IN WHICH THE BEETLES CRAWL
But solid beetles crawled about
The chilly hearth and naked floor.
_James Thompson, author of the "City of Dreadful
Night," popularly ascribed to Mr Kipling._
All preparations for this most surprising conspiracy were to be ready,
so Arnolfo gave Norman to understand, on the following afternoon, and
Norman, doubting his senses and still doubting the seriousness of
Arnolfo, rose early and came to the appointed place, which was again the
British Consulate, before the appointed time. After a few minutes there
came to greet him, not Arnolfo, but Sforelli, a gentleman who would have
looked heroic in a burnoose beside the ruins of Palmyra, but seemed
merely intellectual and rather repulsive in a morning coat. He handed
Norman a letter sealed with what Norman knew to be Arnolfo's seal. It
ran as follows:
"DEAR NORMAN,--
"Everything is going well. Please put yourself entirely in the hands of
Dr Sforelli, the bearer of this, who has full instructions from the
Society. I am so busy, I may not see you again till you are crowned.
"ARNOLFO."
Norman, looking at the Palestinian profile before him, felt that the
spring had left the year. The gay youth, with his wit and plots and
disguises, would make anyone believe or even do anything. While this
worthy? The transition from Greece eastwards was overpowering.
Yet one could see this swarthy, powerful person was to be trusted, more
to be trusted than Arnolfo. Norman burst into a flood of practical
questions.
"We shall just walk there," came the answer to Norman's first batch of
inquiries. "I often go to the palace, as I live quite near, in the
square: I have a dissecting room there: my wife objects to having
corpses in the house."
"Dissecting? In Alsander?"
"Yes," replied the doctor, in hollow tones. "It was expensive getting
corpses in pickle from Paris. So I advertised in the _Centjaro,_ the
little local paper you may have seen, the one that hints so broadly that
the King of Alsander is already in the town incognito."
"But with success? Surely, in such a religious country...."
"There was money offered," continued Sforelli, dryly. "My door was
besieged. I am not sure I was not responsible for murder, even for
parricide. Some of those whose near relations were rejected went away in
tears."
"Well, Doctor Sforelli, to the point. This mad central idea you are sure
of--that no one has seen the King; but what about the guards?"
"The guards are with us."
"But why should they be with us?"
"They are sensible men, for one thing. They are very old servants of
Arnolfo's, for another."
"Then Vorza?"
"He has never seen the King, you know that already."
"And the other notables?"
"All the members of the Town Council, which is the progressive element
in Alsander, are with us. For all that, none of them have seen Andrea."
"But has there been no ceremony? For instance, was Andrea never
crowned?"
"Yes, but with little pomp. There was only the Bishop there and myself.
He was crowned in the empty room."
"And the Bishop?"
"Is fortunately dead. No one lives but myself who saw that mock
coronation and a small acolyte who is now one of the most able young men
of our party. The people were kept outside, but I remember they
applauded, none the less. But the only person who was really impressed
was the King himself. It meant a great deal to him, that shabby
ceremonial!"
"What has given the King that antique form of speech?" pursued Norman.
"Before his mind left him, he had as a boy read one book--that of
Makso."
"A! a great book!" cried Norman. "There is real fire in his tales of
chivalry."
"And poetry, too," added Sforelli, "of no inconsiderable merit. Well,
you know how the greatness of Kradenda is ever being sung therein. And
ever since the boy, as he has heard but little human speech about him,
has had faint echoes of the immortal language of Makso trickling through
his brain."
"One hardly realized he was so young," said Norman, with a sudden pity.
"He is your age," replied Sforelli.
"Is there no hope of cure?"
"None," said the doctor, decisively. "None--on my professional honour.
His delusions come from mental weakness, not from aberration. I might
cure a man who had wandered from the road of reason, but not one who has
never taken it."
So saying they started for the palace, on foot as Sforelli advised, to
attract less attention.
"You are still determined not to have Andrea killed?" inquired Sforelli.
"That I prohibit absolutely," said Norman, speaking with authority for
the first time.
Sforelli bowed with some irony.
"Fortunately," he said, "there is a small asylum outside the town under
my supervision."
"How are we to get him there?" pursued Norman.
