,” said Needham, removing his hand. “She’s a
nervous little thing and must be taught not to be so frightened. I
think the Italian must have ill-used her. But she is clever, for all
that,” continued Needham, laughing. “She is learning to play the piano.”
Lifting the little monkey, he crossed the room with long strides to the
corner, where a small cottage piano stood, and seated himself on the
stool. “Now play, Fifi,” he said.
The intelligent creature leant forward and commenced striking sharply
here and there among the notes, producing a curious kind of tinkling
resemblance to certain bars from “Old Black Joe”. Meldrum was conscious
of a strange prickling sensation--he did not quite know why.
After a few moments, Needham rose again and, putting the monkey in a
box in the corner of the room, returned again to his chair.
_III._
It was late before the friends took their departure, Needham holding
their interest with stories of his adventures in different parts of the
world. Indeed, it was only when Meldrum became aware, by the restless
movements of his friend, that Norton was not enjoying himself that he
recollected the lateness of the hour and suggested it was time they
took their leave.
“You fellows mustn’t be too critical of my quarters, you know,” said
Needham, laughing, as they descended the stairs together. “I confess I
am not a tidy person. I have led the rough bachelor life too long. But
you fellows should understand something about that.”
He accompanied them to the sidewalk, and after some desultory remarks
about the weather, the visitors set off toward Norton’s home. The moon
was shining brightly and after the heavy rain and wind the air smelt
fresh and moist. Meldrum inhaled it with evident pleasure.
“Now that I have seen your friend at close quarters,” he said, “I must
confess that I do not feel so strongly inclined in his favor. The state
of that room was disgraceful even for a bachelor, and there is no
excuse for anyone at all shutting out the fresh air. But, although his
tastes seem to run unpleasantly to monkeys, I hardly think he deserves
the appellation you bestowed on him.”
“Perhaps not,” said Norton, who seemed in better spirits, now that he
was in the free fresh air again. “As far as the atmosphere of his house
is concerned, he once explained that to me by saying that since he had
been in Africa he had to keep the temperature up. I think he said he
had rheumatism. But I don’t like him.”
There was silence for several minutes, and then he burst out:
“And of course he pays attention to Elsie.”
“Ah!” said Meldrum significantly. “Perhaps a lover’s jealousy has
something to do with the case.”
“We met him one day on Church Street,” said Norton, “and of course I
had to introduce him. He made himself very agreeable, and yet it seemed
to my fancy that he was not so much taken up with the girl as anxious
to do me an ill turn. Other fellows pay attention to her, too, of
course, but that’s because they admire her. It was not so in his case,
I am convinced. After we left him Elsie said: ‘What a fine-looking
man!’ And then she added: ‘No he isn’t--he’s a horror!’”
“Well,” said Meldrum heartily, “apparently you do not need to fear her
falling in love with him, however it may be in his case. I really am
afraid it’s a case of ‘I do not like thee, Dr. Fell.’” Meldrum laughed.
“But I hardly think,” he wound up, “you have any solid grounds for
quarreling with him. The world is wide enough to hold both of you.”
Often in the days that followed, Meldrum, moved by a curiosity he
could not quite account for, took his evening walk out on North Avenue
past Needham’s house. Of Needham himself he saw nothing. Once he heard
the weird tinkling of the piano, but generally the form of the little
monkey in its red jacket could be seen sitting motionless at the upper
front window looking out on the street. It struck Meldrum as strange
that the creatures should sit so quietly. In the course of his progress
past the house he did not observe it stir or alter its position. Its
gaze seemed fixed on that point of the road where Meldrum fancied its
master would first come into sight on his way home from town.
“Never knew they were such devoted things,” Meldrum ruminated. “What
a queer kind of a pet to keep! And what a queer life to live, anyway,
alone in that house. He doesn’t even get anyone to clean it up
apparently. Some strange people in this old world!”
With this philosophical reflection, Meldrum passed on in the direction
of the park.
Term examinations kept Meldrum busily occupied during the days that
followed, and the friends did not have occasion to see one another for
nearly two weeks. Then, when they did meet, it was again through the
instrumentality of Needham, after the evening of the party at the Miner
home. The Miners were neighbors of Norton’s sweetheart and lived out
some distance beyond Ethan Allen Park.
Thus it came about that after seeing his young lady to her home Norton
found himself, some time after midnight, at a point perhaps a couple
of miles from his rooms and with the area of the Park lying almost
directly between himself and his objective. He determined to cut across
it, a thing he did quite frequently.
