CHAPTER X

The House among the Pines

FIRST PERSON PARAMOUNT

I

THE HOUSE IN CURZON STREET

My name is Agar Hume. My mother died when I was two years old. My

father was the first violin in a second-rate music hall orchestra at

Birmingham. He had once been a gentleman. He taught me French and how

to play the flute. Between whiles he treated me like a dog. He wished

me to become a member of his orchestra. My tastes, however, inclined to

the stage. From early childhood I had possessed an almost perfect

talent for mimicry. When I was nineteen years old, there was not an

artist I had ever seen whom I could not represent to the life. One

morning, about that time, in a fit of drunken rage my father gave me a

terrible beating. I was then somewhat undersized--the result of

irregular meals and bad food. I could neither retaliate nor defend

myself. That night, as soon as my father had set off for the theatre, I

ran away from home. I walked to Liverpool, and easily obtained

employment at a music hall, where for three years I nightly imitated

every actor and person of note whom the Liverpudlians wished to see.

They grew tired of me at last and ceased to applaud my turn. I was

promptly discharged by the management. Not caring to return to

Birmingham, as my father had never forgiven me for deserting him, I

made my way to London. I had saved a little money, and I thought that

before it was spent I should procure a new engagement. The London

market, however, was simply glutted with mimics, and before three

months had passed I was penniless and still without a place. I haunted

the theatres and employment agencies to no purpose. I was obliged to

pawn my wardrobe, and at last a day came when I stood in the Strand

owning nothing in the world but the suit of decent black I wore and my

make-up box, which I carried in my hand because I had been turned out

of my lodging-house that morning. I had not tasted food for

four-and-twenty hours. I mentioned the latter fact ten minutes later to

the manager of the next employment agency I visited. He had seen me so

often that he knew me well, and he sympathized with my misfortune.

"Look here," said he, "if you are so hard up as all that, your only

hope is to try your hand at something else. There is no chance for you

at the theatres."

"I'm ready to turn boot-black!" I assured him.

"Well, well," said he, "a client of ours inquired yesterday for a

valet. If you are really willing to put your pride in your pocket, I

shall personally recommend you."

"I have no pride," I answered, "but I have also no experience."

He gave me a pitying smile. "Certainly not, but I believe that you are

hungry--you look it!"

I was so hungry indeed that I thanked him warmly, and a few minutes

afterwards I was walking as fast as I could towards Piccadilly with a

letter in my pocket which bore the following address:--"Sir William

Dagmar, Bart., 22a Curzon Street."

It was a small two-storied house, but it looked good, and I raised the

knocker tremblingly.

A footman opened the door, to whom I gave my precious letter. He was

civil because my clothes were well cut, and because I have the

appearance of a gentleman. He invited me to a seat in an anteroom, and

went off with my letter. When he returned, he carried his nose in the

air, and his bearing was unaffectedly contemptuous.

"Huh!" he sniffed. "Step this way, but wipe your shoes on that mat

first, please!"

I obeyed. He led me to a room on the first floor, opened the second

door and announced in an oily voice

"The valet--Sir William."

Had I been a man of pride, I should have felt offended. As it was I

walked into the room quite undisturbed, and with the most respectful

mien I was able to assume.

The door closed behind me. The walls of the room, which was a large

one, were piled from floor to ceiling with books, which ran in long

straggling tiers, on shelves of carven oak. Books littered the carpet

about the bases of the shelves. Rows of books lying one upon another,

were heaped upon an immense table that occupied the centre of the room.

Dust covered the books. A revolving bookcase crammed with books stood

beside the chair upon which Sir William Dagmar sat. The apartment

resembled, except for its air of general untidiness, nothing so much as

a corner in the British Museum library. It possessed no windows, and

was lighted from the roof like a gallery of pictures. I am a keenly

observant man by nature, and from a lad I had persistently developed my

peculiar faculty for the sake of my profession. At that time it was

only necessary for me to glance at a place, person or thing in order to

photograph its character and details on my mind. A second after I

entered the room I looked at Sir William, but I had already said to

myself: "A book-worm!"

So he appeared, and nothing to my surprise. He was of middle size and

age. His features were regular and even handsome. His complexion was

yellow and bloodless. He possessed a broad rather high forehead, and a

large head covered with a mass of stubbly iron-grey hair. His nose was

long and straight. His chin was a trifle weak. He was clean shaven. The

key to his face was his mouth. It was large and sensitive. It had a

trick of screwing itself up at the corners, and sending the upper lip

into a curl of sneering querulousness, which I immediately experienced

an itch to imitate. His teeth were long, even and very white, but the

right incisor was lacking, and this circumstance made his voice sound

slightly sibilant. His eyes were grey like my own, but they were set

deeper in his head, and the man had twice my weight of years stooping

his narrow shoulders.

He regarded me appraisingly. "I need a valet," he began. His voice was

querulous like his mouth.

"Yes, sir," said I.

"You are recommended by Mr. Bray. You look young--rather too young. Why

did you leave your last place?"

"My employer could not afford to keep me any longer. I was with him for

three years, sir."

"Show me your references."

I had expected that demand. "I gave them to Mr. Bray, sir," I answered

glibly. "Did he not send them on to you? He said he would enclose them

in his letter!"

Sir William shook his head, and a bored look crept into his eyes. "I

suppose they are all right," he muttered wearily. "I like your voice;

it is soft. If you want to please me never raise it. My head aches very

easily."

"I shall remember, sir," I answered in my mildest accents.

"When could you commence your duties?"

"At once, sir."

He raised his eyebrows, then nodded languidly.

"Very well. I shall give you a trial. Your wages will be L5 a month and

your keep. Butts, the footman, will show you to your room and explain

my ways to you. I shall ring when I require you."

"Thank you, sir."

"By the way, Bray writes me that your name is Agar Hume. I dislike it.

Once upon a time I had a friend named Hume. I shall call you Brown."

"Very good, sir."

I backed out of the room, and as I half expected found the footman in

the passage. His air of defiant indifference informed me that he had

been listening through the keyhole. He was an owlish looking creature,

but there were garrulous wrinkles about his eyes and lips which

determined me to treat him civilly.

"Sir William has engaged me, Mr. Butts," I said in a low voice. "Will

you be good enough to show me to my room. I am to start work at once."

"You won't stay here long," he mumbled as he tip-toed off. "They never

do."

I had no intention of staying one day longer than I could help. But I

did not confide the fact to Butts. As I followed him my one thought was

to get my hands on food as soon as possible. I was desperately hungry.

He took me upstairs to an attic room at the back of the house. It was

small, but well lighted and clean, also it smelt of lavender. It

contained a deal wardrobe with a full length mirror, a truckle bed, a

dressing table and a wash stand. There was also a carpet on the floor.

I felt pleased, but I was famished.

"Here you hare!" growled Butts.

I put down my make-up box, and faced him.

"I should like to be friends with you, Mr. Butts," I said. "I dare say

we shall be cast a good deal in each other's company. What do you say?"

I offered him my hand.

He grinned and took it. My apparent ingenuousness had melted him at

once. He was not a bad hearted fellow, it seemed.

"All right," he said. "What's yer name?"

"Brown."

"What did yer think of 'im," he jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

"A book-worm, isn't he--but what do you say if we discuss him over a

glass of beer and some bread and cheese?"

"Good!" said Butts, and with an alacrity that delighted me, he led the

way by the servants' staircase to the pantry on the ground floor. For

beer, however, he gave me port wine, and for bread and cheese a cold

partridge.

"You seem to live well here," I commented with my mouth full.

"So so!" answered Butts with a sigh. "Tucker's all right--but it's so

cursed lonely. Master never goes out, except to meals, and it's very

seldom he hever has any company here, honly about once a month."

"Oh! a bit of a hermit, eh?"

"A bloomin' misanthrope--that's what I call him! He 'ates noise like

poison. Hif I was to drop a plate 'e'd ring to know what the devil I

meant by it?"

"Married?"

"No. He 'ates women wors'n noise, I believe."

"How does he pass his time?"

"Reads all day--half the night too."

"What does he want with a valet, then?"

"You'll soon find out," said Butts with a snort of contempt.

"Please tell me."

Butts wagged his head. "Bar shavin' him you won't 'ave much to do,

'cept give him his medicines at the proper hours. He's a sick man is

Sir William Dagmar! The last valet 'e had here, Joe Bates, was a real

smart un he was. He'd done for Lord X---- and Mr. Francis, and a lot more

tip-toppers. He was just celebrated for fixing hevenin' dress ties; and

Sir William always wears ready made ones to save trouble. Bates got the

miserables in a week, an' hup an' cleared out before the fortnight was

up."

"What is the matter with Sir William?"

"Consumption! He's got it bad!"

"Oh! is he rich?"

"Rich as Croesus."

"Any relatives?"

"A cousin he 'ates wors'n noise and wors'n women. A young chap name o'

Sefton Dagmar. He's heir to the title, but I'm not thinkin' he'll get

much o' the splosh. Sir William's got it all in Government bonds and he

can leave it as he likes."

"What is this Sefton Dagmar like?"

"Not a bad sort. He's always haffable enough to me. He lives at

Newhaven, but he calls here once in a while to see how Sir William is.

But he hardly ever sees him. Hi! there's master's bell--I'll be back in

a minute."

As soon as Butts had disappeared I gave my appetite free rein and a

very hearty meal I made. He was absent a quarter of an hour, and on his

return he wore a look of annoyance. "Nuisance!" he began. "He's halways

worriting about this time. He's goin' to give a dinner party to-morrow

night. He gives one every month. But he wants you! Hurry up, he 'ates

to be kep waitin'."

I was up the stairs in a twinkle, and again standing before Sir

William. He looked bored to death.

"Some gentlemen will dine with me to-morrow night, Brown," he drawled.

"Six in all. Their names are on this paper, and their table places

marked. I wish you to serve--Butts is a clumsy waiter."

I received the paper with a deferential bow. "Very good, sir!" I

murmured.