"I think of drugging him, and then driving him there myself to-night. It
will not be difficult."
"I have your word, you intend to do this, and to do no more than drug
him?"
"Although I consider that this humanitarian project of yours is fraught
with great danger to our plans, you may trust me," said Sforelli,
quietly, and Norman believed the man could be trusted for all his
antipathetic ugliness. He inquired:
"And what am I to do while you do this?"
"I am afraid the safest plan will be for you to stay alone in the castle
overnight pending my return. It may be rather disagreeable and lonely
for you, especially as you may naturally feel nervous on the eve of our
great coup, but I see nothing else for it. I must take the King to the
asylum myself. It is not safe that any of our friends should either take
charge of the madman or bear you company in the castle, for obvious
reasons. I cannot be back much before dawn. When I return I shall send
an official note to Vorza and explain, by your royal request, that the
young 'English nobleman' who visited him the other day is none other
than the cured Bang of Alsander. I shall add that you have returned to
the Palace and desire to have the news kept secret for the present
except from him and a few other notables. I shall further explain that
you desired to remain a few days incognito in Alsander from a natural
desire of seeing things as they are.
"You will send, written in your own hand, at the same time a command to
your well beloved and trusted servant Count Vorza to appear at such an
hour, and similar intimations (though not in your Royal hand), together
with injunctions to secrecy, will be sent to other notables of Alsander.
This letter will be sealed by you with the Royal seal of Alsander, which
is in my possession.
"When the time comes you will have to play your part with the utmost
care and even if you recognize some of the visitors as being members of
the society and fellow conspirators, do not cease acting for a moment. I
will tell you the story to which you must hold and to which you must, so
to speak, mentally refer when in difficulty. I will tell it you
to-morrow morning, when I return, in the palace, in great detail, so
that your memory will be fresh for the day. But for the present, so as
to get your mind accustomed to it, note that its outline is roughly
this: You have been cured in England, mind you, and your mind is almost
a blank for everything before that, save that you have vague
reminiscences of Makso's poems, and a father and a mother. You had an
operation--trepanning. And so forth."
"But it's too unconvincing scientifically. Scientists are sure to arrive
and ask questions."
"Scientifically it will be as correct as a story by your own Mr Wells,
when I have given you all the details. And I will answer the scientists
myself. Above all, avoid being too explanatory. Nothing causes suspicion
to arise so much as the volunteering of convincing information."
Thus conversing they arrived at the palace gate. It was already dark and
not a soul stirred in the palace square. Two guards saluted them at the
doorway. Norman recognized one with a shudder and one with surprise. One
was the flagellator, the other the overworked clerk from the British
Consulate. Two further guards, rising from their seats on the inner side
of the gate, followed them in silence across the moonlit garden. The
jasmine was fragrant. The doctor opened a little door. Norman passed
once again into the curious corridor, and thence into the throne-room.
It was lit by many candles, and was very hot. Everything was there as on
his last visit--plaster cupids, broken divans, singeries, the old chair
of Kradenda, and the madman looking as unreal as his surroundings--a
part of the fantastic picture--glimmering in the dim light. The King,
however, though still robed in ermine and cloth of gold, was without his
crown, and there was one further change. Everything, except the King,
had been washed. Even by the faint illumination this was perceptible.
The candelabra shone, the fat thighs of the plaster cherubs were as
white as life; even the remote and secret windows let through an
undimmed sun.
The King startled the silence. "Ho, thou leech," he cried, "where is my
crown?"
"It is being repaired," said Sforelli, with a bow. "I have brought you
back Sir Norman as I promised."
"You have been long absent, sir, though your King was in need of you.
What have you achieved all these long days?"
"Sire," said Norman, "I have slain three dragons, a red, a yellow and a
green: and all with horns upon their tails."
"But my dragon," said the King, impressively, "you have not slain. And
to-night I must meet my Queen."
"Thy Queen, Sire?" said Sforelli, in evident surprise.
"Even so."
"That will be impossible unless the enchanter is slain."
"Then he must be slain at once," said the King, with resolution.
"Exactly, and that is why I have brought this good Knight. But your
Majesty must drink a draught to protect you against enchantment."