The night was cool and cloudy, with fitful bursts of moonlight which
tended rather to accentuate the blackness of the intervening spells of
darkness. Had Norton not been thoroughly familiar with the topography
of the land he might have had some difficulty in keeping his direction.
But he kept going forward confidently, noting certain well-known
landmarks. He skirted the base of the hill on which the tower is
situated, and was just on the point of plunging into a thick grove of
trees, leading down toward the main gateway, when he chanced to look
behind. And there he saw rather a disquieting sight.
The moon had just struggled through again and its pale light revealed
to the apprehensive Norton the gigantic form of Needham perched on the
top of a large boulder in a crouching position as if about to spring
down. It might have been perhaps fifty yards from the spot where Norton
stood. Even as he gazed Needham leapt down (from a height of some ten
feet) and disappeared. Norton stood waiting, but there was no further
sound. He walked on again, wondering uneasily what Needham might be
doing in the park at such an hour--unless perhaps he, too, was taking a
short cut. But Norton felt uneasy nevertheless.
Entering the grove he pushed forward briskly. It was very dark now, the
moon being hidden once more, and the gloom and whispering of the trees
made his flesh creep. Several times he looked behind him, but could see
nothing. Then a crackling of branches, this time much nearer, brought
him to a dead halt, and, facing about, he called loudly:
“Hello, Needham! Is that you?”
There was no response, and Norton stood with straining ears and eyes,
his heart thumping in alarm. And even as he stood the horrible thing
happened.
He was almost directly under a huge gnarled oak tree, and as he laid a
hand on the trunk for a moment to steady himself he happened to glance
up, and the hair bristled on his scalp to find a pair of luminous
yellow eyes gazing down upon him.
Ere he could recover, a form seemed to detach itself from the shadows
and a pair of great hands reached down and clutched at his throat,
while a chuckling voice said:
“Aha! You would give me away, would you!”
_IV._
In his terror, Norton did what was possibly the best thing in the
circumstances--fell to the ground. For this action seemed to upset the
equilibrium of the figure in the tree (which seemed to be suspended
by the lower limbs) and caused it to relax its hold and draw up its
arms for an instant. And in that instant Norton had recovered and was
off, running as he had never run before, slipping, dashing, plunging,
colliding, but never stopping and never looking back.
How he ever found his way out to the street was always a mystery to
him, but he became aware, presently, that he was on North Avenue once
more, and in the light of the first arc lamp he slowed down and finally
stopped to recover. There was no sign of Needham, although Norton had
heard him crashing along in pursuit.
Everything was still, and not a soul was in sight. Fear overcoming him
again, Norton hurried on and did not stop until he was safe in his
room and had locked the door. But he enjoyed little sleep during the
remainder of that night.
Next evening Norton hastened to Meldrum’s apartment and poured the
whole story into his friend’s sympathetic ear.
“You see,” he said excitedly, “I was right about him, after all. He is
a throw-back--he came at me from the trees. His instincts drove him
there. Talking, too, about my giving him away! He knows I know what he
is....”
“He possibly played a practical joke on you,” said Meldrum cheerily.
“He tried to give you a fright and succeeded. You called him, and he
came--although not quite in the manner you expected, eh?”
“Well I am not such a nervous person as all that, either,” said Norton.
“I admit, however, that in sober daylight it does not look quite so
bad. It did not seem like a joke at the time, though. I am convinced he
meant me harm.”
“I do not think you are justified in that belief, Harry,” said Meldrum
decisively. “The man is trying to be friendly to you and you keep
rebuffing him. And as for ‘giving him away’ that’s nonsense, and you
know it. What have you to give away? Simply that you don’t like him
and have strange ideas about him? That won’t hold water, you know. You
had better forget your fancies and come along with me and see this new
circus that has just struck the town. I notice by the placards they
have some baboons and I am rather curious about the creatures since
hearing Needham’s stories. Come along! You need something to take you
out of yourself. And if I were you I would not mention that business
the next time you see Needham, unless he broaches the subject....”
Tasker’s, “The Greatest Show on Earth,” had pitched its camp some
distance from the town over toward Winooski, and after a brisk walk
the friends found themselves in the enclosure in which the curious
were beginning to gather. There were the usual games of hazard,
cocoanut shies, roundabouts, candy stalls, and side shows of all kinds
clustered round the main tents where the grand performance was held
later in the evening. Presently they discovered the whereabouts of the
baboons, which did not, when viewed, present quite the appearance of
the monstrous creatures portrayed in vivid colors on the outside of the
tents.
