DICK DONOVAN’S DETECTIVE STORIES.
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THE MAN-HUNTER.
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A DETECTIVE’S TRIUMPHS.
WHO POISONED HETTY DUNCAN?
IN THE GRIP OF THE LAW.
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TRACKED TO DOOM. With 6 Illustrations by GORDON BROWNE.
THE MAN FROM MANCHESTER. With 23 Illustrations by J. H. RUSSELL.
THE MYSTERY OF JAMAICA TERRACE.
THE CHRONICLES OF MICHAEL DANEVITCH.
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THE RECORDS OF VINCENT TRILL.
TALES OF TERROR.
London: CHATTO & WINDUS, 111 St. Martin’s Lane, W.C.
TALES OF TERROR
PRINTED BY
SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE
LONDON
TALES OF TERROR
BY
DICK DONOVAN
AUTHOR OF
‘A DETECTIVE’S TRIUMPHS’ ‘THE RECORDS OF VINCENT TRILL’
ETC.
[Illustration]
LONDON
CHATTO & WINDUS
1899
CONTENTS
PAGE
I. THE WOMAN WITH THE ‘OILY EYES’ 1
II. THE STORY OF ANNETTE: BEING THE SEQUEL TO
THE WOMAN WITH THE ‘OILY EYES’ 41
III. THE CORPSE LIGHT 51
IV. THE RED LILY 66
V. THE PIRATE’S TREASURE 95
VI. THE LEGEND OF WOLFSPRING 117
VII. THE WHITE RAVEN 131
VIII. WITH FIRE AND DEATH 144
IX. THE SPECTRE OF RISLIP ABBEY 168
X. THE CAVE OF BLOOD 180
XI. A NIGHT OF HORROR 207
XII. THE ASTROLOGER 225
XIII. THE DANCE OF THE DEAD 243
XIV. THE MYSTIC SPELL 256
XV. THE DOOMED MAN 291
TALES OF TERROR
I
THE WOMAN WITH THE ‘OILY EYES’
THE STORY AS TOLD BY DR. PETER HASLAR, F.R.C.S.LOND.
Although often urged to put into print the remarkable story which
follows I have always strenuously refused to do so, partly on account
of personal reasons and partly out of respect for the feelings of the
relatives of those concerned. But after much consideration I have come
to the conclusion that my original objections can no longer be urged.
The principal actors are dead. I myself am well stricken in years, and
before very long must pay the debt of nature which is exacted from
everything that lives.
Although so long a time has elapsed since the grim tragedy I am about
to record, I cannot think of it even now without a shudder. The
story of the life of every man and woman is probably more or less a
tragedy, but nothing I have ever heard of can compare in ghastly,
weird horror with all the peculiar circumstances of the case in point.
Most certainly I would never have put pen to paper to record it had
it not been from a sense of duty. Long years ago certain garbled
versions crept into the public journals, and though at the time I did
not consider it desirable to contradict them, I do think now that
the moment has come when I, the only living being fully acquainted
with the facts, should make them known, otherwise lies will become
history, and posterity will accept it as truth. But there is still
another reason I may venture to advance for breaking the silence of
years. I think in the interest of science the case should be recorded.
I have not always held this view, but when a man bends under the weight
of years, and he sniffs the mould of his grave, his ideas undergo a
complete change, and the opinions of his youth are not the opinions of
his old age. There may be exceptions to this, but I fancy they must be
very few. With these preliminary remarks I will plunge at once into my
story.
It was the end of August 1857 that I acted as best man at the wedding
of my friend Jack Redcar, C.E. It was a memorable year, for our hold
on our magnificent Indian Empire had nearly been shaken loose by a
mutiny which had threatened to spread throughout the whole of India.
At the beginning of 1856 I had returned home from India after a three
years’ spell. I had gone out as a young medico in the service of the
H.E.I.C., but my health broke down and I was compelled to resign my
appointment. A year later my friend Redcar, who had also been in the
Company’s service as a civil engineer, came back to England, as his
father had recently died and left him a modest fortune. Jack was not
only my senior in years, but I had always considered him my superior in
every respect. We were at a public school together, and both went up to
Oxford, though not together, for he was finishing his final year when I
was a freshman.
Although erratic and a bit wild he was a brilliant fellow; and while
I was considered dull and plodding, and found some difficulty in
mastering my subjects, there was nothing he tackled that he failed to
succeed in, and come out with flying colours. In the early stage of
our acquaintance he made me his fag, and patronised me, but that did
not last long. A friendship sprang up. He took a great liking to me,
why I know not; but it was reciprocated, and when he got his Indian
appointment I resolved to follow, and by dint of hard work, and having
a friend at court, I succeeded in obtaining my commission in John
Company’s service. Jack married Maude Vane Tremlett, as sweet a woman
as ever drew God’s breath of life. If I attempted to describe her in
detail I am afraid it might be considered that I was exaggerating,
but briefly I may say she was the perfection of physical beauty.
Jack himself was an exceptionally fine fellow. A brawny giant with a
singularly handsome face. At the time of his wedding he was thirty or
thereabouts, while Maude was in her twenty-fifth year. There was a
universal opinion that a better matched couple had never been brought
together. He had a masterful nature; nevertheless was kind, gentle, and
manly to a degree.
