After our excursion through Venice with Nikola by night, an interval of
a week elapsed before we saw anything of him. During that time matters,
so far as our party was concerned, progressed with the smoothness of a
well-regulated clock. In my own mind I had not the shadow of a doubt
that Glenbarth was head over ears in love with Gertrude Trevor. He
followed her about wherever she went; seemed never to tire of paying her
attention, and whenever we were alone together, endeavoured to inveigle
me into a discussion of her merits. That she had faults nothing would
convince him.
Whether she reciprocated his good-feeling was a matter which, to my
mind, there existed a considerable amount of doubt. Women are
proverbially more secretive in these affairs than men, and if Miss
Trevor entertained a warmer feeling than friendship for the young Duke,
she certainly managed to conceal it admirably. More than once, I
believe, my wife endeavoured to sound her upon the subject. She had to
confess herself beaten, however. Miss Trevor liked the Duke of Glenbarth
very much; she was quite agreed that he had not an atom of conceit in
his constitution; he gave himself no airs; moreover, she was prepared to
meet my wife half-way, and to say that she thought it a pity he did not
marry. No, she had never heard that there was an American millionaire
girl, extremely beautiful, and accomplished beyond the average, who was
pining to throw her millions and herself at his feet! "And then," added
my wife, in a tone that seemed to suggest that she considered it my
fault that the matter had not been brought to a successful conclusion
long since, "what do you think she said? 'Why on earth doesn't he marry
this American? So many men of title do now-a-days.' What do you think of
that? I can tell you, Dick, I could have shaken her!"
"My dear little woman," I said in reply, "will nothing convince you that
you are playing with fire? If you are not very careful you will burn
your fingers. Gertrude is almost as clever as you are. She sees that you
are trying to pump her, and very naturally declines to be pumped. You
would feel as she does were you in her position."
"I do not know why you should say I am trying to pump her," she answered
with considerable dignity. "I consider it a very uncalled-for
expression."
"Well, my dear," I answered, "if you are going to attempt to improve
your position by splitting straws, then I must stop."
The episode I have just described had taken place after we had retired
for the night, and at a time when I am far from being at my best. My
wife, on the other hand, as I have repeatedly noticed, is invariably
wide-awake at that hour. Moreover she has an established belief that it
would be an impossibility for her to obtain any rest until she has
cleared up all matters of mystery that may have attracted her attention
during the day. I generally fall asleep before she is half-way through,
and for this reason I am told that I lack interest in what most nearly
concerns our welfare.
"One would at least imagine that you could remain awake to discuss
events of so much importance to us and to those about us," I have known
her say. "I have observed that you can talk about horses, hunting, and
shooting, with your bachelor friends until two or three o'clock in the
morning without falling asleep, but when your wife is anxious to ask
your opinion about something that does not concern your amusements, then
you must needs go to sleep."
"My dear," I replied, "when all is said and done we are but human. You
know as well as I do, that if a man were to come to me when I had
settled down for the night, and were to tell me that he knew where to
lay his hand upon the finest horse in England, and where he could put me
on to ten coveys of partridges within a couple of hundred yards of my
own front door, that he could even tell me the winner of the Derby, I
should answer him as I am now answering you."
"And your reply would be?"
I am afraid the pains I had been at to illustrate my own argument must
have proved too much for me, for I was informed in the morning that I
had talked a vast amount of nonsense about seeing Nikola concerning a
new pigeon-trap, and had then resigned myself to the arms of Morpheus.
If there should be any husbands whose experience have run on similar
lines, I should be glad to hear from them. But to return to my story.
One evening, exactly a week after Glenbarth's arrival in Venice, I was
dressing for dinner when a letter was brought to me. Much to my surprise
I found it was from Nikola, and in it he inquired whether it would be
possible for me to spare the time to come and see him that evening. It
appeared that he was anxious to discuss a certain important matter with
me. I noticed, however, that he did not mention what that matter was.
In a postscript he asked me, as a favour to himself, to come alone.
Having read the letter I stood for a few moments with it in my hand,
wondering what I should do. I was not altogether anxious to go out that
evening; on the other hand I had a strange craving to see Nikola once
more. The suggestion that he desired to consult me upon a matter of
importance flattered my vanity, particularly as it was of such a nature
that he did not desire the presence of a third person. "Yes," I thought,
"after all I will go." Accordingly I wrote a note to him saying that, if
the hour would suit him, I hoped to be with him at half-past nine
o'clock. Then I continued my dressing and presently went down to dinner.