Meldrum and Norton stood observing the animals in silence for some
moments when Norton, happening to glance in the direction of the
tent opening, saw the tall form of Needham in the act of paying his
admission fee. Norton’s heart beat faster with the recollection of his
experience on the previous evening, but Needham smiled and waved a
greeting, as if nothing unusual had happened. Norton turned again to
the cage--to discover that there were others interested in the arrival
of the newcomer.
There were three baboons in all, two apparently not yet full grown, and
an old fellow of hoary aspect, who sat by himself for the most part
near the front of the cage, watching the passers-by. He was treated
with great respect by the two younger ones and was evidently still
strong enough to be reckoned with. The old baboon had risen to its feet
and was gazing intently at the approaching figure.
For some moments it stood thus, then, seizing the bars of the cage in
its hands, it rattled the framework with tremendous force, at the same
time giving vent to a peculiar sound. At its cry, the other two ran
forward and the extraordinary spectacle was seen of all three creatures
staring fixedly at Needham as he made his way toward them.
There were not many people in the tent--the hour being early--but the
few who were there turned toward the spot. Needham laughed and shook
hands with Meldrum, at the same time waving one of his hands playfully
in the direction of the old baboon. Like lightning, a long hairy arm
shot forth toward him, but the distance was too great for the creature.
Again it thundered on the bars.
“Hey Kruger, what’s the matter now?” shouted an attendant, approaching.
“Quit that! Do you want to bring the house down?”
He struck with a pole at the hands of the animal on the bars, making it
shift them from place to place. But it was not to be driven back, and
it still continued to stare at Needham.
The attendant drew away, saying in a sulky tone: “Don’t meddle with the
animals, please.”
“It’s all right, old chap,” said Needham pleasantly. “He wanted to
shake hands with me, but I declined with thanks.”
“Don’t do nothin’ to annoy him, please,” said the man in surly tones,
preparing to depart. “God knows what might happen if he got loose. He
did once, and we had a hell of a time. He nearly killed a man.”
“Ah, _did_ he?” said Needham, with interest. “He’s pretty strong, I
take it?”
“You can bet your sweet life he is!” the man called back over his
shoulder. “We take no chances with him.”
“By Jove!” said Needham, gazing at the baboon. “He’s mighty like the
old fellow in the fight I told you about, now that I look at him
closely.”
The three walked away from the spot at Meldrum’s suggestion, but,
looking back every now and then, the teacher noted, with some
uneasiness, that the creature still retained its position and still
followed Needham’s figure with attentive eyes. There were a few other
cages in the tent containing smaller monkeys and other animals and,
having strolled past these, they soon found themselves once more
opposite the baboons.
The place was now clearer than before, and Needham, glancing around
to see that he was not observed, made a swift cross-wise motion with
his hand and emitted the peculiar noise that Meldrum had heard him
make on the night of their visit. Its effect was electrical. The two
younger baboons, who had seat themselves near their older companion,
ran at once to the back of the cage, where they cowered, whimpering and
exhibiting every indication of alarm.
But the old baboon acted differently. The tension, which had up to this
point kept its figure severely rigid, now relaxed. It squatted down
on the floor of the cage and commenced nodding its head briskly up
and down, its features distorted by what, to Meldrum’s fancy, looked
extraordinarily like a grin. Needham smiled, too, and, glancing from
one to the other, Meldrum felt his flesh creep slightly.
“Let us go,” he said hastily. “We have seen enough of these brutes.”
Needham acquiesced, and they made their way to the exit.
_V._
“Beastly clever things, though,” said Needham, as they passed out into
the clear night air. “And strong as the very devil. I think myself
there is something in the old idea of the African natives that apes
pretend not to understand speech for fear they should be made to work.”
He laughed his unpleasant laugh, and again Meldrum felt squeamish.
“You seem to have given them some study,” said Meldrum, as they made
their way toward the main tent.
“I have seen a good deal of them one way and another,” said Needham
carelessly, “and read a little, too. A curious thing I discovered
was that when under the influence of liquor (and it’s some sight to
see, believe me!) they are peculiarly receptive to autosuggestion. I
believe a fortune could be made by putting them through tricks in this
way--if the authorities allowed it. As for thieving, they would ‘steal
the milk out of your tea’ as the old song says.”