"You will also see that card tables are arranged in the smoking room.

Butts will order the dinner, he knows my ways. But you will take charge

of the arrangements. You seem a capable young fellow."

"Thank you, sir!"

"And Brown," he frowned heavily.

"Yes, sir."

"Don't fill my glass too often. I am an invalid, you know, and wine

does not agree with me. That is all. I shall not want you again until

seven o'clock this evening, when you may dress me for dinner!"

Butts and I studied the paper that Sir William had given me, with the

greatest attention. I soon gathered that the six gentlemen who were to

dine with my master were not members of the smart set of society such

as Butts called "tip-toppers," but men of intellectual attainment, and

leaders of thought, if not of fashion. Butts knew them all. "They

belong to Sir William's club, the 'Athenian,'" he remarked. "This here

Sir Charles Venner who's to take the seat of honour is a cove what cuts

up dead dogs and such like while they are alive."

"A vivisectionist?" I asked smiling.

"Don't know what you call 'em," responded Butts. "But he's doctor, and

so is Mr. Fulton, who is to sit opposite on master's left. The next

chap on the right--Luke Humphreys--is a hauthor, on political economy.

Mr. Husband is the chap who wrote that article in the _National Review_

on the weakness of the Navy, which kicked up such a blessed fuss a

while since. You must have heard of him?"

"Oh, yes."

"Well, George Cavanagh is an artist and a R.A. Master has one of his

pictures in the dining room--you'll see it presently: a naked woman

with a chap--'Love and Death' it's called."

I had much ado not to laugh outright. "I've seen prints of it," I

muttered. "Who is the last, Mr. Nevil Pardoe, Butts?"

"He's a playwright," answered Butts with a sigh. "They're playin' one

of his pieces now at the Kensington Theatre. I went there the other

night and got my pocket picked for my trouble." He kicked over a chair

as he spoke, as if carried away by temper in remembering his

misfortune. The bell rang on instant. "Oh, Lor!" groaned Butts. "I'm in

for it again, that man has the ears of a mole!"

He came back a few minutes later looking very sour. "Called me a clod

hopper!" he growled in a low voice. "He's got a reptile tongue. But

come upstairs, Brown, and I'll show you his bedroom--an' where he keeps

his clothes an' things!"

It was an immense apartment, magnificently furnished. But it was very

untidy and medicine bottles, some full, some empty, crowded the

mantelpiece and dressing tables. The place smelt like a druggist's

store. "I'll clear that rubbish away first thing," I declared. But the

footman seized my arm as I caught up the first bottle. "He'd go ravin'

stark starin' mad if one of them was shifted," he cried. "Don't you

touch 'em, lad."

I shrugged my shoulders, and watched Butts ransack our master's

wardrobe, he explaining to me the while certain preferences in matters

of taste and dress which Sir William had always manifested. It appeared

that he detested colours. All his suits were black, also his boots and

gloves.

"You seem to know him so well, Butts," I remarked at last, "that I

wonder more and more why he has not made you his valet."

"It's my haccent!" sighed Butts. "He can't abear it. Whenever I drop a

haitch, in his 'earing, he shrivels up."

During the afternoon I borrowed half a sovereign from Butts, and

purchased some fresh linen.

While dressing Sir William Dagmar later in the evening, I only spoke

when he addressed me, and then in softest monosyllables. He seemed

pleased with my attentions. But then I have frequently noticed that no

man is hard to please whose idiosyncrasies are humoured when detected.

He gave me a list of his medicines and the hours when they should be

administered, after which he departed to dine at a neighbouring

restaurant, in which his habit was to take most of his meals in a

private room, perfectly alone.

Butts and I dined together in the pantry, and a merry time we spent,

until our master's return, when noise was prohibited.

On the morrow the house was more or less in the hands of a bevy of

restaurateurs preparing for the dinner. Sir William went out early in

the morning, and he was absent all day, but he returned in time for me

to dress him, and he appeared to be pleased with our arrangements. The

table indeed looked magnificent, for I had taken care to deck it with

flowers, and my taste in such matters is excellent. I did not see the

guests until dinner was served, and they were all seated at the table.

I wore an evening suit of my master's, which on Butts' advice I had

borrowed beforehand without the formality of asking permission, having

none of my own. Sir William was not an observant man, _grace au Dieu_!

I entered the room noiselessly, and slipped behind my master's chair.

The table had been previously spread with oysters. No one spoke, until

the shells were emptied; meanwhile I studied the six attentively. They

were intelligent, but cold-faced men. Sir Charles Venner had an

enormous nose, and very small grey eyes. Dr. Fulton possessed a

hare-lip. Mr. Humphreys rejoiced in a squint. George Cavanagh might

have stepped from a portrait by Van Dyck, but he had a trick of

screwing up the tip of his nose under the influence of excitement, at

intervals, as a rabbit does. Mr. Husband put out his tongue, to meet

his fork as he ate, he possessed a prodigious chin; and Mr. Nevil

Pardoe had watchful heavy lidded eyes. These traits were their

key-notes so to speak--their individual and predominant peculiarities,

which distinguished them from each other and from other distinguished

men. From the rest of the world, they were one and all distinguished by

a common pallor of complexion, and a curious cough, which stamped them

as consumptives.

As I removed their plates, Sir Charles Venner broke a silence that I at

least was beginning to find oppressive. "I believe you will be the

first to go after all, Dagmar!" he remarked in French, casting a keen

glance at my master. "Pardoe seems picking up. He doesn't cough so much

to-night." It was evident that no one suspected me of an

acquaintanceship with French.

Sir William shrugged his shoulders. "I am ready," he returned. "But I

don't think so. Will you bet, or any one?"

"I'll lay you even money that Pardoe turns up his toes before you,

Dagmar!" cut in Mr. Husband.

"Very good," said Sir William. "How much?"

"A hundred!"

"It is a wager!" Sir William took out his pencil and scrawled some

figures on his shirt cuff.

"I'll take you too, Husband," cried Mr. Cavanagh.

"And I," chorused Dr. Fulton and Sir Charles.

"No thanks," retorted Mr. Husband drily. "My book is full. How are you

feeling yourself, Venner?"

"Nice and poorly, thanks, but with care I'll out-last the lot of you!"

He broke out into a fit of coughing as he finished speaking, and the

others bending forward, watched him eagerly. Their expressions reminded

me of a lot of hungry carnivora eyeing a bone held just beyond their

reach.

They drank their soup in silence, but while I served to them the

entree, they conversed again.

"I'm in the hands of a quack," began Nevil Pardoe. "The enterprising

devil has agreed to cure me for the sake of an advertisement."

"Oh! How long?"

"Ten days now. Upon honour I feel a little better already."

"Where is he to be found?" demanded my master suddenly.

A roar of laughter drowned the reply. But Sir William looked annoyed.

"It's not that I want to live," he explained in tones of anger. "I know

I'm doomed, but Cavanagh stands to lose two thousand pounds--if I

predecease Pardoe, and as he is only a poor devil of an artist--I'd

like to improve his chances!"

"Quite so," sneered Sir Charles. "We all know your affection for

Cavanagh. But my dear Dagmar, fair play is a jewel you know. You must

kill or cure yourself off your own bat, unless you choose to pair with

Pardoe and adopt his treatment altogether. Those are the rules."

"You need not remind me," said my master drily. "By the way, Husband,

what was the result of your last examination?"

"Two pounds short of my former weight, but the hole in my remaining

lung has not sensibly increased. Jackson gives me solid assurance of at

least twelve months."

"Lucky devil!" sighed Mr. Cavanagh. "I'm booked in half the time,

though I might drag on for a year or two if I were to try Egypt!"

"Has your limit been changed since our last meeting, Fulton," asked Mr.

Pardoe.

"Only by effluxion of the intervening time. I'll feed the worms in just

under ten months, unless a cab runs over me, or some other accident

occurs."

Sir William raised his wineglass. "Gentlemen," said he, "I drink to the

Tubercle Bacillus!"

"Our master!" chorused the others, and every glass was drained.

I quickly refilled all but Sir William's, wondering the while whether I

had fallen among an assembly of ghouls, or if I was not the victim of

some ghastly joke. The _piece de resistance_ of the dinner was a

dressed calf's head, which Sir William Dagmar carved. Not one of his

guests began to eat until all were helped. But when that was done, my

master suddenly ordered me to leave the room. Butts regarded me

enquiringly as I came out. "Spoke some foreign lingo, didn't they?" he

asked.

I nodded.

"They allers do," he went on. "Why, I don't know, for the life o' me. A

lot of death's heads I call them."

"They look like consumptives," I suggested.

"Like as not they hare!" he returned. "Look at this muss, Brown! What

do you make of it?"

He held up a huge bowl of cream into which a hundred different species

of nuts had been grated. "This is what they take for sweets," he said

with a shiver. "It tastes 'orrible!"

"Perhaps it is medicine."

"May be. I spose you didn't make out hanything they said, Brown?"

"They spoke in French, Butts," I replied.

He shrugged his shoulders, and we waited for the bell. When it rang I

took in the bowl of nut cream.

"Do you understand French, Brown?" demanded my master as soon as the

door closed behind me.

"Not a word, sir."

"Very good. Serve the sweets, please."

A murmur of approval went round the table. The gentlemen ate their

cream in silence, and washed it down with champagne. I refilled their

glasses with the dexterity of an expert waiter, and I was about to

resume my old place behind my master's chair, when he fixed me with his

eyes, and addressed me suddenly in French. "Brown!" cried he, "leave

the room this instant!"

I halted and looked at him with a stupid air. "Beg pardon, sir. Did you

speak to me, sir?"

He smiled and answered in English. "Yes, Brown, fill my glass please. I

forgot that you do not understand French!"

"You should have tested the fellow beforehand," said Sir Charles Venner

in French. "The closer you approach your tomb, Dagmar, the more

careless you become!"

"What does it matter," said my master wearily. "Pardoe, kindly present

your report!"