It may be thought that I speak with some bias and prejudice in Jack’s
favour, but I can honestly say that at the time I refer to, he was as
fine a fellow as ever figured as hero in song or story. He was the pink
of honour, and few who really knew him but would have trusted him with
their honour, their fortunes, their lives. This may be strong, but I
declare it’s true, and I am the more anxious to emphasise it because
his after-life was in such marked contrast, and he presents a study in
psychology that is not only deeply interesting, but extraordinary.
The wedding was a really brilliant affair, for Jack had troops of
friends, who vied with each other in marking the event in a becoming
manner, while his bride was idolised by a doting household. Father and
mother, sisters and brothers, worshipped her. She was exceedingly well
connected. Her father held an important Government appointment, and
her mother came from the somewhat celebrated Yorkshire family of the
Kingscotes. Students of history will remember that a Colonel Kingscote
figured prominently and honourably as a royalist during the reign of
the unfortunate Charles I.
No one who was present on that brilliant August morning of 1857, when
Jack Redcar was united in the bonds of wedlock to beautiful Maude
Tremlett, would have believed it possible that such grim and tragic
events would so speedily follow. The newly-married pair left in the
course of the day for the Continent, and during their honeymoon I
received several charming letters from Jack, who was not only a
diligent correspondent, but he possessed a power of description and a
literary style that made his letters delightful reading. Another thing
that marked this particular correspondence was the unstinted--I may
almost say florid--praise he bestowed upon his wife. To illustrate what
I mean, here is a passage from one of his letters:--
‘I wish I had command of language sufficiently eloquent to speak of
my darling Maude as she should be spoken of. She has a perfectly
angelic nature; and though it may be true that never a human being
was yet born without faults, for the life of me I can find none in my
sweet wife. Of course you will say, old chap, that this is honeymoon
gush, but, upon my soul, it isn’t. I am only doing scant justice to
the dear woman who has linked her fate with mine. I have sometimes
wondered what I have done that the gods should have blest me in such
a manner. For my own part, I don’t think I was deserving of so much
happiness, and I assure you I am happy--perfectly, deliciously happy.
Will it last? Yes, I am sure it will. Maude will always be to me what
she is now, a flawless woman; a woman with all the virtues that turn
women into angels, and without one of the weaknesses or one of the
vices which too often mar an otherwise perfect feminine character. I
hope, old boy, that if ever you marry, the woman you choose will be
only half as good as mine.’
Had such language been used by anyone else I might have been disposed
to add a good deal more than the proverbial pinch of salt before
swallowing it. But, as a matter of fact, Jack was not a mere gusher. He
had a thoroughly practical, as distinguished from a sentimental, mind,
and he was endowed with exceptionally keen powers of observation. And
so, making all the allowances for the honeymoon romance, I was prepared
to accept my friend’s statement as to the merits of his wife without a
quibble. Indeed, I knew her to be a most charming lady, endowed with
many of the qualities which give the feminine nature its charm. But I
would even go a step farther than that, and declare that Mrs. Redcar
was a woman in ten thousand. At that time I hadn’t a doubt that the
young couple were splendidly matched, and it seemed to me probable that
the future that stretched before them was not likely to be disturbed
by any of the commonplace incidents which seem inseparable from most
lives. I regarded Jack as a man of such high moral worth that his
wife’s happiness was safe in his keeping. I pictured them leading an
ideal, poetical life--a life freed from all the vulgar details which
blight the careers of so many people--a life which would prove a
blessing to themselves as well as a joy to all with whom they had to
deal.
When they started on their tour Mr. and Mrs. Redcar anticipated being
absent from England for five or six weeks only, but for several reasons
they were induced to prolong their travels, and thus it chanced I was
away when they returned shortly before Christmas of the year of their
marriage. My own private affairs took me to America. As a matter of
fact a relative had died leaving me a small property in that country,
which required my personal attention; the consequence was I remained
out of England for nearly three years.
For the first year or so Jack Redcar wrote to me with commendable
regularity. I was duly apprised of the birth of a son and heir. This
event seemed to put the crown upon their happiness; but three months
later came the first note of sorrow. The baby died, and the doting
parents were distracted. Jack wrote:--
‘My poor little woman is absolutely prostrated, but I tell her we
were getting too happy, and this blow has been dealt to remind
us that human existence must be chequered in order that we may
appreciate more fully the supreme joy of that after-life which we
are told we may gain for the striving. This, of course, is a pretty
sentiment, but the loss of the baby mite has hit me hard. Still,
Maude is left to me, and she is such a splendid woman, that I ought
to feel I am more than blest.’
This was the last letter I ever received from Jack, but his wife wrote
at odd times. Hers were merely gossipy little chronicles of passing
events, and singularly enough she never alluded to her husband,
although she wrote in a light, happy vein. This set me wondering, and
when I answered her I never failed to inquire about her husband. I
continued to receive letters from her, though at long intervals, down
to the month of my departure from America, two years later.
I arrived in London in the winter, and an awful winter it was. London
was indeed a city of dreadful night. Gloom and fog were everywhere.
Everybody one met looked miserable and despondent. Into the public
houses and gin palaces such of the poor as could scratch a few pence
together crowded for the sake of the warmth and light. But in the
streets sights were to be seen which made one doubt if civilisation
is the blessing we are asked to believe it. Starving men, women and
children, soaked and sodden with the soot-laden fog, prowled about
in the vain hope of finding food and shelter. But the well-to-do
passed them with indifference, too intent on their own affairs, and
too wrapped in self-interests to bestow thought upon the great city’s
pariahs.
