longer. He brought both a pickaxe and a crowbar with him, and in
obedience to his master’s orders he commenced to hack at the wall. A
brick was soon dislodged. Then the crowbar was inserted in the hole,
and a mass prized out. From the opening came forth a sickening odour,
so that we all drew back instinctively, and I am sure we all shuddered,
and I saw the pipe fall from Dick’s lips; but he snatched it up quickly
and puffed at it vigorously until a cloud of smoke hung in the fœtid
and stagnant air. Then, picking up a candle from the ground, where it
had been placed, he approached the hole, holding the candle in such a
position that its rays were thrown into the opening. In a few moments
he started back with an exclamation:
‘My God! the ghost hasn’t lied,’ he said, and I noticed that his face
paled. I peered into the hole and so did the gardener, and we both drew
back with a start, for sure enough in that recess were decaying human
remains.
‘This awful business must be investigated,’ said Dick. ‘Come, let us
go.’
We needed no second bidding. We were only too glad to quit that place
of horror, and get into the fresh air and bright sunlight. We verily
felt that we had come up out of a tomb, and we knew that once more the
adage, ‘Murder will out,’ had proved true.
Half an hour later Dick and I were driving to the nearest town to lay
information of the awful discovery we had made, and the subsequent
search carried out by the police brought two skeletons to light.
Critical medical examination left not the shadow of a doubt that they
were the remains of a woman and a girl, and each had been brutally
murdered. Of course it became necessary to hold an inquest, and the
police set to work to collect evidence as to the identity of the bodies
hidden in the recess in the wall.
Naturally all the stories which had been current for so many years
throughout the country were revived, and the gossips were busy in
retailing all they had heard, with many additions of their own, of
course. But the chief topic was that of the strange disappearance of
the wife and daughter of the once owner of the castle, Greeta Jones.
This story had been touched upon the previous night, during the
after-dinner chat in my host’s smoking room. Morgan, as was remembered,
had gambled his fortune away, and married a lady much older than
himself, who bore him a daughter who was subject to epileptic fits.
When this girl was about twelve she and her mother disappeared from the
neighbourhood, and, according to the husband’s account, they had gone
to London.
Then he left, and people troubled themselves no more about him and his
belongings.
A quarter of a century had passed since that period, and Bleak Hill
Castle had gone through many vicissitudes until it fell into the hands
of my friend Dick Dirckman. The more the history of Greeta Jones was
gone into the more it was made clear that the remains which had been
bricked up in the cellar were those of his wife and daughter. That
the unfortunate girl and woman had been brutally and barbarously
murdered there wasn’t a doubt. The question was, who murdered them?
After leaving Wales Greeta Jones--as was brought to light--led a wild
life in London. One night, while in a state of intoxication, he was
knocked down by a cab, and so seriously injured that he died while
being carried to the hospital; and with him his secret, for could there
be any reasonable doubt that, even if he was not the actual murderer,
he had connived at the crime. But there was reason to believe that he
killed his wife and child with his own hand, and that with the aid of
a navvy, whose services he bought, he bricked the bodies up in the
cellar. It was remembered that a navvy named Howell Williams had been
in the habit of going to the castle frequently, and that suddenly he
became possessed of what was, for him, a considerable sum of money. For
several weeks he drank hard; then, being a single man, he packed up his
few belongings and gave out that he was going to California, and all
efforts to trace him failed.
So much for this ghastly crime. As to the circumstances that led to
its discovery, it was curious that I should have been selected as the
medium for bringing it to light. Why it should have been so I cannot
and do not pretend to explain. I have recorded facts as they occurred;
I leave others to solve the mystery.
It was not a matter for surprise that Mrs. Dirckman should have been
deeply affected by the terrible discovery, and she declared to her
husband that if she were to remain at the castle she would either go
mad or die. And so poor Dick, who was devoted to his charming little
wife, got out as soon as he could, and once more Bleak Hill Castle
fell into neglect and ultimate ruin, until at last it was razed to the
ground and modern buildings reared on its site. As for myself, that
night of horror I endured under Dick’s roof affected me to such an
extent that my hair became prematurely grey, and even now, when I think
of the agony I endured, I shudder with an indefinable sense of fear.