Mr. Pardoe got slowly to his feet, and I marvelled to see for the first

time, his lean ungainly frame. A bag of skin and bone it was, no more.

A frightful fit of coughing preluded his speech. When he had recovered,

he put his right foot on a chair, and leaning on his bony knee, began

as follows:--

"Gentlemen, this is our seventeenth monthly gathering since the

initiation of our order, and we are all, seven of us, still above

ground, although we were all condemned as incurable before we first

foregathered. During the period I have indicated not one of us has

flinched from his bargain, and as your latest secretary, gentlemen, I

am pleased to announce that I have duly and regularly received from

each member the weekly contribution fixed by our rules. The amount at

present standing to my credit in trust for the order is L7,000." He

took a small pass-book from his pocket, and handed it to his nearest

neighbour, who glanced at its contents and passed it up the table to

Sir William. "You will find in that book, gentlemen, a cheque for the

amount named marked 'good' by the Bank. I have the honor now to tender

you my resignation. Mr. Cavanagh should, I believe, be my successor."

He sat down again, coughing terribly.

Sir William nodded. "It is your turn, Cavanagh," he said quietly. "You

will hold office for the current month."

"Very well," replied Mr. Cavanagh, tugging fiercely at his moustache as

he spoke. "You fellows can forward your subs, direct to my studio,

without waiting for notices. I never write letters."

Sir William arose, holding the cheque above his head. "Whose shall it

be this time, friends?" he demanded. "Remember that I have won three

times running. Will any give me odds?"

"I," cried Dr. Fulton sharply. "I'll lay you seven to one in hundreds,

Dagmar, that you do not win to-night."

"Done! Come, gentlemen."

They trooped out of the room, and I, ablaze with curiosity, made haste

to follow them, carrying a silver tray of coffee and liqueurs with

which Butts supplied me.

I found them standing around the larger card-table, watching, in

perfect silence, Mr. Nevil Pardoe shaking an iron dice-box. Upon the

middle of the cloth lay the cheque for L7,000 face upwards, which Mr.

Pardoe had given to Sir William. No one heeded me, so I put down the

tray and watched them. Presently Mr. Pardoe scattered the dice upon the

cloth.

"Five," said Mr. Cavanagh, picking up the dice. "Your turn, Sir

Charles."

Sir Charles took up the box, scarcely rattled it, and threw.

"Six," said Mr. Cavanagh. "Dr. Fulton."

The doctor threw eleven; Mr. Husband five; Mr. Humphreys thirteen, and

Mr. Cavanagh sixteen.

When the latter's fortune was declared, Dr. Fulton rubbed his hands

together. "He! he! he! beat that, Dagmar!" he chuckled.

Sir William took up the box for half a minute, and scattered the pieces

without looking at the board.

"Seventeen!" said Mr. Cavanagh in a stifled voice. The poor young man's

face was a ghastly sight to witness. He had evidently made sure of

winning, and the snatching of the cup from his lips had cost him a

month of his fast dwindling life, or his looks belied him. He sank into

a chair and began to cough so violently that a bloody foam soon stained

the handkerchief he held before his mouth.

Sir William, with a curiously blank smile, took up the cheque and

slipped it into his pocket. "I'll trouble you for seven hundred pounds

at your leisure, Fulton," he said quietly.

"I'll post it," snapped the doctor. "May the furies seize your luck!

That is the fourth time in succession you have fleeced us!"

The others shrugged their shoulders, and sought chairs, which they drew

about the board. I served them immediately with coffee. A moment later,

each had a pile of bank-notes and gold before him, and at the centre of

the table, in a little cup-like depression, lay a heap of sovereigns.

The game was draw poker. It was a strange experience for me to watch

them. All seven seemed gamblers born. All had death in their faces, and

were living only by the grace of their disease. All were men of

uncommon intellect. They played with a rigid affectation of

indifference, that poorly concealed their underlying eagerness. They

only spoke to bet, and the stakes ran high. From the first Sir William

Dagmar won. His luck was marvellous. Standing as I did behind his

chair, I could see his cards and his opponents' faces. Twice running,

four queens were dealt him. Each time he won a considerable sum, and

each time six pair of wolfish eyes detested his good fortune. Twice

again he drew for a flush, and made it. On the latter occasion, two of

his opponents held full hands--Sir Charles Venner and Mr. Cavanagh. The

others passed out, but Venner and Cavanagh bet to the limit, a hundred

pounds. Sir William called them, and with his customary blandness,

scooped the pool. They arose, with muttered curses, to their feet, and

became spectators. Half an hour later the game broke up. Sir William

had despoiled the last of his guests, and his pockets simply bulged

with money.

"It is an omen!" he declared. "I now believe that I shall be the first

to go! Fate is fond of such little ironies! Brown," he added in

English. "Help these gentlemen to don their cloaks. My friends,

good-night."

They replied with the curtest of nods, and I attended them from the

house.

While I was undressing my master I racked my brains to try to discern a

means of turning to my own advantage what I had seen and heard that

night. Sir William seemed worn out, and he got into bed immediately.

But as I was about to extinguish the gas, he called me to him. "Well,

Brown," said he, "what do you think of my luck?"

"Wonderful, sir!" I replied, "simply wonderful."

He nodded, and a sneer curled his lips. "In this life, Brown," he

muttered, "the things we neither need nor desire are oftenest showered

upon us. Be good enough to count my winnings."

I obeyed, eyeing him covertly the while. But he had turned his back,

and appeared to pay me no heed.

"Seven thousand six hundred and thirteen pounds," I announced at last.

He glanced round at me, a smile upon his face. "I am glad to see that

you are an honest man, Brown," he said quietly. "That will do--you may

go."

I had been bitterly tempted, but, well he had turned his back upon me.

Charmed with the result of my astuteness, I left the room and sought my

own. There I occupied myself for a few minutes with my make-up box, and

when quite satisfied with my appearance, I tip-toed down stairs to the

pantry.

Butts was seated before a dainty meal, and in the act of opening a

bottle of champagne.

"Butts!" said I, "when did I give you permission to drink my champagne?"

He sprang to his feet uttering a cry of terror, and the bottle toppled

over the table.

"Sir William!" he gasped, "Oh, sir; oh, sir!"

"Look at me!" I commanded.

His eyes almost bulged out of his head. "Is there anything in my

appearance?" I demanded, "which might lead you to suppose that I am the

sort of man to allow my servants such indulgence."

"Oh, sir. Please forgive me, sir!" he mumbled, shaking like a leaf.

"I--I----"

"Dishonest in one thing, then in another," I interrupted sternly. "How

much did you steal in providing to-night's dinner? Tell me the truth,

or I shall send for the police!"

"Not a penny sir--so--help me! The wine man gave me two pounds

commission on the order, that is all, sir--so help me!"

"Hand it over to me at once, and let this be a lesson to you!" I

commanded.

Butts, trembling, placed two sovereigns in my outstretched palm.

"Was Brown a partner in your rascality?" I demanded.

"No--no, sir," he stammered. "Oh! oh! please forgive me, sir. I'll

never do it again, sir--so help me!" The fellow actually fell on his

knees before me, and tears of entreaty rolled down his cheeks.

"I'll forgive you this once!" I returned, and swinging on my heel, I

left the pantry.

Ten minutes later Butts poured into my ears a wild tale of how Sir

William Dagmar had caught him opening a bottle of champagne, and of the

row that they had had. But he told me nothing about the two sovereigns

reposing that instant in my pocket.

I went to sleep that night perfectly self-satisfied, and so reconciled

with my position as Sir William Dagmar's valet, that I would not have

changed places with Dan Leno himself. I had formed a fine plan to

enrich myself, and I determined to abandon the stage for ever.

II

THE FOUNDATION OF A FORTUNE

The next month passed very quietly. I got used to Sir William and his

ways, and so assiduously attended him that I had the satisfaction to

perceive that my services were gradually becoming indispensable to his

comfort. I studied him so closely that before long I was able almost to

read his thoughts, certainly to anticipate his wishes. I waited upon

him like a shadow, as silently, as faithfully. His life was for the

most part of fixed habit. At nine o'clock he arose and breakfasted. He

then repaired to his library where he read or wrote until noon. I found

that he was engaged in compiling a compendium of philosophy, one volume

of which had already been published and which had procured for him a

great measure of literary fame. His heart was wrapped up in his work.

It had more charms to him than the love of woman to an abandoned rake,

or dice to a gambler. Once seated there before his manuscript he

permitted nothing to interrupt him, except noise--at which he raged

like a madman. I have seen him bend murderous glances on

Butts--entering by chance with some persistent visitor's pasteboard. I,

however, came and went as I pleased with his medicines, which I obliged

him to take at the proper hours. For me he had always a smile,

impatient truly, but a smile; for I wore shoes of felt, and from

careful practice my voice became more softly modulated every day. At

noon Sir William went out for a walk in the park, and for lunch at his

restaurant. He returned at three and worked steadily until seven, when

I dressed him for dinner, for which he also went abroad. From ten

o'clock until midnight he worked again, when I put him to bed. Such was

our daily round for six days in every week. On the seventh Sir William

arose an hour earlier than usual, and immediately after breakfast he

left the house and seldom returned until past midnight. What he did or

where he went on those occasions I could not by any means discover, for

Butts was as ignorant as I, and I dared not ask our master. I

determined that one day in the near future I would follow him, but I

could not do so immediately, because of Butts. Visitors came to the

house at times, but he seldom received any, and if he saw his friends

at all it must have been during meals. I directed my leisure hours to

the perfection of the plan I had formed for my own aggrandisement. In

that behalf I prosecuted diligent inquiries concerning the six

gentlemen who were my master's monthly guests. I could learn very

little of them it is true, try how I would, and nothing at all of the

curious link of agreement which I knew bound them together. But I found

that they were all men of private fortune and of great esteem in the

world of learning; also that each of them, like my master, was

passionately devoted to a particular intellectual hobby horse. Sir

Charles Venner, it seemed, had already spent ten years of research in

extending the acquaintance of science with the functions of the thyroid

gland. Dr. Fulton's ambition was to discover some great destructive to

the bacillus of bubonic plague, yet otherwise harmless to the human

system. Mr. Humphreys was engaged upon a propagandist mission to teach

the masses the blessings of what he called "Purer Socialism." Mr.