Immediately after my arrival I penned a brief note to Jack Redcar,
giving him my address, and saying I would take an early opportunity of
calling, as I was longing to feel once more the hearty, honest grip of
his handshake. A week later a note was put into my hand as I was in the
very act of going out to keep an appointment in the city. Recognising
Mrs. Redcar’s handwriting I tore open the envelope, and read, with what
feelings may be best imagined, the following lines:--
‘For God’s sake come and see me at once. I am heartbroken and am
going mad. You are the only friend in the world to whom I feel I can
appeal. Come to me, in the name of pity.
‘MAUDE REDCAR.’
I absolutely staggered as I read these brief lines, which were so
pregnant with mystery, sorrow, and hopelessness. What did it all mean?
To me it was like a burst of thunder from a cloudless summer sky.
Something was wrong, that was certain; what that something was I could
only vaguely guess at. But I resolved not to remain long in suspense.
I put off my engagement, important as it was, and hailing a hansom
directed the driver to go to Hampstead, where the Redcars had their
residence.
The house was detached and stood in about two acres of ground, and I
could imagine it being a little Paradise in brilliant summer weather;
but it seemed now in the winter murk, as if a heavy pall of sorrow and
anguish enveloped it.
I was shown into an exquisitely furnished drawing-room by an old and
ill-favoured woman, who answered my knock at the door. She gave me the
impression that she was a sullen, deceptive creature, and I was at a
loss to understand how such a woman could have found service with my
friends--the bright and happy friends of three years ago. When I handed
her my card to convey to Mrs. Redcar she impertinently turned it over,
and scrutinised it, and fixed her cold bleared grey eyes on me, so that
I was induced to say peremptorily, ‘Will you be good enough to go to
your mistress at once and announce my arrival?’
‘I ain’t got no mistress,’ she growled. ‘I’ve got a master’; and with
this cryptic utterance she left the room.
I waited a quarter of an hour, then the door was abruptly opened, and
there stood before me Mrs. Redcar, but not the bright, sweet, radiant
little woman of old. A look of premature age was in her face. Her eyes
were red with weeping, and had a frightened, hunted expression. I
was so astounded that I stood for a moment like one dumbfounded; but
as Mrs. Redcar seized my hand and shook it, she gasped in a nervous,
spasmodic way:
‘Thank God, you have come! My last hope is in you.’
Then, completely overcome by emotion, she burst into hysterical
sobbing, and covered her face with her handkerchief.
My astonishment was still so great, the unexpected had so completely
paralysed me for the moment, that I seemed incapable of action. But of
course this spell quickly passed, and I regained my self-possession.
‘How is it I find this change?’ I asked. It was a natural question, and
the first my brain shaped.
‘It’s the work of a malignant fiend,’ she sobbed.
This answer only deepened the mystery, and I began to think that
perhaps she was literally mad. Then suddenly, as if she divined my
thoughts, she drew her handkerchief from her face, motioned me to be
seated, and literally flung herself on to a couch.
‘It’s an awful story,’ she said, in a hoarse, hollow voice, ‘and I look
to you, and appeal to you, and pray to you to help me.’
‘You can rely upon my doing anything that lies in my power,’ I
answered. ‘But tell me your trouble. How is Jack? Where is he?’
‘In her arms, probably,’ she exclaimed between her teeth; and she
twisted her handkerchief up rope-wise and dragged it backward and
forward through her hand with an excess of desperate, nervous energy.
Her answer gave me a keynote. She had become a jealous and embittered
woman. Jack had swerved from the path of honour, and allowed himself
to be charmed by other eyes to the neglect of this woman whom he
had described to me as being angelic. Although her beauty was now a
little marred by tears and sorrow, she was still very beautiful and
attractive, and had she been so disposed she might have taken an army
of men captive. She saw by the expression on my face that her remark
was not an enigma to me, and she added quickly: ‘Oh, yes, it’s true,
and I look to you, doctor, to help me. It is an awful, dreadful story,
but, mind you, I don’t blame Jack so much; he is not master of himself.
This diabolical creature has enslaved him. She is like the creatures
of old that one reads about. She is in possession of some devilish
power which enables her to destroy men body and soul.’
‘Good God! this is awful,’ I involuntarily ejaculated; for I was aghast
and horror-stricken at the revelation. Could it be possible that my
brilliant friend, who had won golden opinions from all sorts and
conditions of men, had fallen from his pedestal to wallow in the mire
of sinfulness and deception.
‘It is awful,’ answered Mrs. Redcar. ‘I tell you, doctor, there is
something uncanny about the whole business. The woman is an unnatural
woman. She is a she-devil. And from my heart I pity and sorrow for my
poor boy.’
‘Where is he now?’ I asked.
‘In Paris with her.’
‘How long has this been going on?’
‘Since a few weeks after our marriage.’
‘Good heavens, you don’t say so!’
‘You may well look surprised, but it’s true. Three weeks after our
marriage Jack and I were at Wiesbaden. As we were going downstairs to
dinner one evening, we met this woman coming up. A shudder of horror
came over me as I looked at her, for she had the most extraordinary
eyes I have ever seen. I clung to my husband in sheer fright, and I
noted that he turned and looked at her, and she also turned and looked
at him.