During the progress of the meal I mentioned the fact that I had received
the letter in question, and asked my friends if they would excuse me if
I went round in the course of the evening to find out what it was that
Nikola had to say to me. Perhaps by virtue of my early training, perhaps
by natural instinct, I am a keen observer of trifles. On this occasion I
noticed that from the moment I mentioned the fact of my having received
a letter from Nikola, Miss Trevor ate scarcely any more dinner. Upon my
mentioning his name she had looked at me with a startled expression
upon her face. She said nothing, however, but I observed that her left
hand, which she had a trick of keeping below the table as much as
possible, was for some moments busily engaged in picking pieces from the
roll beside her plate. For some reason she had suddenly grown nervous
again, but why she should have done so passes my comprehension. When the
ladies had retired, and we were sitting together over our wine,
Glenbarth returned to the subject of my visit that evening.
"By Jove, my dear fellow," he said, "I don't envy you your excursion to
that house. Don't you feel a bit nervous about it yourself?"
I shook my head.
"Why should I?" I asked. "If the truth must be told I am a good deal
more afraid of Nikola than I am of his house. I don't fancy on the
present occasion, however, I have any reason to dread either."
"Well," said the Duke with a laugh, "if you are not home by
breakfast-time to-morrow morning I shall bring the police round, and
look down that trap-door. You'll take a revolver with you of course?"
"I shall do nothing of the kind," I replied. "I am quite able to take
care of myself without having recourse to fire-arms."
Nevertheless, when I went up to my room to change my coat, prior to
leaving the house, I took a small revolver from my dressing-case and
weighed it in my hand. "Shall I take it or shall I not?" was the
question I asked myself. Eventually I shook my head and replaced it in
its hiding-place. Then, switching off the electric light, I made for the
door, only to return, re-open the dressing-case, and take out the
revolver. Without further argument I slipped it into the pocket of my
coat and then left the room.
A quarter of an hour later my gondolier had turned into the Rio del
Consiglio, and was approaching the Palace Revecce. The house was in
deep shadow, and looked very dark and lonesome. The gondolier seemed to
be of the same opinion, for he was anxious to set me down, to collect
his fare, and to get away again as soon as possible. Standing in the
porch I rang the great bell which Nikola had pointed out to me, and
which we had not observed on the morning of our first visit. It clanged
and echoed somewhere in the rearmost portion of the house, intensifying
the loneliness of the situation and adding a new element of mystery to
that abominable dwelling. In spite of my boast to Glenbarth I was not
altogether at my ease. It was one thing to pretend that I had no
objection to the place when I was seated in a well-lighted room, with a
glass of port at my hand, and a stalwart friend opposite; it was quite
another, however, to be standing in the dark at that ancient portal,
with the black water of the canal at my feet and the anticipation of
that sombre room ahead. Then I heard the sound of footsteps crossing the
courtyard, and a moment later Nikola himself stood before me and invited
me to enter. A solitary lamp had been placed upon the coping of the
wall, and its fitful light illuminated the courtyard, throwing long
shadows across the pavement and making it look even drearier and more
unwholesome than when I had last seen it. After we had shaken hands we
made our way in silence up the great staircase, our steps echoing along
the stone corridors with startling reverberations. How thankful I was at
last to reach the warm, well-lit room, despite the story Nikola had told
us about it, I must leave you to imagine.
"Please sit down," said Nikola, pushing a chair forward for my
occupation. "It is exceedingly kind of you to have complied with my
request. I trust Lady Hatteras and Miss Trevor are well?"
"Thank you, they are both well," I replied. "They both begged to be
remembered to you."
Nikola bowed his thanks, and then, when he had placed a box of excellent
cigars at my elbow, prepared and lighted a cigarette for himself. All
this time I was occupying myself wondering why he had asked me to come
to him that evening, and what the upshot of the interview was to be.
Knowing him as I did, I was aware that his actions were never
motiveless. Everything he did was to be accounted for by some very good
reason. After he had tendered his thanks to me for coming to see him, he
was silent for some minutes, for so long indeed that I began to wonder
whether he had forgotten my presence. In order to attract his attention
I commented upon the fact that we had not seen him for more than a week.