Cavanagh painted riddles of pictures for the Academy, which his brother

Academicians wished, without daring, to reject. Mr. Nevil Pardoe wrote

problem plays, and Mr. Husband was a naval expert. Like my master, all

were confirmed bachelors who had acquired a reputation for misogyny

because they remorselessly eschewed society. Earnest workers and

infernal idiots! So I came to regard them the more I heard of them.

Indeed, who but a fool would prefer to waste his life in barren study,

when he might squire instead such exquisitely beautiful dames as I saw

and coveted every time I wandered down Piccadilly or the Row?

The secret of my master's monthly entertainments cost me many an

unquiet night of puzzled thought and anxious contemplation. I tried to

believe that he and his six fellow students had simply agreed to

assemble periodically at Sir William Dagmar's house in order to enjoy a

quiet gamble as a recreation from their ordinary and persistent

labours, and also to gratify a morbid desire of marking the ravages

which their common disease had made in each other since their last

meeting. Some instinct, however, forbade me to rest satisfied with an

explanation so simple. Why, I asked myself, should they always converse

in French, if they had nothing better worthy of concealing? Why, again,

should they subscribe weekly to a common fund, the combined fruits of

which evidently passed into one man's keeping at the dictation of the

dice? That seemed a curious thing, and it was a circumstance all the

more puzzling to account for, since they gambled at cards for high

stakes as well. Was it just possible that the winner of the cheque was

bound, by rule, to apply the money to some esoteric purpose? I felt

inclined to suspect it was! But what then? I watched Sir William, the

last winner of the cheque, as a cat might a mouse for three weeks--but

I discovered nothing. I censored his correspondence with a like result.

Every Monday morning he gave me a letter to post to Mr. Cavanagh. I

opened those over a bowl of steam, but each only contained a crossed

and unnegotiable cheque for L250, with never a line of explanation. As

for the rest of his post budget, he received many letters, but he

answered none, and his correspondents seemed to be for the most part

beggars. The mystery irritated me so much that it began to trouble my

sleep. Butts also annoyed me. He developed such a fancy for my company

that I was obliged to lock my door whenever I wished to be alone; and I

frequently wished to be alone, for my great plan required that I should

be able to imitate at will Sir William Dagmar's every look and gesture,

his every tone and trick of speech. I foresaw that I should have to get

rid of Butts. He was a naturally inquisitive, interfering fellow. But I

reflected that when I had got rid of him, it would be necessary for me

to perform his duties as well as my own, if I wished to have a clear

field for my designs. If Sir William engaged another footman, I should

have my work to do all over again. With that end in view, I persuaded

Butts to instruct me in the business of ordering and providing the

monthly dinners, cleaning silver, and so forth. Pride is not one of my

weaknesses, as I have remarked before. I felt able to assume his post

in a very few days, just two days indeed before the next monthly dinner

was due. That very night I dressed myself up to resemble my master, and

marched stealthily downstairs into the pantry about the hour when I

knew, from experience, that Butts enjoyed a first night-cap of port

wine. There he stood, a bottle before him, glass in hand.

"Butts!" said I, without preliminary, "I was wrong to forgive you for

stealing my wine. But I wished to give you a chance--No, don't speak to

me, Butts. You have had your chance and wasted it. If you are not out

of my house before breakfast hour to-morrow, I shall give you in charge

of the police. If, however, you make the least noise in taking your

boxes downstairs, I shall prosecute you in any case. Be careful,

therefore! Good night, Butts!"

I left him standing like a frozen image, staring after me. Half an hour

later he came to my room and poured the whole story into my sympathetic

ears. He was almost drunk, and bitterly incensed with my master, also

he was terribly afraid of the police. I sincerely commiserated with

him, and earned his undying gratitude by forcing into his hand one of

the sovereigns of which I had previously despoiled him, and which I had

had no occasion to spend, for Butts had put me in the way of

replenishing my wardrobe on the credit system. I felt truly sorry for

Butts, but he had to go. He stood in my way. My philosophy is embraced

in the maxim, "First person paramount." I may be thought inhuman by

some of the people who read these memoirs, but I dare swear that none

will consider me a fool. The surest way to succeed in life is to kick

down as soon as may be the ladders by which one climbs. To do otherwise

is to court disaster, for envy is the most powerful passion of the

soul, and envy is inevitably excited by contemplation of the successes

of our equals or inferiors.

When I had half dressed Sir William on the following morning, I broke

my fixed habit of silence.

"If you please, sir," I said very softly, "I have something to inform

you which I fancy you should know."

My master looked as much surprised as if he had previously considered

me to be a dummy.

"What is it?" he curtly demanded.

"Butts left this morning, sir, soon after daylight, in order to catch a

train to the West. His closest living relative is dying, I believe; I

persuaded him not to trouble you last night by asking your permission."

"What a cursed nuisance!" cried Sir William with a frown. "I expect

guests to dinner here to-morrow night. When will Butts return?"

"I don't think he will come back, sir, he has expectations of

inheriting a little fortune; he has, however, given me minute

instructions regarding the dinner, and if you will be good enough to

confide the matter to my hands, I think I can promise that you'll not

be disappointed!"

"You are an invaluable fellow, Brown," said my master in tones of great

relief. "Certainly, take charge of everything. I know that I can trust

you."

"Thank you, sir," I said demurely. "Will your guests be the same as

last time, sir?"

"Yes!" He shrugged his shoulders and slipped his arms into the coat I

held out for him.

"And will they be placed at table as before, sir?"

"Exactly. But what about my breakfast this morning, Brown?"

"It will be ready for you in five minutes, sir."

I slipped out of the room and hurried down stairs. I had not studied my

master's tastes for nothing. The breakfast I had prepared comprised

every dainty that he cared about, and the look of surprise he cast

about the table sufficiently rewarded my forethought.

"Why, Brown," said he, as he sat down, "you are a perfect treasure. If

Butts does not return I shall feel inclined to double your duties and

your pay. Some years ago I had a valet who managed the whole house

without assistance."

"I could do that," I assured him quietly. "There is really only work

here for one man, sir. Pardon me for saying it, sir, but half my time

so far has hung upon my hands, and I detest being idle, sir."

"Well, well, we shall see," he replied. I felt that I had gained my

point and I said no more.

I made four pounds in spot cash by way of commission in ordering the

dinner. It was really very easy. The restaurateurs were so anxious

indeed to secure my custom that I might have made more, but I am not a

greedy man, and four sovereigns seemed a lot to me just then.

The dinner passed off much as the first had done. Similar grisly jokes

were interchanged in the French tongue, and many bets were concluded

between Sir William and his guests. They toasted the tubercle bacillus

again, and after I had served the nut cream Mr. Cavanagh handed a

cheque for L7,000 to Sir William and then resigned his office in favour

of Dr. Fulton, just as Mr. Pardoe had done upon the former occasion. I

noticed that Mr. Pardoe looked very ill, frightfully ill, in fact, and

his cough was horrible to hear. It is true that all looked worse than

they had before, but Mr. Pardoe had outstripped the others, and he was

mercilessly rallied on his appearance. The most consequential wager was

arranged between Mr. Humphreys and Sir Charles Venner. The latter laid

the former six to four in hundreds that Mr. Pardoe would die within the

next month. I shall never forget Mr. Pardoe's face as he listened. Its

expression was indescribably vexed and full of despair, but the others

roared with laughter to see it. As for me, I confess that their

laughter sickened me, and I had to slip out of the room in order to

recover my nerve. Such monstrous disregard of a fellow creature's

manifest anguish inspired me with dismay and something like terror.

Were these people men of flesh and blood, I asked myself, or ghouls?

But my curiosity was so poignant that I soon returned, and when they

trooped out to the card room I followed closely at their heels.

The same formula was observed as upon the first occasion that I had

witnessed. The cheque was placed upon the table and all gathered round

to watch and throw the dice.

Sir Charles Venner was the first to cast. As he rattled the box he

looked about him with a sort of snarling smile. "By all the laws of

chance it should be my turn!" he declared. "I have never won the

incubus yet!"

He threw eighteen! The others exclaimed, but Mr. Cavanagh did more. He

stepped back from the throng and gritting his teeth he threw out his

clenched hands with a gesture of savage abandon. "There," said I to

myself, "is a man who wishes more passionately to win than the rest,

but why?"

"Cavanagh, your turn," said Dr. Fulton.

The artist's face was chalk white as he took up the box. "You tremble!"

cried Sir Charles in mocking tones. "You tremble!"

"Bah!" exclaimed Mr. Cavanagh, and he threw.

"Eighteen!" shouted Dr. Fulton.

Sir Charles flushed crimson, and swore beneath his breath. But Mr.

Cavanagh uttered a cry of triumph that had yet in it a note of agony. I

watched him attentively thenceforward, because it suddenly occurred to

me that he would better repay such trouble than the others. His

passions were least well controlled of any there. His was the weakest

face and most ingenuous. I determined that he should be my key to the

mystery I wished to solve. He was a wonderfully handsome person, small,

slight, elegant, exquisite. His hair was thick and black, but his

moustache and pointed beard were of rich red gold. He had large and

singularly soulful eyes, whose colour changed with light from black to

amber. His mouth, however, though full and beautifully shaped, betrayed

a vacillating and unstable disposition. I judged him for a man to

trust, to admire, to like, but not to lean upon. He waited for his turn

to throw again in a fever of inquietude. His hands clenched and

unclenched. His features spasmodically twitched and the tip of his nose

moved up and down with alarming speed. Not any of the others was lucky

enough to throw eighteen, so presently Sir Charles Venner took up the

dice again. He looked perfectly indifferent, but I saw his eyes, and

they were gleaming. He allowed the dice to fall one by one.