XII
THE ASTROLOGER
The Black Forest is rich in story and tradition of a weird and
thrilling kind, but nothing can excel in ghastly horror that which is
told of the sole heir of the once illustrious family of Di Venoni. For
generations this family had held tyrannical sway over the district.
Their power was tremendous; their word was law; they ruled with a hand
of iron, and the peasants were their slaves. They were exceedingly
wealthy. Their men were said to be brave, their women beautiful. But,
as seems to be the fate of all powerful families sooner or later,
they began to decay. The fatuous habit of intermarrying produced the
usual result, and the curse of insanity fell upon them. Many were the
tragedies that this led to; and the time came at last when there was
but one sole remaining male representative. This was a youth, handsome
and well proportioned, but of eccentric habits, and occasionally
displaying those fatal signs which were only too well known.
Nevertheless, it was believed that Reginald Di Venoni might escape the
curse. The best medical advice was sought, and the opinion was that the
chances were strongly in his favour, and he would escape.
Reginald was brought up under the care of his mother, who had been
left a widow for some years. She was a haughty, austere, proud, and
disdainful lady, who guarded her son with peculiar jealousy; for on
him, as she knew, depended the existence of her house. If he failed,
then indeed the power of the Di Venonis would be gone, and the family
would crumble to decay.
The lady and her son lived in a large castle, which for generations had
been the Di Venonis’ stronghold, and had withstood and repelled many a
determined attack. It was a gloomy pile, distinguished for its strength
rather than its beauty, although internally much had been done for
the comfort of the occupants. The castle was situated in Suabia, just
on the borders of the forest. It stood on elevated ground, and anyone
standing on the turrets commanded an immense panorama of great beauty.
At some little distance rose the ruins of the once powerful castle of
Rudstein. This had originally been the home of the Di Venonis; but an
evil genius seemed to enter into it, and for two or three generations
such ill-luck attended the family that they decided to desert their
ancestral home. It was unroofed, and left to wind and weather and the
evil things that haunt the great forest. One tower was left standing
only, as a sort of landmark. In the meantime the new castle had risen,
and here the family installed themselves. Here many of them paid the
debt of nature, and here the last male representative was born. Here in
lonely grandeur the widowed mother lived, surrounded by a retinue of
servants and retainers, and having for companion her one sister--a much
younger woman, of great beauty and lively disposition. She was known
as the Lady Hilda, and it was said that she and her sister were by no
means always in accord. She protested against the gloomy surroundings
in which the scion of the noble house was being brought up, and she
urged Madame Di Venoni to keep more company, and relieve the castle, if
possible, of the air of brooding melancholy which seemed to envelope
it. But madame had her own notions. She wanted to mould her son after
her own fashion. She was afraid of exposing him to evil influences. She
would not depart from the traditions of her race.
One day, when Reginald was about six years of age, a traveller came
to the castle and begged for hospitality. It had been a terrible
day--wild, stormy, and wet. The traveller was a mysterious looking
man, who seemed to have travelled far on foot, and was weary, wet, and
hungry. He was a foreigner, and spoke but little German. He was invited
into the servants’ great hall, where food and drink were set before
him, and as night approached he was conducted to a chamber situated on
the top of a tower. That night a very violent storm, which had been
threatening all day, burst over the country and did enormous damage.
The thunder was terrific; the lightning incessant; the rain descended
in a deluge. During the time that the storm was at its height a female
servant, happening to glance from her window, which commanded a full
view of the tower where the traveller was lodged, averred that she saw
him walking about on the flat roof of the tower, and exposed to the
full fury of the storm. She declared that he had more the appearance
of a fiend than a man; that occasionally he broke into wild eldritch
laughter, and ever and anon raised his hands aloft, as if daring the
heavens and defying the lightning.
Frightened almost into a fit, and yet fascinated, the woman watched him
for some time, and at last saw him conversing with the arch enemy of
man himself. The following morning the servant hurried to her mistress,
and told her this silly story, the outcome of ignorance, superstition,
and fear; and she insisted that the traveller who had been entertained
and lodged in the castle was an evil being, who held converse with the
devil, and that unless he were put to death some terrible calamity
would result from his visit.