In the excitement of the extensive and elaborate circus performance
provided by Tasker’s Needham and Meldrum soon forgot about the baboons,
and it was late in the evening when the three made their way back to
Burlington. Emerging from Church Street, Norton and Meldrum turned up
toward the University, while Needham strode off in the direction of the
lake.
“Better lay aside your prejudice and think the best of the man,” said
Meldrum to Norton as they parted. “He is a mighty interesting fellow,
and has a fund of knowledge that is remarkable.”
Two days later found all Burlington in a state of excitement. Through
a piece of carelessness the door of the baboon’s cage had been left
unlocked and the old gray baboon had made a successful dash for liberty
and got clear away. It happened in the evening, and the fading light
hampered pursuit. When last seen, the brute was heading away from
Winooski toward the lake shore.
Search was kept up throughout the night without result, and then, next
day, word came that the creature had been seen in a tree near the
entrance to Ethan Allen Park. As soon as possible the entire park was
surrounded, and a contracting circle of hunters and curious people
scoured the woods and shrubbery, but apparently the animal had moved on
again to fresh quarters.
Word was sent all over the surrounding countryside, and no effort was
spared to locate the missing animal, but several days passed without
result. Numerous stories got into circulation regarding supposed
escapades on the part of the missing baboon, and there were no end
of rumors as to its being seen--at one time on the railway near the
freight yard, at another waving from the tower in the park; and, again,
far along the lake shore. Nervous persons kept to busy thoroughfares
after dark. But the actual whereabouts of the creature remained a
mystery.
Fresh stories went around of stealthy prowlings round houses and
mysterious rattling of doors in the small hours of the morning.
Chancing to see some of this in one of the evening papers, Meldrum’s
attention was again drawn to the subject, and there returned to his
mind his encounter with Needham at the circus. Obeying a sudden
impulse, he set off in the direction of Needham’s dwelling in North
Avenue. He had not been near it for some time, but he found himself
possessed of a curious desire to see whether the little monkey still
sat looking out of the front window.
Walking sharply, Meldrum soon came in view of the quaint wooden house
with its trees and grass plots. The sun had not yet set, and in the
clear evening light Meldrum could see the small crouching figure
sitting in its accustomed place. He stopped, as he reached the house,
and stood watching a moment, and then, suddenly became petrified with
astonishment.
For there came all at once into view, over and beyond the head of the
small monkey, the great gray face of the old baboon with its long lips
curled back and its doglike tusks displayed!
It gazed forth for an instant, seeming to hold back with one hand the
lace curtain that overhung the window, and then disappeared as suddenly
as it had come. Meldrum rubbed his eyes, then continued staring
stupidly. The little monkey made no sign.
Thinking that perhaps the baboon had found its way into the house
through an open window during Needham’s absence, Meldrum felt that
he ought to warn the South African, without delay, of his unpleasant
visitor. He went up the path to the house and rang the bell. He thought
that at the sound he detected a far off scampering, but no one came in
answer to his summons. He tried the door and found it locked.
In some perplexity, Meldrum came down the garden path to the sidewalk,
wondering exactly what course to pursue. He looked again at the window.
The little monkey still sat gazing intently at the street. Of the
baboon there was no sign.
“It may have been imagination,” mused Meldrum. “But it looked
uncommonly real.”
He had turned his steps back in the direction of the town, and was
meditating whether or not to communicate his fears to the authorities,
when to his relief he saw the tall figure of Needham striding toward
him. They stopped to greet one another, and Meldrum hastened to tell
the other what he had seen.
“Oh, nonsense!” said Needham, his moustache twitching. “They don’t come
around houses like that--not in the day time, anyway. The place was all
right at midday and has been locked up tight ever since. No; you must
have imagined it.”
He laughed lightly, and in a subconscious kind of way Meldrum seemed
to get the impression that the tall man was more anxious to laugh
the story off than to continue to discuss it. However, he offered to
accompany Needham home and help search the house.
“Just wait there for a moment if you don’t mind,” said Needham (again
with nervous haste, it seemed to Meldrum) “and I’ll walk around and
have a look at the windows. If they are all right I’ll give you a wave.”
He hastened off, and after a short interval again made his appearance
at the front of the house and waved his hand. Meldrum waved back.
“Everything O. K.?” he asked.
“Quite O. K.,” called Needham. “So long, old man. See you later.”