"Seven!" announced Dr. Fulton.

Sir Charles bit his lip and handed the box in silence to Mr. Cavanagh.

The latter threw eight. Dropping the box he darted forward and clawed

up the cheque, with a strangled, animal-like cry. The others exchanged

glances of disgust; all, that is to say, except my master. He shot a

look of passionate menace at the artist and called him in a dreadful

voice by name.

Mr. Cavanagh stood erect, shaking and ghastly. He seemed convulsed with

shame.

"I--I--forgive me, I am not myself to-night," he muttered.

"A fine, a fine," shouted Mr. Humphreys. "He has pleaded his

ill-health."

"Ay, ay," cried the others, "a fine!"

"Twenty pounds!" said Sir William Dagmar.

Mr. Cavanagh paid the money to my master without demur. Sir William

gave it to Dr. Fulton, and a second later all were seated at the table.

I served them with coffee, and they began to play. My master had no

luck that night--he lost about four hundred pounds. Mr. Cavanagh also

lost rather heavily, and so did Dr. Fulton. The principal winners were

Mr. Pardoe and Sir Charles Venner; Mr. Humphreys left off as he

commenced, while Mr. Husband disgustedly declared that he had won a

paltry sovereign. As before, on the first stroke of midnight the game

broke up and all arose. As before, no farewell greetings were

exchanged, but the guests departed after curtly nodding to their host.

My master looked more wearied than I had ever seen him. He retired at

once to bed, and he was half asleep before he touched the pillow with

his head. But I was more than pleased thereat, for the time was ripe to

prosecute the first move of my plan. As soon as he dismissed me, I

hurried to my room, and in less than twenty minutes I was Sir William

Dagmar to the life, save for one tiny circumstance. My master, as I

have previously mentioned, possessed a fine set of teeth, but his right

incisor was lacking. When I had impersonated him for Butts' benefit,

that detail had not troubled me, for Butts was a dull, unobservant

creature. I reflected, however, that Mr. Cavanagh might be of a

different calibre, and I dared run no risks. Now every tooth in my head

is false. Moreover, I was wearing at that moment my stage set, which

was so peculiarly constructed that with very little bother and a screw

driver I might remove any tooth I pleased. I therefore whipped out the

plate from my mouth, and with the aid of a penknife, I presently

abstracted my right incisor. A glance in the mirror made me tingle with

triumph. I believe that had Sir William seen me at that moment he would

have swooned with sheer shock at seeing so perfect a double of himself.

Having provided myself with a latch-key, I stole downstairs and

abstracted from the hall my master's hat and cloak. A few minutes

afterwards I was flying towards Mr. Cavanagh's studio and residence at

St. John's Wood, in a hansom, which I chose wisely, for the horse was a

speedy brute, and he drew up at Hamilton Crescent in less than half an

hour.

In answer to my vigorous tug at the bell, the door opened quickly and a

servant's face appeared.

"Be good enough to ask Mr. Cavanagh to let me see him for a moment, my

name is Dagmar," I said haughtily, "Sir William Dagmar," I added, for

the fellow seemed to hesitate.

He admitted me forthwith. "Mr. Cavanagh has not long come in," he

volunteered in sleepy tones. "He is in the studio--step this way, if

you please, sir." He yawned in my face and turned about. I followed him

down a spacious dimly lighted hall, furnished with almost regal

magnificence in the oriental style. He opened a door at the further

end, announced me in quiet tones between two yawns and immediately

withdrew. Sir William Dagmar would not have put up with such a servant

for five minutes. Evidently, thought I, Mr. Cavanagh is not a hard man

to please. I entered the studio and shut the door behind me; but to my

astonishment, I perceived Mr. Cavanagh, seated in a deep saddle-bag

chair beneath an immense arc glow lamp, fast asleep. His chin was sunk

upon his chest, his arms hung at his side, and he was breathing

stertorously. I glanced about the room. It was rich and commodious, but

conventional. Priceless silks and satins covered the walls. Rugs and

skins from all parts of the world bestrewed the polished parquet floor.

A large crimson curtained easel stood upon a dais of carven oak beside

Mr. Cavanagh's chair, and in a far corner glimmered an ebony framed

grand piano. Beyond a few pieces of rather fine statuary, a prodigious

chesterfield, and half a dozen antique throne-shaped chairs, the place

contained no other furniture of note. I had expected something out of

the common rather than rich, and I felt keenly disappointed, for I had

seen a dozen such studios pictured in the monthly magazines and

fashionable periodicals. I marched straight up to Mr. Cavanagh and

placed a heavy hand upon his shoulder. He opened his eyes and looked up

at me in a dazed questioning fashion, but having grasped the situation

as it was apparent to him, he sprang to his feet with a cry of

consternation.

"Dagmar!" he gasped. "You--you--you!" His voice trailed off in an

ascending inflection into a whisper of what I considered terrified

amazement.

I pointed to the chair he had just quitted, "Sit down!" I commanded

sternly.

He obeyed limply; his eyes were dilated, fixed and staring. It was

plain that he stood in real fear of me. I determined grimly to discover

why.

Standing before him I folded my arms, and bending my brows together I

surveyed him, as I had seen Irving in some of his heavy parts confront

a character he was destined by his playwright to subdue.

This for two full minutes in a silence like that of the tomb. The

wretched man began to shake and shiver.

"For God's sake, Dagmar," he stammered at last. His voice was as hoarse

as a raven's croak.

"Cavanagh!" said I, "what are you intending to do with the money given

you by the dice to-night?"

To my astonishment he covered his face with his hands and his body

began to heave with sobs. Without stirring a muscle I waited for his

explanation. I divined that to be my cue. He grew calmer by degrees,

and at length with a sheer muscular effort he forced himself to look at

me. He shivered as he met my eyes and groaned aloud.

"Woman!" I muttered cuttingly.

"You--hard devil!" he hissed with sudden passion. He started forward,

and our glances contended for a moment, but his quailed before mine.

"Answer me," I commanded.

He bit his lips until the blood appeared, and he gripped the sides of

his chair with all his energy.

"Answer me," I repeated.

Of a sudden he began to cough. He coughed so violently that the

convulsions racked his frame, and at length he sank back in his chair

half-fainting, with half closed eyes.

I waited pitiless as fate. "Answer me," I repeated. "Must I wait for

ever?"

But the fight had gone out of him. He heaved a sigh, and two salt tears

trickled down his cheeks. "You know," he muttered, in a low,

heartbroken wail. "You know--you know!"

"Answer me," I thundered. Sir William Dagmar might have known, you see,

but I was ignorant.

"I am going to give it to her--to her," he murmured; his eyes were now

quite closed and he seemed upon the verge of a collapse. This would

never do!

I strode forward and shook him roughly by the shoulder.

"To whom?" I hissed.

"To Marion, Marion Le Mar." He sat up and looked dazedly around. "Oh,

do what you please," he cried wildly, as he met my eyes. "What do I

care--I have not long to live in any case. A few months more or less,

what does it matter? And she--God help her, she needs it--needs it as

well you know--you hard, inhuman devil!"

"You are mad!" I hissed. "What claim has that woman upon you?"

"The woman I love?" He sprang to his feet and faced me with just such a

look as a tiger might defend his mate. "The woman I should have

married, but for the accursed laws of the society which you enticed me

into joining!"

"You are a consumptive, a death's head!" I sneered. "A nice man you to

marry any woman! Fool that you are, ask yourself would she have married

you?"

He gave me a look of almost sublime contempt. "She loves me!" he said,

and there was in his bearing a dignity so proudly self-conscious, yet

compassionate, that my heart went out to the man; I began to pity him

profoundly, ay, and wish to help him. I could hardly understand myself.

I had never felt like that for any living creature prior to that

instant. But I had work to do, pressing work, and I put my feelings

resolutely aside.

"George Cavanagh," said I, "you reproach me with having bound you to a

society whose laws forbid your marrying the woman you love. But it

seems to me you aspire to break another of its laws in giving her this

money. What of that?"

"Fear nothing," he replied in tones of ice. "I shall pay the penalty.

When next the society foregathers at your house, Fulton will announce

your numbers lessened by one death."

In spite of myself I started. Aha! thought I--I grow hot upon the track.

"You will kill yourself?" I demanded.

He bowed his head, and sat down again. He had once more fallen to

trembling. A curious man this, a mixture of strength and weakness. He

was past redemption, wedded to the grave by his disease, and yet he

shivered at the thought of death. And yet again, he could deliberately

resolve to shorten his life.

I frowned down at him. "Cavanagh," said I, "I wish you to be good

enough to repeat to me, word for word, the rule you dare to dream of

breaking."

"Useless!" he retorted. "I have well considered it. For God's sake

leave me, Dagmar, I am done and desperate. I believe you mean me well,

but you are killing me."

I saw indeed that he was desperate, and straight away I changed my

tactics.

"George," I murmured in a soft and winning voice, "I have come here

to-night to save you if I can, not to break you. Listen to me--it has

been well said that no rule or law was ever yet devised by human

ingenuity which might not be evaded by a criminal with brains enough.

You seek to be a criminal. Well, well!" I nodded my head mysteriously.

"It is a pity--but I like you, boy--I don't want you to die just yet.

There may be a way out, in spite of all. Now--trust me and obey me."

A curious pang altogether strange to my experience shot through my

breast, as I watched the glow of hope that flashed into the poor

fellow's eyes, and the colour flame into his ashen cheeks.

"Dagmar!" he gasped, "Dagmar!" and he stretched out his shaking hands

as a child might do.

"Repeat it word for word!" I commanded. "Come, calm yourself--that is

better; now!"

He could hardly articulate at first, but he grew calmer as he proceeded.

"Whosoever shall win!" he began, "shall win the proceeds of one

completed month's joint contributions, shall--during--the succeeding

month, apply the gold so gifted him by hazard of the dice unto

the--the--purpose that--that is--is provided for by rule three. Should

he, on the contrary, apply it--to--to--Ah! you know, Dagmar, you know."