The lady, who was only a degree or two less superstitious than
the menial, was much impressed, for she lived in a district where
superstition was very rife. People travelled very little in those days,
and credence was given to the wildest and most outrageous stories;
while a belief in the power of certain persons to hold communication
with Satan was very common, especially in the Black Forest district.
Indeed, even at the present day, when railways and telegraphs encircle
the globe, natives of some of the remote districts in the forest
still cling to this belief, and have all sorts of charms to protect
themselves against the malignant influences of witches, warlocks, and
forest demons.
Madame Di Venoni, having listened to the wild and weird story of the
servant, summoned her major domo, and bade him bring the stranger to
her. This was done, and when the stranger was ushered into her presence
he bowed low and reverentially to the mistress of the castle, who,
however, regarded him with something like awe, for truly enough he was
a striking and remarkable man, and calculated to unfavourably impress
anyone who was superstitious. He had a dark, swarthy face. His eyes
were intensely black and piercing, his hair like jet.
‘Whence come you?’ demanded the lady, imperiously.
‘From Rhenish Prussia,’ answered the man proudly, and drawing himself
up as if by gesture he would resent the manner in which she addressed
him.
‘And whither go you?’
‘To Russia.’
‘With what object?’
‘In search of knowledge.’
Madame was incensed by his proud air, and eyeing him suspiciously, said:
‘Unless I am mistaken, you are a man of evil nature, and in
communication with the enemies of the human race.’
The man laughed.
‘No, madame,’ he answered, ‘unless the stars that shine so gloriously
in the heavens above are enemies of the human race, for it is from the
stars I derive my knowledge.’
This apparently mysterious answer appalled the lady, for she felt no
doubt now that the man was a fiend, and she was about to summon her
attendants and have him expelled when her little son burst into the
room, followed by his aunt. The child was laughing merrily, and had
come to show his mother some grotesque heads he had been drawing on a
sheet of paper. But, catching sight of the stranger, he was instantly
silenced and clung to his aunt’s skirts, while the Lady Hilda regarded
the man with intense interest.
‘Is that your son?’ he asked.
‘No,’ answered Lady Hilda, ‘I am a single woman. He is the son of my
sister there, the Lady Di Venoni.’
The man turned to madame, and speaking in a strange, far-away voice,
and as if inspired by some strange prophetic instinct, he said:
‘That boy is the hope and prop of your race. But have a care, have a
care, for a curse is upon him. Take him from this gloomy dwelling.
Show him the bright and fair scenes of the earth. Teach him charity
and tolerance. Strengthen his body and broaden his mind, and watch his
footsteps lest he stray. His life hangs by a thread only.’
Madame was horrified. She no longer doubted that this audacious
stranger was an evil thing whose death would be a benefit to all
men. As she caught her son up in her arms she screamed, and when her
attendants rushed in she ordered them to beat the stranger and set the
dogs upon him. Folding his arms he stood like a rock, and gazed at her
with scorn and defiance. But he was dragged from the apartment and
roughly hurried down the great stairs to the courtyard, where a call
was made to let the dogs loose, but at that instant the Lady Hilda
appeared upon the scene, and interposed to save the stranger from the
fury and violence of the menials. She peremptorily ordered them to
release him, and when that was done she bade him depart at once, saying:
‘Your safety, your life, depends upon the speed with which you leave
this castle behind you. You have spoken well and truly, and your advice
is the advice of a wise man; but ignorance and tradition are powerful
factors; they are difficult to counteract.’
The man bent his knee, and taking Lady Hilda’s hand, kissed it
gracefully, saying:
‘I thank you, lady, and do not doubt that this generous act of yours
will go unrewarded; but, I pray you let me have a word with you out of
earshot of these human wolves, who seem panting to rend me to pieces.’
Unmindful of the angry looks darted at her, and the menacing attitude
of the menials, she retired for a moment or two to a corner of the
courtyard with the stranger, who, availing himself of the opportunity,
said:
‘Have you the courage to meet me alone in the forest, in order that I
may give you some information?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. Meet me, then, to-night at the tower of the ruins of Rudstein,
as the moon rises. No harm shall befall you, but good will come out of
it.’