"I have been away," he answered, with what was plainly an attempt to
pull himself together. "Business of a most important nature called me to
the south of Italy, to Naples in fact, and I only returned this
morning."
Once more he was silent. Then leaning towards me and speaking with even
greater impressiveness than he had yet done, he continued--
"Hatteras, I am going to ask you a question, and then, with your
permission, I should like to tell you a story."
Not knowing what else to do I simply bowed. I was more than ever
convinced that Nikola was going to make use of me.
"Have you ever wondered," he began, still looking me straight in the
face, and speaking with great earnestness, "what it was first made me
the man I am?"
I replied to the effect that I had often wondered, but naturally had
never been able to come to a satisfactory conclusion.
"Some day you shall know the history of my life," he answered. "But not
just yet. There is much to be done before then. And now I am going to
give you the story I promised you. You will see why I have told it to
you when I have finished."
He rose from his chair and began to pace the room. I had never seen
Nikola so agitated before. When he turned and faced me again his eyes
shone like diamonds, while his body quivered with suppressed excitement.
"Hatteras," he went on, when he had somewhat mastered his emotion, "I
doubt very much if ever in this world's history there has been a man who
has suffered more than I have done. As I said just now, the whole story
I cannot tell you at present. Some day it will come in its proper place
and you will know everything. In the meantime----"
He paused for a few moments and then continued abruptly--
"The story concerns a woman, a native of this city; the last of an
impoverished, but ancient family. She married a man many years her
senior, whom she did not love. When they had been married just over four
years her husband died, leaving her with one child to fight the battles
of the world alone. The boy was nearly three years old, a sturdy, clever
little urchin, who, up to that time, had never known the meaning of the
word trouble. Then there came to Venice a man, a Spaniard, as handsome
as a serpent, and as cruel. After a while he made the woman believe that
he loved her. She returned his affection, and in due time they were
married. A month later he was appointed Governor of one of the Spanish
islands off the American coast--a post he had long been eager to obtain.
When he departed to take up his position it was arranged that, as soon
as all was prepared, the woman and her child should follow him. They did
so, and at length reached the island and took up their abode, not at the
palace, as the woman had expected, but in the native city. For the
Governor feared, or pretended to fear, that, as his marriage had not
been made public at first, it might compromise his position. The woman,
however, who loved him, was content, for her one thought was to promote
his happiness. At first the man made believe to be overjoyed at having
her with him once again, then, little by little, he showed that he was
tired of her. Another woman had attracted his fancy, and he had
transferred his affections to her. The other heard of it. Her southern
blood was roused, for though she had been poor, she was, as I have said,
the descendant of one of the oldest Venetian families. As his wife she
endeavoured to defend herself, then came the crushing blow, delivered
with all the brutality of a savage nature.
"'You are not my wife,' he said. 'I had already a wife living when I
married you.'
"She left him without another word and went away to hide her shame. Six
months later the fever took her and she died. Thus the boy was left, at
five years old, without a friend or protector in the world. Happily,
however, a humble couple took compassion on him, and, after a time,
determined to bring him up as their own. The old man was a great
scholar, and had devoted all his life to the exhaustive study of the
occult sciences. To educate the boy, when he grew old enough to
understand, was his one delight. He was never weary of teaching him, nor
did the boy ever tire of learning. It was a mutual labour of love. Seven
years later saw both the lad's benefactors at rest in the little
churchyard beneath the palms, and the boy himself homeless once more.
But he was not destined to remain so for very long; the priest, who had
buried his adopted parents, spoke to the Governor, little dreaming what
he was doing, of the boy's pitiable condition. It was as if the devil
had prompted him, for the Spaniard was anxious to find a playfellow for
his son, a lad two years the other's junior. It struck him that the waif
would fill the position admirably. He was accordingly deported to the
palace to enter upon the most miserable period of his life. His likeness
to his mother was unmistakable, and when he noticed it, the Governor,
who had learned the secret, hated him for it, as only those hate who are
conscious of their wrong-doing. From that moment his cruelty knew no
bounds. The boy was powerless to defend himself. All that he could do
was to loathe his oppressor with all the intensity of his fiery nature,
and to pray that the day might come when he should be able to repay. To
his own son the Governor was passionately attached. In his eyes the
latter could do no wrong. For any of his misdeeds it was the stranger
who bore the punishment. On the least excuse he was stripped and beaten
like a slave. The Governor's son, knowing his power, and the other's
inordinate sensitiveness, derived his chief pleasure in inventing new
cruelties for him. To describe all that followed would be impossible.