"Ay!" said I, "I know what follows--it spells suicide in brief. But, my

dear George--there is hope for you in rule three."

"Impossible!" he gasped. "Impossible!"

I smiled. "There is no such word in my vocabulary," I answered firmly.

"Now, George, give me all your mind, every atom of your attention, and

I shall show you a path from your dilemma--an honourable expedient.

Repeat rule three!"

He knitted his brows together, and a curiously strained introspective

look came into his eyes.

"You are trying me!" he muttered. "Dagmar--if you dared----"

"Fool!" I interrupted hoarsely--for my suspense was painfully intense.

"What object could I serve? Do as I bid you! Do as I bid you!" I

pressed his hands more tightly, and with all my strength I strove to

subordinate his will to mine. I succeeded.

"I'll trust you!" he muttered in a tense trembling whisper. "I'll trust

you, Dagmar. God forgive you if you play me false!"

There was something so infectious in his emotion that I felt myself

tremble too, and involuntarily I followed the terrified suspicious

glances that he darted about the room.

"Amen!" I cried. "Now Cavanagh--"

But he uttered an exclamation. "Oh! You are hurting me!" he cried.

In my excitement I had forgotten the man's womanish physique, and I had

cruelly crushed his hands. Upon such trifling incidents does an

ironical malicious fate love to hang tremendous issues! I do not

remember if I have previously mentioned the fact that the thumb of Sir

William Dagmar's right hand lacks a joint. But such is the case. He had

lost it through a gunshot when a lad. Now this circumstance constituted

the one flaw in my disguise, for my hands are perfect. In the earlier

part of the interview I had been careful to conceal them from view, but

startled by Cavanagh's cry of pain and words of reproach I did an

unpardonably foolish thing. I permitted myself, for one second, to be

victimized by a human impulse. Forgetting everything except that I had

hurt him and was sorry, I opened my hands--and looked down at his

delicate crumpled fingers from which my brutal grasp had driven all the

blood. On the instant I realized my own fatuity and attempted to repair

my error. It was, however, too late.

Mr. Cavanagh staggered back a pace. At first he looked dazed, almost

stunned, but his face turned livid as I watched it and his eyes filled

with flame. They swept over me with glances that scorched, that wished

intemperately to harm, to avenge--to kill! Finally they met my eyes,

and for a long moment we gazed into each other's souls. His was full of

rage, despair and terror--mine of savage self-contempt and baffled

hope, and fiery but impotent regret.

"Who are you?" he hissed. "Curse you--who are you?"

Desperate diseases require desperate remedies. Already there floated

before my eyes visions of police, of handcuffs, courthouses and gaols.

I saw myself a prisoner serving sentence for criminal impersonation. A

shudder of horror shot through my frame. Then came a blessed

inspiration. "Mr. Cavanagh belongs to a society--" cried my

thoughts--"which must have a criminal foundation, since its laws dare

impose such a penalty as suicide for their infraction." I set my teeth

together with a grim snap and hoarsely retorted to his question. "You

wish to know who I am, sir. Well, I shall answer you in part. I am a

detective from Scotland Yard!"

The effect of my announcement was completely terrible.

Mr. Cavanagh threw up his hands, and with a deep groaning gasp sank

limp and insensible to the floor. His face was so ghastly that I

thought him dead. I sprang to his side, and kneeling down pressed my

ear to his breast. I could not hear his heart beat. With a moan of

agony I stood erect. I was shaking like a man in an ague--and for the

first time in my life fear took hold of me, sharp, senseless fear. My

mastering wish was to escape quickly and without being seen. Darting to

the door, I waited but to open it without sound, and then hurried

through the hall, thanking Providence in my heart that I still wore my

felt-soled shoes. No one hindered, no one saw me. In another second I

was out of the house, and seated in my waiting hansom.

"Marble Arch!" I muttered to the driver, "and quickly man, quickly, if

you wish to earn a double fare!"

When I reached the Marble Arch I was still panic-stricken and incapable

of coherent thought. I do not wish it to be supposed that I am in any

sense a craven. But this was the first great crisis of my career, and,

like certain brave soldiers I have read of who had fled from the field

during their first battle at the first fire, I was governed by an

overwhelming blind impulse impossible to withstand immediately. I

believe now that my excited imagination convinced me that I stood in

peril of being caught and hanged for murder. At any rate, it seemed

terribly necessary to hide myself, and adopt every conceivable

expedient to shake all possible pursuers off my trail. Running down

Oxford Street, I hailed the first cab I met and drove to London Bridge.

There I took another hansom and doubled back to Piccadilly Circus. A

third took me to Tottenham Court Road. A clock chimed two as I stepped

upon the footpath. I was a good deal calmer then, although still in a

wreck of jangling nerves. But I found that I could both control my

thoughts and think. I set off at once at a brisk walk towards Holborn,

growing more tranquil at every step. I racked my brain for a plan of

action. I felt that I must get out of England at once and start life

anew in some foreign land. Fear, you see, was still my tyrant. But how

to effect my purpose? I had only three pounds in the world, for the

cabs had run away with a sovereign. Bitterly I cursed my folly and the

panic which had prevented me from rifling Mr. Cavanagh's pockets. They

would have yielded me a golden harvest I doubted not! Of a sudden, as I

strode along, I caught sight of my reflection in a tailor's window. I

stopped short, shocked--horrified. I was still Sir William Dagmar to

the life! For two minutes I stood there paralyzed in body and mind,

then came a second inspiration. I swung on my heel and glanced about

me. The street was almost deserted, but a belated hansom was

approaching. I hailed the driver. "200 Harley Street," I cried and

sprang inside. I had given the fellow Sir Charles Venner's address. In

a very few minutes I was ringing at Sir Charles Venner's bell. After a

long wait and three successive summons, the physician himself attired

in an eiderdown dressing gown and slippers opened the door.

"What, Dagmar!" he cried, in great astonishment. "Come in. Whatever is

the matter?"

"A call of private urgency!" I replied. "The fact is, Venner, you can

do me a favour, if you will. A very dear friend of mine must get away

from England before morning on a matter of life and death, and he needs

more money in cash than I have by me in the house. If you'll be so good

as to let me have three hundred pounds immediately, I shall post you a

cheque within the next hour."

We were standing confronting each other in the hall beneath a low

turned swinging gas jet. He raised his eyebrows and shrugged his

shoulders.

"Will three hundred do?" he asked.

"Yes, thank you!"

"Then excuse me for a moment."

I waited in breathless suspense, but he returned almost immediately,

carrying a bag of gold and notes from which he counted three hundred

pounds into my hand--you may be sure--into my left hand. I kept my

right behind me.

I curtly thanked him, begged him to excuse me, and hastily withdrew.

But he stood at the door and watched me enter the cab.

I was therefore obliged to give the cabby Sir William Dagmar's address.

"Back to Curzon Street!" I called out. As soon as we had turned the

first corner, however, I redirected the driver to Victoria Station, and

during the journey I set to work to alter my appearance as much as lay

in my power. I tore off my false eyebrows, and with my kerchief I

vigorously rubbed the paint from my cheeks and brow. A mirror set in an

angle of the hansom showed me, by the light of a match, a blotchy

nondescript face that nevertheless could not be mistaken for my

master's. Better satisfied, I began to reflect on my position, and to

my intense gratification I found that I was no longer the slave of

fear. Arrived at the station, I discharged the cab and made inquiries

for the trains to the south. I found that I should have to wait a great

while. I therefore selected a dark corner and gave myself up to

thought. In ten minutes I was wondering what on earth I had ever been

afraid of--and calling myself moreover by very nasty names. Even if Mr.

Cavanagh were dead, and I began to doubt if my perturbed examination of

his body had given me the truth, who could accuse me of his death?

Again, if he lived, he would infallibly, on his recovery, still believe

me a detective. He had not remotely guessed at my identity. Oh! the

fool I had been! But what next? Were I to fly to France, I should give

myself away! My master would search my room and discover my make-up box

and various disguises. Were I to stay it would probably never enter his

mind to suspect me! Ai! Ai! With patience, boldness, and a little luck,

I might even yet convert the defeat I had sustained that night into a

triumph. I felt the blood bound in my veins. Waiting for no more I

sprang to my feet and hurried from the station. Ten minutes later I

noiselessly inserted my latch-key into Sir William Dagmar's door, and

gently as any burglar stepped into the house. The place was profoundly

still. I hung up my master's coat and hat in the hall and crept

upstairs. At Sir William's bedroom door I stopped, and stooping pressed

my ear to the key-hole. I distinctly heard him breathing. He was a

heavy sleeper, and his respirations were deep and somewhat laboured. I

passed on with a smile of purest joy. Upon my dressing table stood my

make-up box and a profusion of wigs, beards and moustaches. The sight

gave me pause. "It is wise to be bold!" I thought, "but not rash. Here

is danger. When Mr. Cavanagh recovers and informs Sir William of

to-night's happenings--Ah!--and when, moreover, Sir Charles Venner

discovers that he has been swindled! What then? It is unlikely, but at

the same time just possible that my master's thoughts may turn to me!"

I caught up the wigs and stuffed them into the box which I locked.

Where to hide it? Not in my room, nor in the pantry! nor in any place

under my control! Search would reveal it there--infallibly. I must then

dispose it in some place not likely to be searched. Where then? For a

third time in one evening I was suddenly inspired. Seizing the box, I

stole downstairs into my master's private study and, using the utmost

caution, I bestowed it behind some mounds of books that were covered

with many summers' dust. Heaving a deep sigh of relief and satisfaction

I returned to my little chamber and leisurely undressed. Three o'clock

chimed as I pulled off my boots. I then removed the last traces of my

disguise with a lavish application of soap and water, and last of all I

screwed back into its plate the tooth I had removed from my false set

earlier in the evening in order more perfectly to resemble my master.