‘“What a remarkable woman,” he muttered strangely, so strangely that
it was as if some other voice was using his lips. Then he broke into a
laugh, and, passing his arm round my waist, said: “Why, my dear little
woman, I believe you are frightened.”
‘“I am,” I said; “that dreadful creature has startled me more than an
Indian cobra would have done.”
‘“Well, upon my word,” said Jack, “I must confess she is a
strange-looking being. Did ever you see such eyes? Why, they make one
think of the fairy-books and the mythical beings who flit through their
pages.”
‘During the whole of the dinner-time that woman’s face haunted me.
It was a strong, hard-featured, almost masculine face, every line of
which indicated a nature that was base, cruel, and treacherous. The
thin lips, the drawn nostrils, the retreating chin, could never be
associated with anything that was soft, gentle, or womanly. But it was
the eyes that were the wonderful feature--they absolutely seemed to
exercise some magic influence; they were oily eyes that gleamed and
glistened, and they seemed to have in them that sinister light which is
peculiar to the cobra, and other poisonous snakes. You may imagine the
spell and influence they exerted over me when, on the following day,
I urged my husband to leave Wiesbaden at once, notwithstanding that
the place was glorious in its early autumn dress, and was filled with
a fashionable and light-hearted crowd. But my lightest wish then was
law to Jack, so that very afternoon we were on our way to Homburg, and
it was only when Wiesbaden was miles behind me that I began to breathe
freely again.
‘We had been in Homburg a fortnight, and the incident of Wiesbaden had
passed from my mind, when one morning, as Jack and I were on our way
from the Springs, we came face to face with the woman with the oily
eyes. I nearly fainted, but she smiled a hideous, cunning, cruel smile,
inclined her head slightly in token of recognition, and passed on.
I looked at my husband. It seemed to me that he was unusually pale,
and I was surprised to see him turn and gaze after her, and she had
also turned and was gazing at us. Not a word was uttered by either of
us, but I pressed my husband’s arm and we walked rapidly away to our
apartments.
‘“It’s strange,” I remarked to Jack as we sat at breakfast, “that we
should meet that awful woman again.”
‘“Oh, not at all,” he laughed. “You know at this time of the year
people move about from place to place, and it’s wonderful how you keep
rubbing shoulders with the same set.”
‘It was quite true what Jack said, nevertheless, I could not help the
feeling that the woman with the oily eyes had followed us to Homburg.
If I had mentioned this then it would have been considered ridiculous,
for we had only met her once, and had never spoken a word to her. What
earthly interest, therefore, could she possibly take in us who were
utter strangers to her. But, looked at by the light of after events, my
surmise was true. The creature had marked Jack for her victim from the
moment we unhappily met on the stairs at Wiesbaden. I tell you, doctor,
that that woman is a human ghoul, a vampire, who lives not only by
sucking the blood of men, but by destroying their souls.’
Mrs. Redcar broke down again at this stage of her narrative, and I
endeavoured to comfort her; but she quickly mastered her feelings
sufficiently to continue her remarkable story.
‘Some days later my husband and I moved along with the throng that
drifted up and down the promenade listening to the band, when we met
a lady whom I had known as a neighbour when I was at home with my
parents. We stopped and chatted with her for some time, until Jack
asked us to excuse him while he went to purchase some matches at a
kiosk; he said he would be by the fountain in ten minutes, and I was to
wait for him.
‘My lady friend and I moved along and chatted as women will, and then
she bade me good-night as she had to rejoin her friends. I at once
hurried to the rendezvous at the fountain, but Jack wasn’t there. I
waited some time, but still he came not. I walked about impatiently
and half frightened, and when nearly three-quarters of an hour had
passed I felt sure Jack had gone home, so with all haste I went to
our apartments close by, but he was not in, and had not been in. Half
distracted, I flew back to the promenade. It was nearly deserted, for
the band had gone. As I hurried along, not knowing where to go to, and
scarcely knowing what I was doing, I was attracted by a laugh--a laugh
I knew. It was Jack’s, and proceeding a few yards further I found him
sitting on a seat under a linden tree with the woman with the oily
eyes.
‘“Why, my dear Maude,” he exclaimed, “wherever have you been to? I’ve
hunted everywhere for you.”
‘A great lump came in my throat, for I felt that Jack was lying to
me. I really don’t know what I said or what I did, but I am conscious
in a vague way that he introduced me to the woman, but the only name
I caught was that of Annette. It burnt itself into my brain; it has
haunted me ever since.
‘Annette put out her white hand veiled by a silk net glove through
which diamond rings sparkled. I believe I did touch the proffered
fingers, and I shuddered, and I heard her say in a silvery voice that
was quite out of keeping with her appearance:
‘“If I were your husband I should take you to task. Beauty like yours,
you know, ought not to go unattended in a place like this.”
‘Perhaps she thought this was funny, for she laughed, and then
patted me on the shoulder with her fan. But I hated her from that
moment--hated her with a hatred I did not deem myself capable of.
‘We continued to sit there, how long I don’t know. It seemed to me a
very long time, but perhaps it wasn’t long. When we rose to go the
promenade was nearly deserted, only two or three couples remained.
