OF THE VISITOR WHO RAN DOWN THE ROAD IN THE NIGHT-TIME
It was a quarter past ten o'clock by the parlour timepiece when my
father went off to his room, and left Esther and myself together. We
heard his slow steps dying away up the creaking staircase, until the
distant slamming of a door announced that he had reached his sanctum.
The simple oil lamp upon the table threw a weird, uncertain light over
the old room, flickering upon the carved oak panelling, and casting
strange, fantastic shadows from the high-elbowed, straight-backed
furniture. My sister's white, anxious face stood out in the obscurity
with a startling exactness of profile like one of Rembrandt's portraits.
We sat opposite to each other on either side of the table with no sound
breaking the silence save the measured ticking of the clock and the
intermittent chirping of a cricket beneath the grate.
There was something awe-inspiring in the absolute stillness. The
whistling of a belated peasant upon the high road was a relief to us,
and we strained our ears to catch the last of his notes as he plodded
steadily homewards.
At first we had made some pretence--she of knitting and I of
reading--but we soon abandoned the useless deception, and sat uneasily
waiting, starting and glancing at each other with questioning eyes
whenever the faggot crackled in the fire or a rat scampered behind the
wainscot. There was a heavy electrical feeling in the air, which weighed
us down with a foreboding of disaster.
I rose and flung the hall door open to admit the fresh breeze of the
night. Ragged clouds swept across the sky, and the moon peeped out at
times between their hurrying fringes, bathing the whole countryside in
its cold, white radiance. From where I stood in the doorway I could see
the edge of the Cloomber wood, though the house itself was only
visible from the rising ground some little distance off. At my sister's
suggestion we walked together, she with her shawl over her head, as far
as the summit of this elevation, and looked out in the direction of the
Hall.
There was no illumination of the windows tonight. From roof to basement
not a light twinkled in any part of the great building. Its huge mass
loomed up dark and sullen amid the trees which surrounded it, looking
more like some giant sarcophagus than a human habitation.
To our overwrought nerves there was something of terror in its mere bulk
and its silence. We stood for some little time peering at it through the
darkness, and then we made our way back to the parlour again, where
we sat waiting--waiting, we knew not for what, and yet with absolute
conviction that some terrible experience was in store for us.
It was twelve o'clock or thereabout when my sister suddenly sprang to
her feet and held up her fingers to bespeak attention.
“Do you hear nothing?” she asked.
I strained my ears, but without success.
“Come to the door,” she cried, with a trembling voice. “Now can you hear
anything?”
In the deep silence of the night I distinctly heard a dull, murmuring,
clattering sound, continuous apparently, but very faint and low.
“What is it?” I asked, in a subdued voice.
“It's the sound of a man running towards us,” she answered, and then,
suddenly dropping the last semblance of self-command, she fell upon
her knees beside the table and began praying aloud with that frenzied
earnestness which intense, overpowering fear can produce, breaking off
now and again into half-hysterical whimperings.
I could distinguish the sound clearly enough now to know that her quick,
feminine perception had not deceived her, and that it was indeed caused
by a running man.
On he came, and on down the high road, his footfalls ringing out clearer
and sharper every moment. An urgent messenger he must be, for he neither
paused nor slackened his pace.
The quick, crisp rattle was changed suddenly to a dull, muffled murmur.
He had reached the point where sand had been recently laid down for
a hundred yards or so. In a few moments, however, he was back on hard
ground again and his flying feet came nearer and ever nearer.
He must, I reflected, be abreast of the head of the lane now. Would he
hold on? Or would he turn down to Branksome?
The thought had hardly crossed my mind when I heard by the difference of
the sound that the runner had turned the corner, and that his goal was
beyond all question the laird's house.
Rushing down to the gate of the lawn, I reached it just as our visitor
dashed it open and fell into my arms. I could see in the moonlight that
it was none other than Mordaunt Heatherstone.