After that I got into bed. I felt secure and almost happy--was I not a

capitalist? Under my pillow reposed three hundred pounds, and never in

my life until then had I possessed more than a paltry fraction of that

sum. I rejoiced in determining to bank it on the morrow, and I sleepily

assured myself that I would make it the seed of a great fortune. I

should have been quite happy, save for one thing. I was already

beginning to repent the magnanimity or cowardice which had prevented me

from asking Sir William Venner for six hundred pounds instead of three.

I felt sure he would have given me six as readily as three, and it was

a great opportunity wasted. Wasted! It is terribly sad to look back

upon wasted opportunities; a heartrending thing indeed. Even now I

recall that circumstance with melancholy. I dreamed of death and

murders and shadowy unutterable horrors. Soon after dawn I awoke,

bathed in perspiration, and shivering in every limb. There was a sound

of rushing waters in my ears, and I retained a shuddersome impression

of a dark brooding figure bending over me. With a gasp of terror I

plunged my hand beneath my pillow, but my three hundred pounds were

safe. The delight of that discovery quickly dispelled the phantoms of

my tired fancies, and I arose, with a glad heart, to begin the work of

the day, by performing the work that I should have done on the previous

night--the clearing up from the dinner party.

III

THE KINGSMERE HOSPITAL FOR CONSUMPTIVES

I prepared a particularly tasty breakfast that morning for my master,

and I took special pains to please him as I assisted him to dress. He

was not a man given to paying compliments, but when he entered the

dining-room, and was unable to discover a single trace of last night's

feast, he did not dissemble his surprise.

"You have re-established order very quickly--here at all events," he

remarked, "Butts always took a day or two to clear up."

"That is not my way," I softly replied. "I could not sleep until I had

cleared up everything. If you take the trouble to visit my pantry, sir,

I will challenge you to find a stain on floor or wall, or a single

speck on plate or cutlery."

"You appear to know your business," he conceded.

"From A to Z, sir," I answered. "Let me persuade you to try this

omelette, Sir William. I cooked it myself."

A talent for making omelettes is one of the few accomplishments I had

acquired from my father.

My master nodded, and helped himself to a dainty little roll. He tasted

it, and actually smacked his lips.

"Excellent!" he observed. "Brown, I hope that Butts will not return,

for his own sake. I wish you to take charge of my household henceforth

from to-day. Your salary will be eight pounds a month."

"Thank you, sir," I murmured gratefully. "I shall do my best to please

you, sir."

The street bell rang as I spoke. I slipped out, and opened the front

door. Mr. George Cavanagh waited upon the steps, and on either side of

him stood Sir Charles Venner and Dr. Fulton.

Well was it then that over my features I can exercise an admirable

control, for at sight of that trio my heart felt like lead, and I

shivered in my shoes.

"We must see Sir William Dagmar at once!" said Mr. Cavanagh. "Our

business is of the utmost importance."

I bowed and invited him to enter. "Sir William is at breakfast,

gentlemen," I muttered as I closed the door. "I shall warn him of your

presence at once. In the meanwhile will you kindly step into this

ante-room."

"No!" replied Sir Charles. "We shall go directly to him. Don't be

alarmed, Brown, we are sufficiently intimate with Sir William to take

such a liberty."

I shrugged my shoulders, and deferentially preceded them. Their faces

were paste coloured and preternaturally solemn. I was, however, glad to

see Mr. Cavanagh; I liked him, and it was a relief to be sure that he

was still alive.

Tapping softly at the dining-room door, I opened it and entered, but I

had no occasion to utter a word, for the others had trooped in on my

heels.

"Excuse this intrusion, Dagmar," began Sir Charles in the French

tongue, "you may believe me when I tell you that nothing could have

induced me so to invade you except necessity."

My master leaned back in his chair, his mouth agape with astonishment.

"Necessity!" he repeated. "What the deuce has happened?"

"Nothing less than a calamity. But first dismiss your servant--we must

run no risks, the matter is too serious."

"Brown," said my master in English, "kindly leave the room. I shall

ring when I require you."

I bowed and obeyed. I would have cheerfully given my three hundred

pounds for an opportunity of listening unseen to their conversation.

But my fate was in the balance, and I dared not play the spy. Making a

virtue of necessity I retired to the pantry, and tried to eat. But in

truth I had no appetite. My nerves were on the jump. I lighted a

cigarette, and consumed it in half a dozen puffs. I chewed another to

pulp, but smoked the third. The sixth restored me to calm. I felt

myself again, and began to polish the glassware. I postured my

indifference to myself and experienced an itch to whistle, just to show

myself how brave I was. Needless to say, however, I suppressed the

inclination. An hour passed so, and then the library bell smartly

tingled. So they had left the dining-room. I hurried upstairs,

smoothing my expression as I ran. My master met me at the door--a

letter in his hand. "I wish you to go out at once, and post this at the

nearest post-office--not in a letter box," he commanded. "It is an

important missive."

"Certainly, sir!" I replied, and took the letter. He looked at me very

keenly. His face was expressionless, but it bore traces of recent

agitation. "I shall hurry back," I said.

"Not in a letter box!" he repeated. "Remember, Brown."

I bowed deeply and departed. In half a minute I was out of the house,

but not until I had turned the corner did I so much as glance at the

"important missive." It was directed to Mr. John Brown, Box 89, G.P.O.

The envelope was of thin foreign parchment. I held it up to the sun and

smiled. It contained a single sheet of blank paper. My message then was

a ruse to withdraw me from the house while they searched my room. I

felt so confident, however, that they would never discover my make-up

box, that I smiled again, and to save myself the bother of walking, I

took a cab. After posting the letter, I entered the first bank I came

to, and requested the manager to allow me to make a deposit. He wished

a reference, and I was bold enough to refer him to my master. I then

paid into the credit of Agar Hume L290, and left the office. Two

minutes later, I returned and paid in nine pounds. I thus procured two

deposit slips. The one for L290 I tore in very small pieces, which I

scattered far and wide; I was not afraid that the bank would swindle

me. But the other I treasured carefully. I walked home very leisurely,

and I found my master alone in his study. He was pacing the floor, with

an abstracted air, his hands clasped tightly behind his back.

"I posted the letter, sir!" I announced.

He stopped in his walk and frowningly regarded me. "Very good, Brown,"

he replied. "By the way, my man, I want you to be very careful in

admitting visitors here again. I don't refer to the three gentlemen who

came this morning, they are friends of mine. But strangers."

"Yes, sir."

"Above all, Brown, permit no one, stranger or otherwise, to question

you concerning me. If any one attempts to do such a thing, inform me at

once!"

"Certainly, sir."

"That will do, you may go."

"I beg your pardon, sir," I muttered hesitatingly, "I hope you will

forgive me, sir, but the fact is I have ventured to take a liberty with

you this morning, sir."

"Ah!" He started and looked at me with piercing eyes.

"It's this way, sir," I said quickly, "I'm a saving man, sir, and I've

always wished to have an account at a real bank, sir, not a

post-office. Well, sir, I went into a bank while I was out just now,

but they would not let me open an account without a reference. So--so I

dared to give them your name, sir. I hope you'll excuse me, sir."

His eyes bored through me like a pair of gimlets. "How much money have

you saved?" he demanded.

"Nine pounds, sir. Here is the ticket!" I eagerly handed him the slip.

He glanced at it, and his face cleared immediately.

"That is all right, Brown!" he said, smiling slightly. "If they apply

to me, I shall try to satisfy them that they have secured a worthy

client. Good luck to you, my man, I am glad to know you are thrifty."

It is a curious thing how tenacious of life one's conscience is. My

master looked at me so kindly, that I felt a perfect brute for having

so mercilessly deceived him, and I vow that for one fateful moment I

was on the point of voicing my compunction.

"You are t--too kind, sir," I began. "I--I'm afraid I----"

But he cut me short with a frown. "That will do, my man," he

interrupted in harsh tones. "I am busy, and I wish to be alone."

Had he remained silent, or allowed me to proceed, it is just possible

that these memories might never have had occasion to be written. As it

was, I hastily backed out of the room, and my conscience yielded up its

final spark in the passage.

Anxious to verify my suspicion, I proceeded to my bed-room. It

appeared, at first glance, exactly as I had left it, but I am not a

casual observer. The door of my wardrobe stood slightly ajar. I had

latched it. My ready made evening suit was still lying neatly folded in

its drawer, but the waistcoat occupied a different position from that

to which I had formerly assigned it. Finally the napped edge of my

counterpane was tucked beneath the bed-tick. I had left it hanging, so

as to curtain the iron rail. I noted these trifling discrepancies with

all the pride of an explorer who has discovered a new territory. There

is no experience more gratifying to one's vanity than to have

successfully penetrated and prevised another man's intention. I began

to believe myself a prodigiously clever fellow, and even yet I dare to

boast with reason. I have no deep learning, indeed, my knowledge of the

sciences might be scratched with a pin, but I have nevertheless not

permitted the talents God has given me to rust, and there is one book

with whose contents I am fairly well acquainted, the book of life.