The moon was shining brilliantly; the night wind sighed pleasantly in
the trees; but the beauty of the night was lost upon me. I felt ill
at ease, and, for the first time in my life, unhappy. Annette walked
with us nearly to our door. When the moment for parting came she again
offered me the tips of her fingers, but I merely bowed frigidly, and
shrank from her as I saw her oily eyes fixed upon me.
‘“Ta, ta!” she said in her fatal silvery voice; “keep a watchful guard
over your husband, my dear; and you, sir, don’t let your beautiful
little lady stray from you again, or there will be grief between you.”
‘Those wicked words, every one of which was meant to have its effect,
was like the poison of asps to me; you may imagine how they stung me
when I tell you I was seized with an almost irresistible desire to
hurl the full weight of my body at her, and, having thrown her down,
trample upon her. She had aroused in me such a feeling of horror that
very little more would have begotten in me the desperation of madness,
and I might have committed some act which I should have regretted all
my life. But bestowing another glance of her basilisk eyes upon me
she moved off, and I felt relieved; though, when I reached my room, I
burst into hysterical weeping. Jack took me in his arms, and kissed and
comforted me, and all my love for him was strong again; as I lay with
my head pillowed on his breast I felt once more supremely happy.
‘The next day, on thinking the matter over, I came to the conclusion
that my suspicions were unjust, my fears groundless, my jealousy
stupid, and that my conduct had been rude in the extreme. I resolved,
therefore, to be more amiable and polite to Annette when I again met
her. But, strangely enough, though we remained in Homburg a fortnight
longer we did not meet; but I know now my husband saw her several times.
‘Of course, if it had not been for subsequent events, it would have
been said that I was a victim of strong hysteria on that memorable
night. Men are so ready to accuse women of hysteria because they are
more sensitive, and see deeper than men do themselves. But my aversion
to Annette from the instant I set eyes upon her, and the inferences I
drew, were not due to hysteria, but to that eighth sense possessed by
women, which has no name, and of which men know nothing. At least, I
mean to say that they cannot understand it.’
Again Mrs. Redcar broke off in her narrative, for emotion had got the
better of her. I deemed it advisable to wait. Her remarkable story had
aroused all my interest, and I was anxious not to lose any connecting
link of it, for from the psychological point of view it was a study.
‘Of course, as I have begun the story I must finish it to its bitter
end,’ she went on. ‘As I have told you, I did not see Annette again in
Homburg, and when we left all my confidence in Jack was restored, and
my love for him was stronger than ever if that were possible. Happiness
came back to me. Oh! I was so happy, and thinking I had done a cruel,
bitter wrong to Jack in even supposing for a moment that he would be
unfaithful to me. I tried by every little artifice a woman is capable
of to prove my devotion to him.
‘Well, to make a long story short, we continued to travel about for
some time, and finally returned home, and my baby was born. It seemed
to me then as if God was really too good to me. I had everything in the
world that a human being can reasonably want. An angel baby, a brave,
handsome husband, ample means, hosts of friends. I was supremely happy.
I thanked my Maker for it all every hour of my life. But suddenly
amongst the roses the hiss of the serpent sounded. One day a carriage
drove up to our door. It brought a lady visitor. She was shown into
our drawing-room, and when asked for her name made some excuse to
the servant. Of course, I hurried down to see who my caller was, and
imagine my horror when on entering the room I beheld Annette.
‘“My dear Mrs. Redcar,” she gushingly exclaimed, emphasising every
word, “I am so delighted to see you again. Being in London, I could not
resist the temptation to call and renew acquaintances.”
‘The voice was as silvery as ever, and her awful eyes seemed more oily.
In my confusion and astonishment I did not inquire how she had got
our address; but I know that I refused her proffered hand, and by my
manner gave her unmistakably to understand that I did not regard her
as a welcome visitor. But she seemed perfectly indifferent. She talked
gaily, flippantly. She threw her fatal spell about me. She fascinated
me, so that when she asked to see my baby I mechanically rang the bell,
and as mechanically told the servant to send the nurse and baby in.
When she came, the damnable woman took the child from the nurse and
danced him, but he suddenly broke into a scream of terror, so that I
rushed forward; but the silvery voice said:
‘“Oh, you silly little mother. The baby is all right. Look how quiet he
is now.”
‘She was holding him at arm’s length, and gazing at him with her
basilisk eyes, and he was silent. Then she hugged him, and fondled him,
and kissed him, and all the while I felt as if my brain was on fire,
but I could neither speak nor move a hand to save my precious little
baby.
‘At last she returned him to his nurse, who at once left the room by
my orders, and then Annette kept up a cackle of conversation. Although
it did not strike me then as peculiar, for I was too confused to have
any clear thought about anything--it did afterwards--she never once
inquired about Jack. It happened that he was out. He had gone away
early that morning to the city on some important business in which he
was engaged.
‘At last Annette took herself off, to my intense relief. She said
nothing about calling again; she gave no address, and made no request
for me to call on her. Even had she done so I should not have called.
I was only too thankful she had gone, and I fervently hoped I should
never see her again.
‘As soon as she had departed I rushed upstairs, for baby was screaming
violently. I found him in the nurse’s arms, and she was doing her
utmost to comfort him. But he refused to be comforted, and I took
him and put him to my breast, but he still fought, and struggled,
and screamed, and his baby eyes seemed to me to be bulging with
horror. From that moment the darling little creature began to sicken.