“What has happened?” I cried. “What is amiss, Mordaunt?”
“My father!” he gasped--“my father!”
His hat was gone, his eyes dilated with terror, and his face as
bloodless as that of a corpse. I could feel that the hands which clasped
my arms were quivering and shaking with emotion.
“You are exhausted,” I said, leading him into the parlour. “Give
yourself a moment's rest before you speak to us. Be calm, man, you are
with your best friends.”
I laid him on the old horsehair sofa, while Esther, whose fears had all
flown to the winds now that something practical was to be done, dashed
some brandy into a tumbler and brought it to him. The stimulant had a
marvellous effect upon him, for the colour began to come back into his
pale cheeks and the light of recognition in his eyes.
He sat up and took Esther's hand in both of his, like a man who is
waking out of some bad dream and wishes to assure himself that he is
really in safety.
“Your father?” I asked. “What of him?”
“He is gone.”
“Gone!”
“Yes; he is gone; and so is Corporal Rufus Smith. We shall never set
eyes upon them again.”
“But where have they gone?” I cried. “This is unworthy of you, Mordaunt.
What right have we to sit here, allowing our private feelings to
overcome us, while there is a possibility of succouring your father? Up,
man! Let us follow him. Tell me only what direction he took.”
“It's no use,” young Heatherstone answered, burying his face in
his hands. “Don't reproach me, West, for you don't know all the
circumstances. What can we do to reverse the tremendous and unknown laws
which are acting against us? The blow has long been hanging over us, and
now it has fallen. God help us!”
“In Heaven's name tell me what has happened?” said I excitedly. “We must
not yield to despair.”
“We can do nothing until daybreak,” he answered. “We shall then
endeavour to obtain some trace of them. It is hopeless at present.”
“And how about Gabriel and Mrs. Heatherstone?” I asked. “Can we
not bring them down from the Hall at once? Your poor sister must be
distracted with terror.”
“She knows nothing of it,” Mordaunt answered. “She sleeps at the other
side of the house, and has not heard or seen anything. As to my poor
mother, she has expected some such event for so long a time that it has
not come upon her as a surprise. She is, of course, overwhelmed with
grief, but would, I think, prefer to be left to herself for the
present. Her firmness and composure should be a lesson to me, but I am
constitutionally excitable, and this catastrophe coming after our long
period of suspense deprived me of my very reason for a time.”
“If we can do nothing until the morning,” I said, “you have time to tell
us all that has occurred.”
“I will do so,” he answered, rising and holding his shaking hands to the
fire. “You know already that we have had reason for some time--for many
years in fact--to fear that a terrible retribution was hanging over my
father's head for a certain action of his early life. In this action he
was associated with the man known as Corporal Rufus Smith, so that the
fact of the latter finding his way to my father was a warning to us that
the time had come, and that this 5th of October--the anniversary of the
misdeed--would be the day of its atonement. I told you of our fears
in my letter, and, if I am not mistaken, my father also had some
conversation with you, John, upon the subject. When I saw yesterday
morning that he had hunted out the old uniform which he had always
retained since he wore it in the Afghan war, I was sure that the end was
at hand, and that our forebodings would be realised.
“He appeared to be more composed in the afternoon than I have seen him
for years, and spoke freely of his life in India and of the incidents of
his youth. About nine o'clock he requested us to go up to our own rooms,
and locked us in there--a precaution which he frequently took when the
dark fit was upon him. It was always his endeavour, poor soul, to keep
us clear of the curse which had fallen upon his own unfortunate head.
Before parting from us he tenderly embraced my mother and Gabriel,
and he afterwards followed me to my room, where he clasped my hand
affectionately and gave into my charge a small packet addressed to
yourself.”
“To me?” I interrupted.