When nothing else would rouse him, it was easy to bring him to an
ungovernable pitch of fury by insulting his mother's name, with whose
history the servants had, by this time, made their master's son
acquainted. Once, driven into a paroxysm of fury by the other's insults,
the lad picked up a knife and rushed at his tormentor with the intention
of stabbing him. His attempt, however, failed, and the boy, foaming at
the mouth, was carried before the Governor. I will spare you a
description of the punishment that was meted out for his offence. Let it
suffice that there are times even now, when the mere thought of it is
sufficient to bring--but there--why should I continue in this strain?
All that I am telling you happened many years ago, but the memory
remains clear and distinct, while the desire for vengeance is as keen as
if it had happened but yesterday. What is more, the end is coming, as
surely as the lad once hoped and prophesied it would."
Nikola paused for a moment and sank into his chair. I had never seen him
so affected. His face was deathly pale, while his eyes blazed like
living coals.
"What became of the boy at last?" I inquired, knowing all the while that
he had been speaking of himself.
"He escaped from the island, and went out into the world. The Governor
is dead; he has gone to meet the woman, or women, he has so cruelly
wronged. His son has climbed the ladder of Fame, but he has never lost,
as his record shows, the cruel heart he possessed as a boy. Do you
remember the story of the Revolution in the Republic of Equinata?"
I shook my head.
"The Republics of South America indulge so constantly in their little
amusements that it is difficult for an outsider to remember every
particular one," I answered.
"Well, let me tell you about it. When the Republic of Equinata suffered
from its first Revolution, this man was its President. But for his
tyranny and injustice it would not have taken place. He it was who,
finding that the Rebellion was spreading, captured a certain town, and
bade the eldest son of each of the influential families wait upon him at
his headquarters on the morning following its capitulation. His excuse
was that he desired them as hostages for their parents' good behaviour.
As it was, however, to wreak his vengeance on the city, which had
opposed him, instead of siding with him, he placed them against a wall
and shot them down by the half-dozen. But he was not destined to
succeed. Gradually he was driven back upon his Capital, his troops
deserting day by day. Then, one night he boarded a ship that was waiting
for him in the harbour, and from that moment Equinata saw him no more.
It was not until some days afterwards that it was discovered that he had
despatched vast sums of money, which he had misappropriated, out
of the country, ahead of him. Where he is now hiding I am the
only man who knows. I have tracked him to his lair, and I am
waiting--waiting--waiting--for the moment to arrive when the innocent
blood that has so long cried to Heaven will be avenged. Let him look to
himself when that day arrives. For as there is a God above us, he will
be punished as man was never punished before."
The expression upon his face as he said this was little short of
devilish; the ghastly pallor of his skin, the dark, glittering eyes, and
his jet-black hair made up a picture that will never fade from my
memory.
"God help his enemy if they should meet," I said to myself. Then his
mood suddenly changed, and he was once more the quiet, suave Nikola to
whom I had become accustomed. Every sign of passion had vanished from
his face. A transformation more complete could scarcely have been
imagined.
"My dear fellow," he said, without a trace of emotion in his voice, "you
must really forgive me for having bored you with my long story. I cannot
think what made me do so, unless it is that I have been brooding over it
all day, and felt the need of a confidant. You will make an allowance
for me, will you not?"
"Most willingly," I answered. "If the story you have told me concerns
yourself, you have my most heartfelt sympathy. You have suffered
indeed."
He stopped for a moment in his restless walk up and down the room, and
eyed me carefully as if he were trying to read my thoughts.
"Suffered?" he said at last, and then paused. "Yes, I have suffered--but
others have suffered more. But do not let us talk of it. I was foolish
to have touched upon it, for I know by experience the effect it produces
upon me."