He gradually pined and wasted, and in a few weeks was lying like a
beautiful waxen doll in a bed of flowers. He was stiff, and cold, and
dead.
‘When Jack came home in the evening of the day of Annette’s call, and
I told him she had been, he did not seem in the least surprised, but
merely remarked:
‘“I hope you were hospitable to her.”
‘I did not answer him, for I had been anything but hospitable. I had
not even invited her to partake of the conventional cup of tea.
‘As our baby boy faded day by day, Jack seemed to change, and the
child’s death overwhelmed him. He was never absolutely unkind to me at
that period, but he seemed to have entirely altered. He became sullen,
silent, even morose, and he spent the whole of his days away from me.
When I gently chided him, he replied that his work absorbed all his
attention. And so things went on until another thunderbolt fell at my
feet.
‘One afternoon Jack returned home and brought Annette. He told me
that he had invited her to spend a few days with us. When I urged an
objection he was angry with me for the first time in our married life.
I was at once silenced, for his influence over me was still great, and
I thought I would try and overcome my prejudice for Annette. At any
rate, as Jack’s wife I resolved to be hospitable, and play the hostess
with grace. But I soon found that I was regarded as of very little
consequence. Annette ruled Jack, she ruled me, she ruled the household.
‘You will perhaps ask why I did not rise up in wrath, and, asserting
my position and dignity, drive the wicked creature out of my home. But
I tell you, doctor, I was utterly powerless. She worked some devil’s
spell upon me, and I was entirely under the influence of her will.
‘Her visit stretched into weeks. Our well-tried and faithful servants
left. Others came, but their stay was brief; and at last the old
woman who opened the door to you was installed. She is a creature of
Annette’s, and is a spy upon my movements.
‘All this time Jack was under the spell of the charmer, as I was.
Over and over again I resolved to go to my friends, appeal to them,
tell them everything, and ask them to protect me; but my will failed,
and I bore and suffered in silence. And my husband neglected me; he
seemed to find pleasure only in Annette’s company. Oh, how I fretted
and gnawed my heart, and yet I could not break away from the awful
life. I tell you, doctor, that that woman possessed some strange,
devilish, supernatural power over me and Jack. When she looked at me I
shrivelled up. When she spoke, her silvery voice seemed to sting every
nerve and fibre in my body, and he was like wax in her hands. To me he
became positively brutal, and he told me over and over again that I was
spoiling his life. But, though she was a repulsive, mysterious, crafty,
cruel woman, he seemed to find his happiness in her company.
‘One morning, after a restless, horrible, feverish night, I arose,
feeling strangely ill, and as if I were going mad. I worked myself up
almost to a pitch of frenzy, and, spurred by desperation, I rushed
into the drawing-room, where my husband and Annette were together, and
exclaimed to her:
‘“Woman, do you not see that you are killing me? Why have you come
here? Why do you persecute me with your devilish wiles? You must know
you are not welcome. You must feel you are an intruder.”
‘Overcome by the effort this had cost me, I sank down on the floor on
my knees, and wept passionately. Then I heard the silvery voice say, in
tones of surprise and injured innocence:
‘“Well, upon my word, Mrs. Redcar, this is an extraordinary way to
treat your husband’s guest. I really thought I was a welcome visitor
instead of an intruder; but, since I am mistaken, I will go at once.”
‘I looked at her through a blinding mist of tears. I met the gaze of
her oily eyes, but only for a moment, as I cowered before her, shrank
within myself, and felt powerless again. I glanced at my husband. He
was standing with his head bowed, and, as it seemed to me, in a pose
of shame and humiliation. But suddenly he darted at me, and I heard
him say: “What do you mean by creating such a scene as this? You must
understand I am master here.” Then he struck me a violent blow on the
head, and there was a long blank.
‘When I came to my senses I was in bed, and the hideous old hag who
opened the door to you was bending over me. It was some little time
before I could realise what had occurred. When I did, I asked the woman
where Mr. Redcar was, and she answered sullenly:
‘“Gone.”
‘“And the ---- Annette; where is she?” I asked.
‘“Gone, too,” was the answer.
‘Another blank ensued. I fell very ill, and when my brain was capable
of coherent thought again I learnt that I had passed through a crisis,
and my life had been in jeopardy. A doctor had been attending me,
and there was a professional nurse in the house; but she was a hard,
dry, unsympathetic woman, and I came to the conclusion--wrongly so,
probably--she, too, was one of Annette’s creatures.
‘I was naturally puzzled to understand why none of my relatives and
friends had been to see me, but I was to learn later that many had
called, but had been informed I was abroad with my husband, who had
been summoned away suddenly in connection with some professional
matters. And I also know now that all letters coming for me were at
once forwarded to him, and that any requiring answers he answered.
‘As I grew stronger I made up my mind to keep my own counsel, and not
let any of my friends know of what I had gone through and suffered;
for I still loved my husband, and looked upon him as a victim to be
pitied and rescued from the infernal wiles of the she-demon. When I
heard of your arrival in England, I felt you were the one person in the
wide world I could appeal to with safety, for you can understand how
anxious I am to avoid a scandal. Will you help me? Will you save your
old friend Jack? Restore him to sanity, doctor, and bring him back to
my arms again, which will be wide open to receive him.’