“To you. I shall fulfill my commission when I have told you my story. I
conjured him to allow me to sit up with him and share any danger which
might arise, but he implored me with irresistible earnestness not to add
to his troubles by thwarting his arrangements. Seeing that I was really
distressing him by my pertinacity, I at last allowed him to close the
door and to turn the key upon the outside. I shall always reproach
myself for my want of firmness. But what can you do when your own father
refuses your assistance or co-operation? You cannot force yourself upon
him.”
“I am sure that you did all you could do,” my sister said.
“I meant to, dear Esther, but, God help me, it was hard to tell what
was right. He left me, and I heard his footsteps die away down the long
corridor. It was then about ten o'clock, or a little after. For a time
I paced up and down the room, and then, carrying the lamp to the head of
my bed, I lay down without undressing, reading St. Thomas a Kempis, and
praying from my heart that the night might pass safely over us.
“I had at last fallen into a troubled sleep when I was suddenly aroused
by a loud, sonorous sound ringing in my ears. I sat up bewildered, but
all was silent again. The lamp was burning low, and my watch showed
me that it was going on to midnight. I blundered to my feet, and was
striking a match with the intention of lighting the candles, when the
sharp, vehement cry broke out again so loud and so clear that it might
have been in the very room with me. My chamber is in the front of the
house, while those of my mother and sister are at the back, so that I am
the only one who commands a view of the avenue.
“Rushing to the window I drew the blind aside and looked out. You know
that the gravel-drive opens up so as to form a broad stretch immediately
in front of the house. Just in the centre of this clear space there
stood three men looking up at the house.
“The moon shone full upon them, glistening on their upturned eyeballs,
and by its light I could see that they were swarthy-faced and
black-haired, of a type that I was familiar with among the Sikhs and
Afridis. Two of them were thin, with eager, aesthetic countenances,
while the third was kinglike and majestic, with a noble figure and
flowing beard.”
“Ram Singh!” I ejaculated.
“What, you know of them?” exclaimed Mordaunt in great surprise. “You
have met them?”
“I know of them. They are Buddhist priests,” I answered, “but go on.”
“They stood in a line,” he continued, “sweeping their arms upwards
and downwards, while their lips moved as if repeating some prayer or
incantation. Suddenly they ceased to gesticulate, and broke out for the
third time into the wild, weird, piercing cry which had roused me from
my slumber. Never shall I forget that shrill, dreadful summons swelling
and reverberating through the silent night with an intensity of sound
which is still ringing in my ears.
“As it died slowly away, there was a rasping and creaking as of keys
and bolts, followed by the clang of an opening door and the clatter of
hurrying feet. From my window I saw my father and Corporal Rufus Smith
rush frantically out of the house hatless and unkempt, like men who are
obeying a sudden and overpowering impulse. The three strangers laid
no hands on them, but all five swept swiftly away down the avenue and
vanished among the trees. I am positive that no force was used, or
constraint of any visible kind, and yet I am as sure that my poor father
and his companion were helpless prisoners as if I had seen them dragged
away in manacles.
“All this took little time in the acting. From the first summons which
disturbed my sleep to the last shadowy glimpse which I had of them
between the tree trunks could hardly have occupied more than five
minutes of actual time. So sudden was it, and so strange, that when the
drama was over and they were gone I could have believed that it was
all some terrible nightmare, some delusion, had I not felt that the
impression was too real, too vivid, to be imputed to fancy.
“I threw my whole weight against my bedroom door in the hope of forcing
the lock. It stood firm for a while, but I flung myself upon it again
and again, until something snapped and I found myself in the passage.
“My first thought was for my mother. I rushed to her room and turned
the key in her door. The moment that I did so she stepped out into the
corridor in her dressing-gown, and held up a warning finger.
“'No noise,' she said, 'Gabriel is asleep. They have been called away?'
“'They have,' I answered.
“'God's will be done!' she cried. 'Your poor father will be happier in
the next world than he has ever been in this. Thank Heaven that Gabriel
is asleep. I gave her chloral in her cocoa.'