Somewhat puzzled, Meldrum set off in the direction of the town.
On the evening of the next day the telephone in Meldrum’s sitting room
tinkled briskly and Norton’s voice came over the line.
“Needham has just ’phoned down,” he said, “and has asked me to go round
to his place tonight to get some old African stamps he has hunted out
for me. I once asked him if he had any and he promised to get me some.
I wish now that I hadn’t asked him.”
He laughed rather nervously, and then added:
“I wish I’d just said ‘no,’ for I don’t much want to go. However I
promised to look in for a few minutes. Would you care to come along if
I come round for you?”
“Too busy with examination papers just at the moment,” said Meldrum,
“and it would bring you out of your way to come over here. It’s after
eight o’clock now. I might be free about ten and pick you up when I
take my usual stroll. How would that do?”
Norton said, “All right,” and Meldrum hung up the receiver.
As he did so, a strange sense of foreboding came upon him and the
vision of the baboon rushed back to his mind. He shook himself in
annoyance and resumed his work.
But he could not regain his ease of mind, and after spending nearly an
hour in a vain attempt to concentrate on some problems in algebra he
closed up his books impatiently and sought his hat and coat.
He stood irresolutely in the hallway for some moments, and then, with a
laugh, opened a drawer and drew forth a revolver, which he slipped into
his overcoat pocket, after seeing that all its chambers were filled.
He laughed again as he descended to the street, but drew some comfort,
nevertheless, from the touch of the cold steel upon his hand.
_VI._
The night was dark, but the air was clear and invigorating. Meldrum
walked smartly in a direction away from Needham’s residence, since
he was earlier than usual and had but plenty of time to meet Norton.
Finding that he could not free his mind from an unaccountable anxiety,
he swung round presently and made his way to North Avenue.
It did not take him long to reach the house, and as he drew near he
observed, with a slight feeling of surprise, that one of the downstairs
rooms was illuminated--a room he had never yet seen lighted. It lay
toward the rear of the house, its windows facing a broad gallery.
Obeying a sudden impulse, Meldrum, instead of going to the front door,
walked quietly along the gallery and peeped through a corner of the
blind into the room. What he saw there made his blood run cold.
The room was about fifteen feet square, with blue paper on the walls
and plain oak furniture. A square table stood in the center at which
several figures were seated. Needham sat with his back to the window,
and in the chair on his left sat Norton, a pile of postage stamps on
the table before him, and over opposite Needham, directly facing the
window, sat, or rather sprawled, the figure of the gray baboon!
On the table was a decanter of whisky, and all three had tumblers.
Norton’s glass was half empty, standing beside the postage stamps,
but Needham and the creature were both drinking, the animal seemingly
following the movements of the man, lifting the tumbler to its lips and
setting it down again as Needham did, as far as Meldrum could judge by
the movements of his right arm, which was visible. The brute’s eyes
were fixed upon the man across the table, and from its appearance and
the limpness of its figure Meldrum decided it was in an advanced state
of intoxication.
Norton seemed to be spellbound, staring fixedly at the scene before
him. Occasionally he passed his hand in a bewildered way over his
forehead, or looked stupidly at the half empty tumbler before him. But
he seemed incapable of either speech or action.
In horror and indignation, Meldrum continued to gaze. As fast as
the baboon’s whisky was gulped down Needham filled its glass again.
From the fact that he did not fill his own very frequently, Meldrum
concluded that he did not drink every time he pretended to do
so--apparently deceiving the befuddled creature.
Like a flash, Meldrum remembered Needham’s remark about the intoxicated
baboon and autosuggestion. And with a fast beating heart he gripped his
revolver and waited.
From being limp and sluggish, the ape now began to show signs
of animation. It sat more erect, its eyes began to glitter, and
occasionally it turned its head and gazed at Norton who still sat in
apparent stupefaction. Every time it did this it seemed to grin at
Needham with frightful suggestiveness, nodding its head as it had done
when in the cage at the menagerie.
Fearing he knew not what mischief, Meldrum went quietly and hurriedly
to the front door, opened it with extreme caution, and managed to make
his way undetected to the door of the room in which the trio sat.
Through the half open doorway, he could now get a view of Needham’s
face, and its diabolical contortions were dreadful to behold. It was
apparent that he was working the animal up to something, but what that
something was the creature apparently did not quite seem to grasp.