I listened to poor Mrs. Redcar’s story patiently, and at first was
disposed to look upon it as a too common tale of human weakness. Jack
Redcar had fallen into the power of an adventuress, and had been unable
to resist her influence. Such things had happened before, such things
will happen again, I argued with myself. There are certain women who
seem capable of making men mad for a brief space; but under proper
treatment they come to their senses quickly, and blush with shame as
they think of their foolishness. At any rate, for the sake of my old
friend, and for the sake of his poor suffering little wife, I was
prepared to do anything in reason to bring back the erring husband to
his right senses.
I told Mrs. Redcar this. I told her I would redress her wrongs if I
could, and fight her battle to the death. She almost threw herself at
my feet in her gratitude. But when I suggested that I should acquaint
her family with the facts, she begged of me passionately not to do so.
Her one great anxiety was to screen her husband. One thing, however, I
insisted upon. That was, the old woman should be sent away, the house
shut up, and that Mrs. Redcar should take apartments in an hotel, so
that I might be in touch with her. She demurred to this at first, but
ultimately yielded to my persuasion.
Next I went to the old woman. She was a German Suisse--her name was
Grebert. I told her to pack up her things and clear out at once. She
laughed in my face, and impertinently told me to mind my own business.
I took out my watch and said, ‘I give you half an hour. If you are not
off the premises then, I will call in the police and have you turned
out. Any claim you have on Mrs. Redcar, who is the mistress here--shall
be settled at once.’
She replied that she did not recognise my authority, that she had been
placed there by Mr. Redcar, who was her master, and unless he told her
to go she should remain. I made it plain to her that I was determined
and would stand no nonsense. Mr. Redcar had taken himself off, I said;
Mrs. Redcar was his lawful wife, and I was acting for her and on her
behalf.
My arguments prevailed, and after some wrangling the hag came to the
conclusion that discretion was the better part of valour, and consented
to go providing we paid her twenty pounds. This we decided to do rather
than have a scene, but three hours passed before we saw the last of
the creature. Mrs. Redcar had already packed up such things as she
required, and when I had seen the house securely fastened up I procured
a cab, and conveyed the poor little lady to a quiet West-end hotel,
close to my own residence, so that I could keep a watchful eye upon her.
Of course, this was only the beginning of the task I had set myself,
which was to woo back the erring husband, if possible, to his wife’s
side, and to restore him to the position of happiness, honour, and
dignity from which he had fallen. I thought this might be comparatively
easy, and little dreamed of the grim events that were to follow my
interference.
Three weeks later I was in Paris, and proceeded to the Hotel de
l’Univers, where Mrs. Redcar had ascertained through his bankers her
husband was staying. But to my chagrin, I found he had departed with
his companion, and the address he had given for his letters at the
post-office was Potes, in Spain. As I had taken up the running I had
no alternative but to face the long, dreary journey in pursuit of the
fugitives, or confess defeat at the start.
It is not necessary for me to dwell upon that awful journey in the
winter time. Suffice to say I reached my destination in due course.
Potes, it is necessary to explain, is a small town magnificently
situated in the Liebana Valley, in the Asturian Pyrenees, under the
shadow of Picos de Europa. Now, what struck me as peculiar was the
fugitives coming to such a place at that time of the year. Snow lay
heavily everywhere. The cold was intense. For what reason had such a
spot been chosen? It was a mystery I could not hope to solve just then.
There was only one small hotel in the village, and there Annette and
Redcar were staying. My first impulse was not to let them know of my
presence, but to keep them under observation for a time. I dismissed
that thought as soon as formed, for I was not a detective, and did not
like the idea of playing the spy. But even had I been so disposed,
there would have been a difficulty about finding accommodation.
Moreover, it was a small place, and the presence of a foreigner at
that time of year must necessarily have caused a good deal of gossip.
The result was I went boldly to the hotel, engaged a room, and then
inquired for Redcar. I was directed to a private room, where I found
him alone. My unexpected appearance startled him, and when he realised
who I was, he swore at me, and demanded to know my business.
He had altered so much that in a crowd I really might have had some
difficulty in recognising him. His face wore a drawn, anxious, nervous
look, and his eyes had acquired a restless, shifty motion, while his
hair was already streaked with grey.
I began to reason with him. I reminded him of our old friendship, and
I drew a harrowing picture of the sufferings of his dear, devoted,
beautiful little wife.
At first he seemed callous; but presently he grew interested, and when
I referred to his wife he burst into tears. Then suddenly he grasped my
wrist with a powerful grip, and said:
‘Hush! Annette mustn’t know this--mustn’t hear. I tell you, Peter, she
is a ghoul. She sucks my blood. She has woven a mighty spell about me,
and I am powerless. Take me away; take me to dear little Maude.’
I looked at him for some moments with a keen professional scrutiny, for
his manner and strange words were not those of sanity. I determined to
take him at his word, and, if possible, remove him from the influence
of the wicked syren who had so fatally lured him.
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘we will go without a moment’s unnecessary delay. I will
see if a carriage and post-horses are to be had, so that we can drive
to the nearest railway station.’