She pledged herself to meet him. Then she ordered the gates to be
thrown open, and the man departed, followed by the jeers and taunts
of the people. Lady Hilda turned furiously upon them and upbraided
them for their cowardice in attacking a defenceless man. She was not a
favourite with them, but she had power, and they were silenced.
That night, as the moon was rising, Lady Hilda slipped out of the
castle by a secret door, and hastily made her way to the ruins of
Rudstein, where the stranger was waiting for her. For two hours they
talked together, and, loving her nephew as she did, she anxiously
inquired about his future.
‘His hope lies in separating him from his mother,’ said the stranger.
‘It may seem unnatural and cruel, but she is too strongly influenced
in the traditions of her race to see that the boy’s welfare depends on
every means being taken to save him from the curse of his ancestors.’
‘But how know you all this?’ she answered, somewhat awed, and yet
recognising the soundness of his advice.
‘I read it in the stars,’ he answered mysteriously. ‘They are wondrous
books in which the past and the future of men can be read for those who
have eyes to see.’
Many more questions were asked and answered, and Lady Hilda returned
to the castle deeply impressed by the strange man’s manner. Again and
again she visited him, and his influence over her became all-powerful.
Of course, these visits were secret ones, and she kept her own
counsel. The stranger took up his abode in the tower, where there was
no fear of his being disturbed, for people had a dread of the ruins, as
they said they were haunted. Lady Hilda procured him books and other
things that he said he wanted, and she kept him supplied with food and
money. During the time that this was taking place she was urging her
sister to quit the castle, retire to the capital, and there bring up
her son in the shadow of the court. But this the mother strenuously
refused to do, while the ill-feeling between her and her sister
increased. At last Lady Hilda disappeared, and with her her nephew.
She was ultimately traced to Cologne after some months’ absence, and
she and the boy were brought back. Within a week of her return she was
found dead in her bed. She had been poisoned.
The burial of a dead Di Venoni was invariably an imposing sight, and
there was no exception in Lady Hilda’s case. None of the mummery and
pomp and ceremony were omitted, and for three days the body lay in
state in the great entrance hall, and those who were entrusted with
watching the corpse at night averred that one night as the great bell
of the castle was tolling the solemn midnight hour a peculiar dark-eyed
man suddenly appeared. There was something so weird and strange in his
appearance that they were dumbfounded with horror, and their horror was
increased when they saw him lift the shrouded corpse from its coffin,
press it to his breast, fondle it and kiss it, and lavish upon it all
the manifestations of extreme love and affection. At last he replaced
the body and disappeared as mysteriously as he came. This wonderful
story soon spread from lip to lip, with additions and exaggerations,
and great was the consternation when, as the unhappy lady was being
borne to the burial vault of the Di Venoni in the neighbouring church,
the remarkable stranger was recognised amongst the crowd. He seemed
bowed in sorrow, but when an attempt was made to seize him he avoided
it, and, as everyone declared, made himself invisible.
Years passed away. Reginald Di Venoni grew into manhood. He had become
a self-willed, passionate, gloomy man, who avoided his mother--now an
old and decrepid woman--and made no secret of the fact that he disliked
her. For a long time he had abandoned himself to the pleasures of the
chase, and he tried to give some colour and tone to his gloomy and
monotonous life by riotous living.
One evening he had been out hunting, and having got separated from
his followers, he was returning alone when, on reaching the ruins of
Rudstein, his horse shied, and Reginald beheld a weird-looking old man
standing amidst the ruins. His hair was white, and he had a long, grey
beard.
‘Who are you?’ demanded Reginald boldly, for he was courageous and
daring to recklessness at times.
‘One who has watched you from childhood, and who would now speak into
your ear words of wisdom. Make your horse fast to that tree and follow
me.’
Curiosity, no less than some spell which he seemed incapable of
resisting, prompted him to do the bidding of the stranger, who led the
way up the mouldering stairs of the tower. On arriving at the top he
threw open a door and revealed an apartment, the floor of which was
strewn with books written in strange characters. In one corner stood
a large vase engraved with the signs of the Zodiac, and encircled by
mysterious letters. A huge telescope was placed in the centre of the
room, and pointed through a small aperture in the ceiling. As the old
man entered he took up an ebony wand from a table near and with it drew
circles in the air, then, turning to Reginald, said in a solemn and
warning voice:
‘Man of ill-starred fortune, you were born under an unlucky planet, and
your future is involved in darkness. But for the sake of her whom I
loved, your aunt, the Lady Hilda, I would save you from your doom.’