As he spoke he crossed to the window, which he threw open. It was a
glorious night, and the sound of women's voices singing reached us from
the Grand Canal. On the other side of the watery highway the houses
looked strangely mysterious in the weird light. At that moment I felt
more drawn towards Nikola than I had ever done before. The man's
loneliness, his sufferings, had a note of singular pathos for me. I
forgot the injuries he had done me, and before I knew what I was doing,
I had placed my hand upon his shoulder.
"Nikola," I said, "if I were to try I could not make you understand how
truly sorry I am for you. The life you lead is so unlike that of any
other man. You see only the worst side of Human Nature. Why not leave
this terrible gloom? Give up these experiments upon which you are always
engaged, and live only in the pure air of the commonplace every-day
world. Your very surroundings--this house, for instance--are not like
those of other men. Believe me, there are other things worth living for
besides the Science which binds you in its chains. If you could learn to
love a good woman----"
"My dear Hatteras," he put in, more softly than I had ever heard him
speak, "woman's love is not for me. As you say, I am lonely in the
world, God knows how lonely, yet lonely I must be content to remain."
Then leaning his hands upon the window-sill, he looked out upon the
silent night, and I heard him mutter to himself, "Yes, lonely to the
End." After that he closed the window abruptly, and turning to me, asked
how long we contemplated remaining in Venice.
"I cannot say yet," I answered, "the change is doing my wife so much
good that I am anxious to prolong our stay. At first we thought of going
to the South of France, but that idea has been abandoned, and we may be
here another month."
"A month," he said to himself, as if he were reflecting upon something;
then he added somewhat inconsequently, "You should be able to see a
great deal of Venice in a month."
"And how long will you be here?" I asked.
He shook his head.
"It is impossible to say," he answered. "I never know my own mind for
two days together. I may be here another week, or I may be here a year.
Somehow, I have a conviction, I cannot say why, that this will prove to
be my last visit to Venice. I should be sorry never to see it again, yet
what must be, must. Destiny will have its way, whatever we may say or do
to the contrary."
At that moment there was the sound of a bell clanging in the courtyard
below. At such an hour it had an awe-inspiring sound, and I know that I
shuddered as I heard it.
"Who can it be?" said Nikola, turning towards the door. "This is
somewhat late for calling hours. Will you excuse me if I go down and
find out the meaning of it?"
"Do so, by all means," I answered. "I think I must be going also. It is
getting late."
"No, no," he said, "stay a little longer. If it is as I suspect, I fancy
I shall be able to show you something that may interest you. Endeavour
to make yourself comfortable until I return. I shall not be away many
minutes."
So saying, he left me, closing the door behind him. When I was alone, I
lit a cigar and strolled to the window, which I opened. My worst enemy
could not call me a coward, but I must confess that I derived no
pleasure from being in that room alone. The memory of what lay under
that oriental rug was vividly impressed upon my memory. In my mind I
could smell the vaults below, and it would have required only a very
small stretch of the imagination to have fancied I could hear the groans
of the dying man proceeding from it. Then a feeling of curiosity came
over me to see who Nikola's visitor was. By leaning well out of the
window, I could look down on the great door below. At the foot of the
steps a gondola was drawn up, but I was unable to see whether there was
any one in it or not. Who was Nikola's mysterious caller, and what made
him come at such an hour? Knowing the superstitious horror in which the
house was held by the populace of Venice, I felt that whoever he was, he
must have had an imperative reason for his visit. I was still turning
the subject over in my mind, when the door opened and Nikola entered,
followed by two men. One was tall and swarthy, wore a short black beard,
and had a crafty expression upon his face. The other was about middle
height, very broad, and was the possessor of a bullet-head covered with
close-cropped hair. Both were of the lower class, and their nationality
was unmistakable. Turning to me, Nikola said in English--
"It is as I expected. Now, if you care to study character, here is your
opportunity. The taller man is a Police Agent, the other the chief of a
notorious Secret Society. I should first explain that within the last
two or three days I have been helping a young Italian of rather advanced
views, not to put too fine a point upon it, to leave the country for
America. This dog has dared to try to upset my plans. Immediately I
heard of it I sent word to him, by means of our friend here, that he was
to present himself here before twelve o'clock to-night without fail.
From his action it would appear that he is more frightened of me than he
is of the Secret Society. That is as it should be; for I intend to teach
him a little lesson which will prevent him from interfering with my
plans in the future. You were talking of my science just now, and
advising me to abandon it. Could the life you offer me give me the power
I possess now? Could the respectability of Clapham recompense me for the
knowledge with which the East can furnish me?"