"This last time I will obey you to obtain deliverance. I am sick of your
potions. But beware; if he is not slain in time for the arrival of that
paragon of the world, my Queen, I will--I will--" (the King frowned and
hesitated to find words terrible enough) "--I will cut off all your toes
and thread them in a necklace and hang them round your neck," he said in
triumph.
"Bring the cup," said Sforelli to one of the guards, who immediately
produced a rose-coloured liquid in a tumbler, which he handed to the
King off a salver with some; ceremony. The King immediately drank it:
the four men waited in silence as a happy smile began to play over the
Royal features and he sank quietly asleep. The two guards then stripped
him of his state robes and muffled him up in a great coat, and,
followed by the doctor and Norman, took him out to the castle gate,
where a closed carriage was waiting, and placed him inside. The doctor
turned to Norman.
"I wonder what that was about his Queen? It's quite a new delusion and
startled me."
"Some stir of Spring in him, perhaps," said Norman.
"Well, it's of little matter. We'll find out at the asylum. He will be
better off there than here in many ways. It's cleaner, and he will have
more fresh air. He is an interesting subject. Now, my unfortunate
friend, as we arranged, you must wait in this place, I am afraid, till I
return, which will not not be till near on dawn, for there is still much
to do. As I said, I am afraid you will be lonely. I think you had better
not show yourself out of this wing of the castle, and the guards cannot
keep you company as they must stay at the gate. However, you will find a
library, rather technical, perhaps, in my dissecting room. A couch has
been prepared there, too, and I have not forgotten tobacco. No,"
continued the doctor, in response to a nervous look in Norman's face,
"there is nothing there but books and implements," and the doctor with
this assurance drove off with his capture.
On the way the lunatic began to recover from the effects of the drug.
He sat in the carriage, now opening and now shutting an eye, and once
mumbling some words about his Queen. Finally he went to sleep again. The
doctor had but little parley at the diminutive asylum, a doll's house of
a construction which he had built, and now managed. He ran it, indeed,
at considerable profit, for the paying patients, offshoots of the noble
families, considerably outnumbered such pauper inmates as he admitted
free. He explained to the trusty guardian the deplorable delusions of
the patient, and ordered certain comforts to be given him.
"You might also get him shaved," he added.
The guardian, who was a conspirator also, thoroughly understood the
whole business. And there we can leave the doctor and return to Norman,
who by no means enjoyed the situation. He did not find the books in the
dissecting room of much interest. He was wandering in the throne-room,
which looked more ghastly than ever, now the guards had extinguished the
candles, in the flickering shadow of the lamp he carried, when he found
several scraps of paper on the throne itself. They were covered with
intricate designs and meaningless arabesques. There was a wing, there a
face, there a foot, there an emblem--all incoherent and messed round
with wild scratches. The bits of paper had so fearsome a fascination
that it was almost a relief to Norman to go back to the dissecting room
and sit down and try to read a treatise on skin diseases. But long
before he had mastered the difficult subject Norman was on foot again,
restless and troubled. The window was barred--Andrea had slept here
sometimes. The night was close.
He sighed for the young strong arms that might have been round his neck.
The conspiracy seemed already to be enclosing him in an impenetrable
net. As immeasurable time wore on the fishy eyes of Andrea haunted him.
He would not sleep inside the bed, a sorry and comfortless pallet which
might have been the madman's.
He lay down on it, dressed as he was, flinging off only his collar.
Sleep would not come, save for fitful visions. Rising again, he saw his
face pallid in the looking-glass by the fight of the dingy candle, which
flickered in a gorgeous stand of beaten copper. He blew the candle out
hurriedly, then groped for matches, and lit it again, and flung himself
once more on to the couch.
A fitful slumber was descending over him, prelude to sweet sleep, when
he heard footsteps, with a tapping noise and the sound of voices. One
voice was a man's: there were two other voices, of women. Norman leapt
from the bed, alert, and listened hard.
"He won't hurt you, Drakina," said one voice. "He's kissed me many a
time, and I don't know what he might not have done if Makzelo had not
been there."
A confused giggle was all the reply Norman could hear.
"Where is he, Malsprita?" said another girl's voice.
"Hullo," said the voice of the man, apparently called Makzelo. "He seems
to have gone away. The room's empty, that's strange."