He assented languidly to this, and I rose with the intention of making
inquiries of the hotel people; but simultaneously with my action
the door opened and Annette appeared. Up to that moment I thought
that Mrs. Redcar had exaggerated in describing her, therefore I was
hardly prepared to find that so far from the description being an
exaggeration, it had fallen short of the fact.
Annette was slightly above the medium height, with a well-developed
figure, but a face that to me was absolutely repellent. There was not
a single line of beauty nor a trace of womanliness in it. It was hard,
coarse, cruel, with thin lips drawn tightly over even white teeth.
And the eyes were the most wonderful eyes I have ever seen in a human
being. Maude was right when she spoke of them as ‘oily eyes.’ They
literally shone with a strange, greasy lustre, and were capable of
such a marvellous expression that I felt myself falling under their
peculiar fascination. I am honest and frank enough to say that, had it
been her pleasure, I believe she could have lured me to destruction as
she had lured my poor friend. But I was forearmed, because forewarned.
Moreover, I fancy I had a much stronger will than Redcar. Anyway, I
braced myself up to conquer and crush this human serpent, for such I
felt her to be.
Before I could speak, her melodious voice rang out with the query,
addressed to Jack:
‘Who is this gentleman? Is he a friend of yours?’
‘Yes, yes,’ gasped Jack, like one who spoke under the influence of a
nightmare.
She bowed and smiled, revealing all her white teeth, and she held forth
her hand to me, a delicately shaped hand, with clear, transparent skin,
and her long lithe fingers were bejewelled with diamonds.
I drew myself up, as one does when a desperate effort is needed, and,
refusing the proffered hand, I said:
‘Madame, hypocrisy and deceit are useless. I am a medical man, my name
is Peter Haslar, and Mr. Redcar and I have been friends from youth.
I’ve come here to separate him from your baneful influence and carry
him back to his broken-hearted wife. That is my mission. I hope I have
made it clear to you?’
She showed not the slightest sign of being disturbed, but smiled on me
again, and bowed gracefully and with the most perfect self-possession.
And speaking in a soft gentle manner, which was in such startling
contrast to the woman’s appearance, she said:
‘Oh, yes; thank you. But, like the majority of your countrymen, you
display a tendency to arrogate too much to yourself. I am a Spaniard
myself, by birth, but cosmopolitan by inclination, and, believe me, I
do not speak with any prejudice against your nationality, but I have
yet to learn, sir, that you have any right to constitute yourself Mr.
Redcar’s keeper.’
Her English was perfect, though she pronounced it with just a slight
foreign accent. There was no anger in her tones, no defiance. She spoke
softly, silvery, persuasively.
‘I do not pretend to be his keeper, madame; I am his sincere friend,’ I
answered. ‘And surely I need not remind you that he owes a duty to his
lawful wife.’
During this short conversation Jack had sat motionless on the edge of a
couch, his chin resting on his hands, and apparently absorbed with some
conflicting thoughts. But Annette turned to him, and, still smiling,
said:
‘I think Mr. Redcar is quite capable of answering for himself. Stand
up, Jack, and speak your thoughts like a man.’
Although she spoke in her oily, insidious way, her request was a
peremptory command. I realised that at once, and I saw as Jack rose he
gazed at her, and her lustrous eyes fixed him. Then he turned upon me
with a furious gesture and exclaimed, with a violence of expression
that startled me:
‘Yes, Annette is right. I am my own master. What the devil do you mean
by following me, like the sneak and cur that you are? Go back to Maude,
and tell her that I loathe her. Go; relieve me of your presence, or I
may forget myself and injure you.’
Annette, still smiling and still perfectly self-possessed, said:
‘You hear what your friend says, doctor. Need I say that if you are a
gentleman you will respect his wishes?’
I could no longer control myself. Her calm, defiant, icy manner
maddened me, and her silvery voice seemed to cut down on to my most
sensitive nerves, for it was so suggestive of the devilish nature of
the creature. It was so incongruous when contrasted with her harsh,
horribly cruel face. I placed myself between Jack and her, and meeting
her weird gaze, I said, hotly:
‘Leave this room. You are an outrage on your sex; a shame and a
disgrace to the very name of woman. Go, and leave me with my friend,
whose reason you have stolen away.’
She still smiled and was still unmoved, and suddenly I felt myself
gripped in a grip of iron, and with terrific force I was hurled into a
corner of the room, where, huddled up in a heap, I lay stunned for some
moments. But as my senses returned I saw the awful woman smiling still,
and she was waving her long white bejewelled hand before the infuriated
Jack, as if she were mesmerising him; and I saw him sink on to the sofa
subdued and calmed. Then addressing me she said:
‘That is a curious way for your friend to display his friendship. I may
be wrong, but perhaps as a medical man you will recognise that your
presence has an irritating effect on Mr. Redcar, and if I may suggest
it, I think it desirable that you should depart at once and see him no
more.’
‘Devil!’ I shouted at her. ‘You have bewitched him, and made him
forgetful of his honour and of what he owes to those who are dear to
him. But I will defeat you yet.’
She merely bowed and smiled, but deigned no reply; and holding her arm
to Jack, he took it, and they passed out of the room. She was elegantly
attired. Her raven hair was fascinatingly dressed in wavy bands. There
was something regal in her carriage, and gracefulness in her every
movement; and yet she filled me with a sense of indefinable horror; a
dread to which I should have been ashamed to own to a little while ago.