Then turning to the Police Agent he addressed him in Italian, speaking
so fast that it was impossible for me to follow him. From what little I
could make out, however, I gathered that he was rating him for daring to
interfere with his concerns. When, at the end of three or four minutes,
he paused and spoke more slowly, this was the gist of his speech--
"You know me and the power I control. You are aware that those who
thwart me, or who interfere with me and my concerns, do so at their own
risk. Since no harm has come of it, thanks to certain good friends, I
will forgive on this occasion, but let it happen again and this is what
your end will be."
[Illustration: "Presently a picture shaped itself in the cloud."]
As he spoke he took from his pocket a small glass bottle with a gold
top, not unlike a vinaigrette, and emptied some of the white powder it
contained into the palm of his hand. Turning down the lamp he dropped
this into the chimney. A green flame shot up for a moment, which was
succeeded by a cloud of perfumed smoke that filled the room so
completely that for a moment it was impossible for us to see each other.
Presently a picture shaped itself in the cloud and held my attention
spell-bound. Little by little it developed until I was able to make out
a room, or rather I should say a vault, in which upwards of a dozen men
were seated at a long table. They were all masked, and without exception
were clad in long monkish robes with cowls of black cloth. Presently
a sign was made by the man at the head of the table, an individual
with a venerable grey beard, and two more black figures entered, who led
a man between them. Their prisoner was none other than the Police Agent
whom Nikola had warned. He looked thinner, however, and was evidently
much frightened by his position. Once more the man at the head of the
table raised his hand, and there entered at the other side an old man,
with white hair and a long beard of the same colour. Unlike the others
he wore no cowl, nor was he masked. From his gestures I could see that
he was addressing those seated at the table, and, as he pointed to the
prisoner, a look of undying hatred spread over his face. Then the man at
the head of the table rose, and though I could hear nothing of what he
said, I gathered that he was addressing his brethren concerning the
case. When he had finished, and each of the assembly had voted by
holding up his hand, he turned to the prisoner. As he did so the scene
vanished instantly and another took its place.
It was a small room that I looked upon now, furnished only with a bed, a
table, and a chair. At the door was a man who had figured as a prisoner
in the previous picture, but now sadly changed. He seemed to have shrunk
to half his former size, his face was pinched by starvation, his eyes
were sunken, but there was an even greater look of terror in them than
had been there before. Opening the door of the room he listened, and
then shut and locked it again. It was as if he were afraid to go out,
and yet knew that if he remained where he was, he must perish of
starvation. Gradually the room began to grow dark, and the terrified
wretch paced restlessly up and down, listening at the door every now and
then. Once more the picture vanished as its companion had done, and a
third took its place. This proved to be a narrow street-scene by
moonlight. On either side the houses towered up towards the sky, and
since there was no one about, it was plain that the night was far
advanced. Presently, creeping along in the shadow, on the left-hand
side, searching among the refuse and garbage of the street for food,
came the man I had seen afraid to leave his attic. Times out of number
he looked swiftly behind him, as if he thought it possible that he might
be followed. He was but little more than half-way up the street, and was
stooping to pick up something, when two dark figures emerged from a
passage on the left, and swiftly approached him. Before he had time to
defend himself, they were upon him, and a moment later he was lying
stretched out upon his back in the middle of the street, a dead man.
The moon shone down full and clear upon his face, the memory of which
makes me shudder even now. Then the picture faded away and the room was
light once more. Instinctively I looked at the Police Agent. His usually
swarthy face was deathly pale, and from the great beads of perspiration
that stood upon his forehead, I gathered that he had seen the picture
too.
"Now," said Nikola, addressing him, "you have seen what is in store for
you if you persist in pitting yourself against me. You recognized that
grey-haired man, who had appealed to the Council against you. Then, rest
assured of this! So surely as you continue your present conduct, so
surely will the doom I have just revealed to you overtake you. Now go,
and remember what I have said."
Turning to the smaller man, Nikola placed his hand in a kindly fashion
upon his shoulder.
"You have done well, Tomasso," he said, "and I am pleased with you. Drop
our friend here at the usual place, and see that some one keeps an eye
on him. I don't think, however, he will dare to offend again."