"Perhaps he's gone to bed," said a girl.
"He can't have; he never goes to bed as early as this. We have played
with him night after night. He loves it, doesn't he, Malsprita?"
"When I do it."
More giggles. Then the voice of Drakina was heard, saying she was
frightened.
"Andrea!" cried Makzelo.
They all shouted; there was no reply.
"Let's go and look for him in the corridors. How strange! he was
dreadfully excited about his Queen. He mustn't be disappointed."
"I'm frightened," said Drakina. "I don't want to be his Queen."
"You who wanted so to be in a real King's arms. What a little coward you
are!"
"But the corridors are so dark. Is he very dreadful to look at,
Malsprita?"
"He is not so ugly as you, club-foot! Nothing like."
There was a shuffling and tapping into the corridors.
Norman listened with wonder and disgust. Not quite realizing the meaning
of the conversation, he had nevertheless understood enough to feel like
a prisoner whose cell is full of rats. What nameless revels had these
beings held? The nocturnal visits of these creatures were evidently
unknown to Dr Sforelli. Here were three people who knew the Bang by
sight: if this unexpected difficulty were not disposed of, the whole
plot was ruined. At all events time must be gained: they must not be led
to imagine the King already gone. What should he do? He had a second to
deliberate while they went into the throne-room: but had made no plan
when he heard them outside his door.
"Then he must be in his bedroom," said the man, and went over to open
the door.
"Why, it's locked."
"Perhaps the doctor did it," said the club-foot girl.
"Let's burst it in!"
"I daren't disobey the doctor," said the man.
"That doctor's a devil. Why must he pretend the King's away?"
"For God's sake don't tell a soul."
"Andrea! Your Queen!"
"He must be sound asleep, or drugged," said a woman.
"Let's go and look in through the window," said the voice which Norman
had by now identified as that of Malsprita.
"We might get a look at him, at all events. Always my luck; just the
night I came."
"Well, we'll do that for you," said the man, pompously. He led them
round outside. The club-foot girl continued moaning, "I was born crooked
and ugly and crooked and ugly I shall die, and I might have been happy
just once." And still complaining she passed out of earshot with the
rest. Norman covered his head with a sheet, and crouched beneath the
window, waiting. He heard the shuffle and tap coming along the gravel
outside.
"Why, the bar's out," said the club-foot girl, and she poked her hideous
head right through the window. It was a face neither of man nor woman,
nor yet of utter evil, but rather of incarnate brutishness. It had no
features but a mouth; it was a flat and fleshy face. In frenzy, Norman
rose, emitting a falsetto shriek extremely piercing and horrible by
which he frightened even himself, and dealt a terrific blow at the head
with the great candlestick. By a surprisingly swift move the woman, if
woman it was, avoided the bar, receiving the blow on her arm: she
uttered a piercing shriek more ghastly still, and the three intruders
rushed away into darkness. Losing for the first time in his life all his
self-control, Norman kept on shouting and at the same time banged the
candlestick against a tin basin, producing a desolating boom. Then he
became quiet, relit the candle, and with a book in his hand, which he
hardly read, now dozing, now awakening with a start if a leaf rustled or
a mouse ran over the floor, stayed in his chair till he could endure it
no longer and fled out into the open air.
The doctor on his return as he came with one of the guards through the
entrance gate discovered Norman in the grey of dawn pacing the ruined
garden and shivering with cold. He was much troubled when he heard the
story. "I have been vilely negligent, and I ought to be ashamed of
myself for forgetting the fellow," he said. "He was a sort of nurse to
Andrea. I thought him too stupid and too frightened of me to do harm,
and as he is not supposed to come here at night I had postponed dealing
with him till to-day." And turning to the guard at his side, he bade him
arrest the three persons concerned and keep them in close custody in the
old keep. "Forget all that unpleasantness now, Sir," he continued, "and
I beg of you to attend to more serious topics. The letters addressing an
invitation to the notable people in the town to come and felicitate you
on your cure are now ready and waiting for you to sign them. The said
notables should be here this afternoon. You will receive them here in
military uniform."
"And what shall I say to them? You have only told me the story of
myself. How shall I greet them?"
"That, Sir, is for you to decide. We rely on you: you must rely on
yourself."