Presently Needham made the strange clucking noise in his throat, at the
same time stretching out his arms toward Norton. That gave the brute
its clue. It rose unsteadily to its feet, and turning its evil eyes
toward the recumbent figure of Norton, seemed about to spring at his
throat.
With a crash, Meldrum kicked open the door and entered the room,
covering Needham with his revolver. The baboon, its attention
distracted by the noise of Meldrum’s entry and apparently finding
Needham’s influence withdrawn, now appeared to feel the full effect
of the whisky fumes once more, and sank back into the armchair more
fuddled than ever. Norton had by this time fallen back in his seat, his
head tilted toward the ceiling. Needham, however, has his wits about
him, and his ghastly yellow face, convulsed with fury, attempted to
force a sickly smile.
“Needham,” said Meldrum sternly, “I don’t know what abominable deviltry
you are up to, but it must stop here and now. If you can right things
here go ahead. If not, I shoot--either you or the brute, I am not
particular which.”
Although outwardly calm, Meldrum’s heart was beating furiously and he
was hunting desperately in his mind for the proper way to handle the
situation. It was not clear to him as yet.
“Why, Meldrum!” said Needham in a thick voice, cunningly feigning
drunkenness, although he was perfectly sober. “What’s all this?
Revolvers? We are all friends. Norton had a drop too much--old man
baboon dropped in and joined the party--I was going to get him to do
some tricks....”
“That’s quite enough,” said Meldrum sharply. “You are no more drunk
than I am. Open that window and let Norton have some air. Loosen his
collar--”
A sudden chattering caused him to pause and drew his attention for a
moment to the mantel over the fireplace, on to which the little monkey
had suddenly jumped from some nearby corner.
“Ha, Fifi!” said Needham quickly. “Lights!” The switch was within easy
reach of the creature’s hand, and in an instant the room was plunged in
darkness.
The hallway being also without illumination, the blackness was
profound. Utterly unable to tell what might happen, and fearing the
baboon to be the principal danger point, Meldrum came to a swift
decision and fired in the direction of the creature’s chair. A
frightful scream broke the silence followed by a wild gibbering,
punctuated at times by what appeared to be Needham’s voice shouting
commands.
Then there came a loud crash of glass, as the table was overturned,
followed by snarling, cursing and pandemonium. Stumbling blindly in the
darkness, Meldrum endeavored, without success, to locate the switch in
the hallway, but finally a faint glimmer showed him the outline of the
front door, and he dashed forth into the street.
Several people had collected on hearing the shot, and aid was quickly
forthcoming. Together with several neighbors and others, Meldrum again
entered the house, and the light in the hall was turned on. The door
of the occupied room had been swung shut and the dreadful snarling din
still continued.
“The baboon must have broken in and attacked my friends,” was Meldrum’s
hurried explanation, as they forced open the room door and finally got
the lights turned on.
A hideous litter of broken furniture, pieces of glass, liquor, and
bloodstains were everywhere revealed. Needham and the baboon, locked
in a death grapple, were rolling among the ruins. By a curious chance,
Norton’s chair had been left standing, and he still sat there, limp and
motionless, unaffected by all the noise.
With difficulty, the baboon was overpowered and secured. It was still
bleeding copiously from the bullet wound in its shoulder, but it
gnashed and tore at its captors with undiminished fury. Needham was
bleeding from many wounds and presented a dreadful spectacle, much of
his clothing being torn to shreds. In addition to receiving many cuts,
he had been badly mauled by the infuriated animal, whose wrath, by some
strange combination of circumstances, had been turned against himself.
He sat breathing heavily, too exhausted to talk to those around him.
The removal of the animal drew off most of the curious and some sort of
order was restored. Realizing that Norton had apparently been drugged,
but not wishing just then to say anything of what he had seen, Meldrum
made the plea that his friend had evidently been overcome as a result
of the terrible scene he had just witnessed, and, procuring a cab,
took him first to his own chambers and then to his home, where he was
prostrated for some weeks as the result of the shock.
Needham disappeared almost immediately, and Norton’s relatives did not
deem it expedient to search for him. He was never heard of again in
that city, and later it transpired that he had returned to Africa.
The baboon lived for some years after its strange adventure, but on
dying it made no confession. And such mysteries as to how long it had
been the guest of the South African, whether or not it was the same
creature that he had once betrayed into captivity, to what extent the
two understood one another, and whether or not it was incited to murder
on that dreadful evening, were never solved.
And, indeed, nobody had any great desire that they should be.