Reginald laughed somewhat scornfully. Although he was not without
superstition he placed little faith in the wild stories which he had
heard from his childhood, and he was in the habit of saying that there
was little that was called supernatural that could not be explained by
natural laws.
‘Ah, now I remember you,’ he exclaimed. ‘Years ago, when I was a child,
you came to my mother’s castle. You frightened me then, and strangely
impressed me.’
‘And yet why should that have been?’ asked the stranger. ‘I was a
simple student of the occult, and was travelling the world in quest of
knowledge. I had heard something of your family. I knew the curse that
rested upon your house, and even then I would have tried to avert it;
but your mother would have set her dogs upon me as she set her menials.
To your aunt I owed my life, and my love for her grew. By my advice she
took you away to the capital, but that act cost her her life. For her
sake I would now save you. Since her death I have made long journeys
into different countries, but have always been drawn back here by some
influence I could not resist. My days, nay, my hours are numbered now;
but before I join the sweet Lady Hilda I would render you a service.’
Reginald was far from impressed, and laughed again, saying:
‘It is kind of you, but suppose I decline your good offices. Indeed,
I am capable of taking care of myself and my fortunes; and, frankly,
do not desire any service at the hands of a half-witted imposter, as I
believe you to be. For myself, I have no belief either in God or Devil,
therefore am not likely to be frightened by anything you can tell me or
anything you can do.’
The old man’s face assumed a look of sorrow and distress, and, speaking
in a voice that betrayed his emotion, he said:
‘Sad indeed it is that you should lack reverence. But have a care,
have a care! I warn you against infidelity, and against those sins
which, if indulged in, will bring you to ruin. Listen, I say, and take
heed. The star of your destiny already wanes in the heavens, and the
fortunes of the proud family of Venoni must decline with it. When the
stars shine to-night look to the west, and you will see your planet,
distinguishable by its unusual brilliancy. Look to it, I say, and let
your thoughts wander from it to the God who rules the universe, and to
Him put up a prayer of repentance and a cry for light and guidance. But
should you see a dull red meteor shoot across the face of your star of
nativity, it will be a sign that a deed of blood will be done, and you
will perpetrate it.’
For a moment or two Reginald was really impressed by the awe-inspiring
tone and manner of the old man. But once more he broke into a scornful
laugh, and said:
‘If this is all you have brought me here for, you do but waste my time,
and I will depart.’
‘Go!’ answered the old man. ‘You pronounce your doom. But let me exact
a promise from you. On the night of the third day from now return
to this apartment, and, if you find me dead, give my body Christian
burial.’
‘Yes; you shall have burial, as one of my dogs should,’ Reginald
replied. ‘But since you are an unwelcome tenant in this ruined tower,
which is part of my property, I shall give instructions to have you
driven away. However, as you confess to having liked my aunt, whom I
loved better than I loved my mother, I will see that you do not want.
You shall be furnished with means sufficiently ample to enable you to
live where your inclinations prompt, only you must quit the tower.’
‘This is my living place, as it is to be my death place,’ exclaimed the
old man. ‘And again I charge you, return here in three days, or fail at
your peril.’
Reginald was exasperated. His temper was aroused now, as he thought the
old man was defying him, and he strode hastily from the room, hurried
down the stairs, and, flinging himself on his horse, galloped to the
castle, with the intention of giving orders to eject the strange old
man from the tower at once. But by the time he reached the courtyard he
had changed his mind, and he could not help confessing to himself that
some indefinable sense of fear restrained him. At any rate, he would
let the old fellow remain where he was for a few days longer.
Three days passed away, and the night came. Then Reginald remembered
the man’s request; at first he had no intention of returning to the
ruins. As the evening wore on, however, he felt impelled by a feeling
of overmastering curiosity to pay another visit to the wizard, if
wizard he was. So, without making known his intention to anyone, he
armed himself with a formidable spear used in boar hunting, and,
calling his faithful boarhound ‘Wanga’ to his side, he set off for the
tower.