“It’s my ankle,” said he. “Only a twist, I think; but it’s pretty
painful. Just give me your hand, will you?”
He lay in the yellow circle of the cycle lamp, and I noted as I helped
him to his feet that he was a gentlemanly young fellow, with a slight
dark moustache and large, brown eyes, sensitive and nervous in
appearance, with indications of weak health upon his sunken cheeks. Work
or worry had left its traces upon his thin, yellow face. He stood up
when I pulled his hand, but he held one foot in the air, and he groaned
as he moved it.
“I can’t put it to the ground,” said he.
“Where do you live?”
“Here!” he nodded his head towards the big, dark house in the garden. “I
was cutting across to the gate when that confounded cab ran into me.
Could you help me so far?”
It was easily done. I put his cycle inside the gate, and then I
supported him down the drive, and up the steps to the hall door. There
was not a light anywhere, and the place was as black and silent as if no
one had ever lived in it.
“That will do. Thank you very much,” said he, fumbling with his key in
the lock.
“No, you must allow me to see you safe.”
He made some feeble, petulant protest, and then realized that he could
really do nothing without me. The door had opened into a pitch-dark
hall. He lurched forward, with my hand still on his arm.
“This door to the right,” said he, feeling about in the darkness.
I opened the door, and at the same moment he managed to strike a light.
There was a lamp upon the table, and we lit it between us. “Now, I’m all
right. You can leave me now! Good-bye!” said he, and with the words he
sat down in the arm-chair and fainted dead away.
It was a queer position for me. The fellow looked so ghastly, that
really I was not sure that he was not dead. Presently his lips quivered
and his breast heaved, but his eyes were two white slits and his colour
was horrible. The responsibility was more than I could stand. I pulled
at the bell-rope, and heard the bell ringing furiously far away. But no
one came in response. The bell tinkled away into silence, which no
murmur or movement came to break. I waited, and rang again, with the
same result. There must be some one about. This young gentleman could
not live all alone in that huge house. His people ought to know of his
condition. If they would not answer the bell, I must hunt them out
myself. I seized the lamp and rushed from the room.
What I saw outside amazed me. The hall was empty. The stairs were bare,
and yellow with dust. There were three doors opening into spacious
rooms, and each was uncarpeted and undraped, save for the grey webs
which drooped from the cornice, and rosettes of lichen which had formed
upon the walls. My feet reverberated in those empty and silent chambers.
Then I wandered on down the passage, with the idea that the kitchens, at
least, might be tenanted. Some caretaker might lurk in some secluded
room. No, they were all equally desolate. Despairing of finding any
help, I ran down another corridor, and came on something which surprised
me more than ever.
The passage ended in a large, brown door, and the door had a seal of red
wax the size of a five-shilling piece over the keyhole. This seal gave
me the impression of having been there for a long time, for it was dusty
and discoloured. I was still staring at it, and wondering what that door
might conceal, when I heard a voice calling behind me, and, running
back, found my young man sitting up in his chair and very much
astonished at finding himself in darkness.
“Why on earth did you take the lamp away?” he asked.
“I was looking for assistance.”
“You might look for some time,” said he. “I am alone in the house.”
“Awkward if you get an illness.”
“It was foolish of me to faint. I inherit a weak heart from my mother,
and pain or emotion has that effect upon me. It will carry me off some
day, as it did her. You’re not a doctor, are you?”
“No, a lawyer. Frank Alder is my name.”
“Mine is Felix Stanniford. Funny that I should meet a lawyer, for my
friend, Mr. Perceval, was saying that we should need one soon.”
“Very happy, I am sure.”
“Well, that will depend upon him, you know. Did you say that you had run
with that lamp all over the ground floor?”
“Yes.”
“_All_ over it?” he asked, with emphasis, and he looked at me very hard.
“I think so. I kept on hoping that I should find someone.”
“Did you enter _all_ the rooms?” he asked, with the same intent gaze.
“Well, all that I could enter.”
“Oh, then you _did_ notice it!” said he, and he shrugged his shoulders
with the air of a man who makes the best of a bad job.
“Notice what?”
“Why, the door with the seal on it.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Weren’t you curious to know what was in it?”
“Well, it did strike me as unusual.”
“Do you think you could go on living alone in this house, year after
year, just longing all the time to know what is at the other side of
that door, and yet not looking?”
“Do you mean to say,” I cried, “that you don’t know yourself?”
“No more than you do.”
“Then why don’t you look?”
“I mustn’t,” said he.
He spoke in a constrained way, and I saw that I had blundered on to some
delicate ground. I don’t know that I am more inquisitive than my
neighbours, but there certainly was something in the situation which
appealed very strongly to my curiosity. However, my last excuse for
remaining in the house was gone now that my companion had recovered his
senses. I rose to go.
“Are you in a hurry?” he asked.
“No; I have nothing to do.”
“Well, I should be very glad if you would stay with me a little. The
fact is that I live a very retired and secluded life here. I don’t
suppose there is a man in London who leads such a life as I do. It is
quite unusual for me to have any one to talk with.”
I looked round at the little room, scantily furnished, with a sofa-bed
at one side. Then I thought of the great, bare house, and the sinister
door with the discoloured red seal upon it. There was something queer
and grotesque in the situation, which made me long to know a little
more. Perhaps I should, if I waited. I told him that I should be very
happy.
“You will find the spirits and a siphon upon the side table. You must
forgive me if I cannot act as host, but I can’t get across the room.
Those are cigars in the tray there. I’ll take one myself, I think. And
so you are a solicitor, Mr. Alder?”
“Yes.”
“And I am nothing. I am that most helpless of living creatures, the son
of a millionaire. I was brought up with the expectation of great wealth;
and here I am, a poor man, without any profession at all. And then, on
the top of it all, I am left with this great mansion on my hands, which
I cannot possibly keep up. Isn’t it an absurd situation? For me to use
this as my dwelling is like a coster drawing his barrow with a
thoroughbred. A donkey would be more useful to him, and a cottage to
me.”
“But why not sell the house?” I asked.
“I mustn’t.”
“Let it, then?”
“No, I mustn’t do that either.”