On hearing this, the two men left the room and descended to the
courtyard together, and I could easily imagine with what delight one of
them would leave the house. When they had gone, Nikola, who was
standing at the window, turned to me, saying--
"What do you think of my conjuring?"
I knew not what answer to make that would satisfy him. The whole thing
seemed so impossible that, had it not been for the pungent odour that
still lingered in the room, I could have believed I had fallen asleep
and dreamed it all.
"You can give me no explanation, then?" said Nikola, with one of his
inscrutable smiles. "And yet, having accumulated this power, this
knowledge, call it what you will, you would still bid me give up
Science. Come, my friend, you have seen something of what I can do;
would you be brave enough to try, with my help, to look into what is
called The Great Unknown, and see what the Future has in store for you?
I fancy it could be done. Are you to be tempted to see your own end?"
"No, no," I cried, "I will have nothing to do with such an unholy thing.
Good heavens, man! from that moment life would be unendurable!"
"You think so, do you?" he said slowly, still keeping his eyes fixed on
me. "And yet I have tried it myself."
"My God, Nikola!" I answered in amazement, for I knew him well enough to
feel sure that he was not talking idly, "you don't mean to tell me that
you know what your own end is going to be?"
"Exactly," he answered. "I have seen it all. It is not pleasant; but I
think I may say without vanity that it will be an end worthy of myself."
"But now that you know it, can you not avert it?"
"Nothing can be averted," he answered solemnly. "As I said before these
men entered, what must be, must. What does Schiller say? '_Noch niemand
entfloh dem verhangten Geschick._'"
"And you were brave enough to look?"
"Does it require so much bravery, do you think? Believe me, there are
things which require more."
"What do you mean?"
"Ah! I cannot tell you now," he answered, shaking his head. "Some day
you will know."
Then there was a silence for a few seconds, during which we both stood
looking down at the moonlit water below. At last, having consulted my
watch and seeing how late it was, I told him that it was time for me to
bid him good-night.
"I am very grateful to you for coming, Hatteras," he said. "It has
cheered me up. It does me good to see you. Through you I get a whiff of
that other life of which you spoke a while back. I want to make you
like me, and I fancy I am succeeding."
Then we left the room together, and went down the stairs to the
courtyard below. Side by side we stood upon the steps waiting for a
gondola to put in an appearance. It was some time before one came in
sight, but when it did so I hailed it, and then shook Nikola by the hand
and bade him good-night.
"Good-night," he answered. "Pray remember me kindly to Lady Hatteras and
to--Miss Trevor."
The little pause before Miss Trevor's name caused me to look at him in
some surprise. He noticed it and spoke at once.
"You may think it strange of me to say so," he said, "but I cannot help
feeling interested in that young lady. Impossible though it may seem, I
have a well-founded conviction that in some way her star is destined to
cross mine, and before very long. I have only seen her twice in my life
in the flesh; but many years ago her presence on the earth was revealed
to me, and I was warned that some day we should meet. What that meeting
will mean to me it is impossible to say, but in its own good time Fate
will doubtless tell me. And now, once more, good-night."
"Good-night," I answered mechanically, for I was too much surprised by
his words to think what I was saying. Then I entered the gondola and
bade the man take me back to my hotel.
"Surely Nikola has taken leave of his senses," I said to myself as I was
rowed along. "Gertrude Trevor was the very last person in the world that
I should have expected Nikola to make such a statement about."
At this point, however, I remembered how curiously she had been affected
by their first meeting, and my mind began to be troubled concerning her.
"Let us hope and pray that Nikola doesn't take it into his head to
imagine himself in love with her," I continued to myself. "If he were to
do so I scarcely know what the consequences would be."
Then, with a touch of the absurd, I wondered what her father, the
eminently respected dean, would say to having Nikola for a son-in-law.
By the time I had reached this point in my reverie the gondola had drawn
up at the steps of the hotel.
My wife and Miss Trevor had gone to bed, but Glenbarth was sitting up
for me.
"Well, you have paid him a long visit, in all conscience," he said a
little reproachfully. Then he added, with what was intended to be a
touch of sarcasm, "I hope you have spent a pleasant evening?"
"I am not quite so certain about that," I replied.
"Indeed. Then what have you discovered?"
"One thing of importance," I answered; "that Nikola grows more and more
inscrutable every day."