“'What am I to do?' I said distractedly.
“'Where have they gone? How can I help him? We cannot let him go from
us like this, or leave these men to do what they will with him. Shall I
ride into Wigtown and arouse the police?'
“'Anything rather than that,' my mother said earnestly. 'He has begged
me again and again to avoid it. My son, we shall never set eyes upon
your father again. You may marvel at my dry eyes, but if you knew as
I know the peace which death would bring him, you could not find it in
your heart to mourn for him. All pursuit is, I feel, vain, and yet some
pursuit there must be. Let it be as private as possible. We cannot serve
him better than by consulting his wishes.'
“'But every minute is precious,' I cried. 'Even now he may be calling
upon us to rescue him from the clutches of those dark-skinned fiends.'
“The thought so maddened me that I rushed out of the house and down to
the high road, but once there I had no indication in which direction to
turn. The whole wide moor lay before me, without a sign of movement
upon its broad expanse. I listened, but not a sound broke the perfect
stillness of the night.
“It was then, my dear friends, as I stood, not knowing in which
direction to turn, that the horror and responsibility broke full upon
me. I felt that I was combating against forces of which I knew nothing.
All was strange and dark and terrible.
“The thought of you, and of the help which I might look for from your
advice and assistance, was a beacon of hope to me. At Branksome, at
least, I should receive sympathy, and, above all, directions as to what
I should do, for my mind is in such a whirl that I cannot trust my own
judgment. My mother was content to be alone, my sister asleep, and
no prospect of being able to do anything until daybreak. Under those
circumstances what more natural than that I should fly to you as fast as
my feet would carry me? You have a clear head, Jack; speak out, man, and
tell me what I should do. Esther, what should I do?”
He turned from one to the other of us with outstretched hands and eager,
questioning eyes.
“You can do nothing while the darkness lasts,” I answered. “We must
report the matter to the Wigtown police, but we need not send our
message to them until we are actually starting upon the search, so as to
comply with the law and yet have a private investigation, as your mother
wishes. John Fullarton, over the hill, has a lurcher dog which is as
good as a bloodhound. If we set him on the general's trail he will run
him down if he had to follow him to John o' Groat's.”
“It is terrible to wait calmly here while he may need our assistance.”
“I fear our assistance could under any circumstances do him little
good. There are forces at work here which are beyond human intervention.
Besides, there is no alternative. We have, apparently, no possible
clue as to the direction which they have taken, and for us to wander
aimlessly over the moor in the darkness would be to waste the strength
which may be more profitably used in the morning. It will be daylight
by five o'clock. In an hour or so we can walk over the hill together and
get Fullarton's dog.”
“Another hour!” Mordaunt groaned, “every minute seems an age.”
“Lie down on the sofa and rest yourself,” said I. “You cannot serve your
father better than by laying up all the strength you can, for we may
have a weary trudge before us. But you mentioned a packet which the
general had intended for me.”
“It is here,” he answered, drawing a small, flat parcel from his pocket
and handing it over to me, “you will find, no doubt, that it will
explain all which has been so mysterious.”
The packet was sealed at each end with black wax, bearing the impress
of the flying griffin, which I knew to be the general's crest. It
was further secured by a band of broad tape, which I cut with my
pocket-knife. Across the outside was written in bold handwriting: “J.
Fothergill West, Esq.,” and underneath: “To be handed to that gentleman
in the event of the disappearance or decease of Major-General J. B.
Heatherstone, V.C., C.B., late of the Indian Army.”
So at last I was to know the dark secret which had cast a shadow over
our lives. Here in my hands I held the solution of it.
With eager fingers I broke the seals and undid the wrapper. A note and a
small bundle of discoloured paper lay within. I drew the lamp over to me
and opened the former. It was dated the preceding afternoon, and ran in
this way:
MY DEAR WEST,--
I should have satisfied your very natural curiosity on the subject which
we have had occasion to talk of more than once, but I refrained for your
own sake. I knew by sad experience how unsettling and unnerving it is
to be for ever waiting for a catastrophe which you are convinced must
befall, and which you can neither avert nor accelerate.
Though it affects me specially, as being the person most concerned, I am
still conscious that the natural sympathy which I have observed in you,
and your regard for Gabriel's father, would both combine to render you
unhappy if you knew the hopelessness and yet the vagueness of the fate
which threatens me. I feared to disturb your mind, and I was therefore
silent, though at some cost to myself, for my isolation has not been the
least of the troubles which have weighed me down.
Many signs, however, and chief among them the presence of the Buddhists
upon the coast as described by you this morning, have convinced me that
the weary waiting is at last over and that the hour of retribution is at
hand. Why I should have been allowed to live nearly forty years after my
offence is more than I can understand, but it is possible that those who
had command over my fate know that such a life is the greatest of all
penalties to me.
Never for an hour, night or day, have they suffered me to forget that
they have marked me down as their victim. Their accursed astral bell has
been ringing my knell for two-score years, reminding me ever that there
is no spot upon earth where I can hope to be in safety. Oh, the peace,
the blessed peace of dissolution! Come what may on the other side of the
tomb, I shall at least be quit of that thrice terrible sound.
There is no need for me to enter into the wretched business again, or
to detail at any length the events of October 5th, 1841, and the various
circumstances which led up to the death of Ghoolab Shah, the arch adept.
I have torn a sheaf of leaves from my old journal, in which you will
find a bald account of the matter, and an independent narrative was
furnished by Sir Edward Elliott, of the Artillery, to the Star of India
some years ago--in which, however, the names were suppressed.
I have reason to believe that many people, even among those who knew
India well, thought that Sir Edward was romancing, and that he had
evolved his incidents from his imagination. The few faded sheets which
I send you will show you that this is not the case, and that our men of
science must recognise powers and laws which can and have been used by
man, but which are unknown to European civilisation.
I do not wish to whine or to whimper, but I cannot help feeling that I
have had hard measure dealt me in this world. I would not, God knows,
take the life of any man, far less an aged one, in cold blood. My temper
and nature, however, were always fiery and headstrong, and in action
when my blood is up, I have no knowledge of what I am about. Neither
the corporal nor I would have laid a finger upon Ghoolab Shah had we not
seen that the tribesmen were rallying behind him. Well, well, it is an
old story now, and there is no profit in discussing it. May no other
poor fellow ever have the same evil fortune!
I have written a short supplement to the statements contained in my
journal for your information and that of any one else who may chance to
be interested in the matter.
And now, adieu! Be a good husband to Gabriel, and, if your sister be
brave enough to marry into such a devil-ridden family as ours, by all
means let her do so. I have left enough to keep my poor wife in comfort.
When she rejoins me I should wish it to be equally divided between the
children. If you hear that I am gone, do not pity, but congratulate
Your unfortunate friend,
JOHN BERTHIER HEATHERSTONE.
I threw aside the letter and picked up the roll of blue foolscap which
contained the solution of the mystery. It was all ragged and frayed at
the inner edge, with traces of gum and thread still adhering to it, to
show that it had been torn out of a strongly bound volume. The ink with
which it had been written was faded somewhat, but across the head of the
first page was inscribed in bold, clear characters, evidently of later
date than the rest: “Journal of Lieutenant J. B. Heatherstone in the
Thull Valley during the autumn of 1841,” and then underneath:
This extract contains some account of the events of the first week of
October of that year, including the skirmish of the Terada ravine and
the death of the man Ghoolab Shah.
I have the narrative lying before me now, and I copy it verbatim. If it
contains some matter which has no direct bearing upon the question
at issue, I can only say that I thought it better to publish what is
irrelevant than by cutting and clipping to lay the whole statement open
to the charge of having been tampered with.