Immediately my master had gone out to lunch, I repaired to his study,

and repossessed myself of my make-up box. This I carried to my

bed-room, and placed in the wardrobe. I did not, however, intend to

leave it there very long. I did not anticipate another search party, it

is true, but I thought it thoroughly advisable to have clean hands at

home. My idea was (now that I had capital to work upon) to secure a

private room somewhere in the neighbourhood, which I might use as a

stronghold, and to which I might repair whenever I should desire to

disguise myself. During the next few days I took frequent excursions

abroad in my leisure hours, and at last I discovered exactly the place

I wanted. It was on the top floor of a bachelor apartment house in

Bruton Street. The chamber was small, but excellently lighted, and it

had this advantage, it was disconnected by an angle of the building

from its fellows; moreover its door faced the stairs, and was not

overlooked by any other. On that very account, it had long been

untenanted, but me it suited perfectly. After a good deal of haggling

with the agent, I secured it on lease for L25 a year, and by paying six

months' rent in advance, I persuaded him to dispense with references. I

furnished it only with things I absolutely needed. A bed-chair, in case

I might ever be obliged to sleep there, an oil stove, a thick rug for

the floor, a fine three-fly-full-length mirror set upon a revolving

stand, a dressing-table, and a large cabinet. I procured a locksmith to

fit the door with a practically impregnable latch lock, and with the

key upon my chain, I felt as proud as the most bloated land-holder in

Westminster. My next move was to purchase a fresh supply of paints,

wigs and various other sartorial disguises including a number of new

and second-hand character costumes. I have before remarked on the fact

that every tooth in my head is false. Now in all the paraphernalia of

disguises, there is nothing so important as the item of teeth. Teeth

give expression to both mouth and voice. A difference of one twentieth

fraction of an inch in their length for instance, will alter the voice

beyond hope of recognition, even to a truly practised ear, however fine

its sense of perception. As for the lips, they at once become drawn

out, and utterly transformed in shape. My last and most tender care,

therefore, was bestowed upon my teeth. I visited a dozen different

dentists, and procured a dozen sets of varying shapes and sizes, whose

only point of resemblance was, that they fitted my mouth. When all was

done, my bank account was depleted by a hundred and fifty pounds, but I

felt that I had acquired a first-rate stock-in-trade, and I did not

repent of the expenditure.

While I was busy with these arrangements, I by no means neglected my

master. For a week or two after the disturbing visit paid by Sir

Charles Venner, Mr. Cavanagh, and Dr. Fulton, he remained in a

preoccupied and gloomy mood, and seemed unable to settle down to work.

I listened in my pantry by the hour, to his footsteps restlessly pacing

the floor of his library above my head. He also went out more

frequently than was his custom, and remained longer away from the

house. He was irritable and hard to please. However quietly I entered

any room where he was, he heard and anxiously confronted me. He seemed

constantly to expect an unwelcome visitor. Sometimes he swore at me for

startling him, but he always apologised, and I saw that he was

beginning to like me well. I longed for him to trust me, for I was

burning with curiosity to know what determination his society had

arrived at, regarding his daring impersonator. But that was out of the

question, and I was obliged to content myself with guesses. Gradually

his alarm passed off, and he resumed his literary labours as of yore.

That pleased me, for I felt that his attitude might be relied upon to

reflect the feelings of his fellow conspirators. I began to consider

what further step I should take in my campaign to elucidate the mystery

surrounding that strange brotherhood. After a great deal of reflection,

I resolved to shadow Sir William on the next Sunday excursion, for I

could not help suspecting that his regular absences from home on that

day in each week had something to do with the secret society to which

he belonged. With that end in view, on the following Saturday

afternoon, I begged my master to allow me a holiday until the Monday

morning, pleading by way of excuse a dear friend's sudden illness. He

graciously consented, upon my promising to prepare his breakfast

beforehand. I left the house about nine o'clock, and repaired to my

little stronghold in Bruton Street, where I spent the night. Always an

early riser, I arose at dawn, and made a hearty meal of the provisions

which I had brought with me. I occupied the next few hours in selecting

and perfecting a disguise. On this head, I may here remark, that I have

never in my life committed a mistake of attempting to assume a

character representative of a class. Such an undertaking requires too

great a strain upon the imagination, and however clever one may be,

breeds mischievous errors of detail and anachronisms, so to say, which

may readily be detected by a keen observer. My method has always been

to impersonate, that is, to duplicate as closely as possible, some

living person, with whose habits and idiosyncrasies I am familiar. On

this occasion I chose for my model an old actor with whom I had once

upon a time shared rooms in Birmingham. His name was Francis Leigh. He

was a tragedian of a bygone generation, and he had many tricks and

mannerisms which I had delighted to imitate. When I had completed my

make-up, I am sure that had Francis and I chanced to meet in the

street, he would have believed that he looked upon his own counterfeit

presentment in a mirror. I wore a frock suit of shabby genteel

respectability, a frayed topper, and well-worn shoes. The original

character of my mouth was altered by a set of false teeth, much longer

than those I ordinarily made use of. Long iron-grey locks fell from my

hat rim, to my collar, my nose was attenuated by skilfully-painted

hollows, and a pair of heavily frowning false eyebrows cast my eyes

into a natural and also a senna-tinted shade. I was quite ready by

seven o'clock, but I occupied the hour I had to spare in practising

gestures before the mirror. Perfectly satisfied at last, I strolled to

Curzon Street, and before many minutes had elapsed I was gratified to

perceive Sir William Dagmar emerge from his house, and set off at a

brisk walk towards Park Lane. I followed him at a reasonable distance,

keeping all my faculties alert. Entering Park Lane, he pursued his way

towards Marble Arch, without once looking behind him. He was dressed in

a sack suit of plain grey tweed, he wore a soft felt slouch hat, and he

carried a stout walking stick, and a dark overcoat. Convinced that he

was not in the least mindful of my existence, I gradually diminished

the distance between us, until I could distinctly hear his somewhat

laboured breathing. When almost at the corner of Oxford Street, he

paused suddenly, glanced about him for a moment, as though he had

forgotten where he was, and then abruptly crossed the road to the cab

stand. He chose a hansom, and ordered the driver to take him to

Hampstead Heath by way of Finchley Road and Frognal Rise. I waited

until he had disappeared, then followed in a second hansom, which bore

me leisurely in his wake. He alighted and dismissed his cab at the

gates of the Heath. I did likewise. I had watched him enter the Heath,

and proceed in the direction of Jack Straw's Castle, as my vehicle

toiled up the hill. For a while I lost sight of him, but hurrying

through the gates, I was just in time as I came to White Stone Pond, to

perceive him enter the inn. He emerged as I approached, wiping his lips

with his handkerchief. Evidently he had partaken of refreshments.

Without wasting a glance at me, he turned down Heath Brow, and set off

in a north-westerly direction, towards Heath House and Hendon. He

descended the hill slowly, as though already fatigued, and often he

rested in a musing fashion, looking steadily before him for a minute at

a time. I lingered at a great distance, confident of overtaking him

when I wished. It was a glorious morning, and the green sparkling Heath

was dotted with still and moving figures of men and women, taking

advantage of the sunshine, in which I was revelling. Sir William Dagmar

looked, however, neither to right nor left. Either he was too

bitter-minded to notice and rejoice in the beauties of the landscape,

or he had some pressing business to perform, which absorbed his

attention. Crossing the valley he began to climb an opposing slope, and

at length entered a long straggling thicket. From where I stood, I

could see three different paths emerging from the thicket's further

side, and as the country thereabouts was rugged and broken up with

rocks and trees, I waited for some time in order to discover which path

he might choose, lest I should lose him. Ten minutes went by, however,

and he did not appear. At the end of another five, I began to fear that

he had given me the slip. Hurrying down the hill, I crossed the slowly

rising vale and cautiously approached the thicket, by the route that my

master had taken. It was less dense than it appeared at a distance, but

in places it was thick enough for a man to hide in. A hundred paces

brought me to the edge of a small, clear patch of fresh green-sward,

furnished with a couple of rustic benches, set fairly close together.

Upon the further bench, my master was seated, his face set towards me,

in earnest converse with a woman. I almost cried aloud in my surprise.

Indeed, I must have in some fashion exclaimed, for he raised his eyes

and surveyed me with an intolerant annoyed expression, as though to

inform me that I intruded. On instant I pretended to be the worse for

liquor. Shambling forward, I sank down upon the first bench, stretched

out my feet before me, and permitted my hands to fall limply by my

sides. For three or four minutes a dead silence reigned. Conscious of

their examination, I kept my face set straight, and frowning heavily. I

heard at length the mutter of exchanged whispers, and fearing to drive

them away, I began to act. Flinging out my right hand with a fiercely

tragic gesture, I declaimed in a hoarse voice, broken with hiccoughs,

portions of Hamlet's immortal soliloquy. This gave me opportunity for

an occasional glance at my quarry. Sir William was very pale, and he

looked weary. His companion was watching me, but her face was veiled.

Her figure was lithe, and beautifully shaped, and she was richly

dressed. I knew she must be young. Of a sudden I resolved upon a bold

stroke. I rose up, and ceasing to declaim, staggered towards them.

"Friends!" I cried, "in me you behold a wreck of former greatness, a

shattered hulk, cast by unkind fate on a lee shore of fortune. Gaze on

this battered form, this shrunken frame, these gaunt and famished

limbs, and t--r--r--emble when I tell you that time was, when in

happier hours, a shouting populace acclaimed their owner's frame

immortal!" I paused, and swaying from side to side the while, I drew

from my pocket a tattered kerchief. "Sic transit gloria mundi--Good

friends," I wailed, "kind friends, if you have tears prepare to shed

them now, for by'r Lady do I swear to ye that nor bite nor sup has

passed these parched and fever-smitten lips these four and twenty

hours!"

I put up my kerchief to my eyes, and sobbed aloud; but my hard-hearted

auditors preserved a stony silence.

Without uncovering my face, I stretched out my left hand. "Charity,

friends, charity!" I muttered brokenly.

"No, Marion," said my master's voice. "Cannot you see that the rogue is

tipsy?"

"True, but a small gift may induce him to depart." The woman's tones

were of dulcet softness, but the accent was distinctly foreign.

"Charity!" I hiccoughed, "Charity!"

"Be off with you, you rascal!" cried my master sharply. I clutched a

shilling, and broke into a stream of drunken sobbing thanks. Moving off

I collided designedly with the vacant bench, and sprawled upon the

ground. There I lay pretending to be senseless. They came up, and

turned me over on my back; Sir William Dagmar also kicked my ribs, but

I answered all attempts to revive me with snores.

Satisfied apparently with my condition, they presently returned to

their seats and began to converse. The crown of my head was presented

to their gaze, so I could not see them, but I could hear, and not a

word escaped me. "I thought for a moment he was really hurt," said the

woman.

"He is half stunned and wholly asleep," replied my master,

"nevertheless let us speak in French. We cannot be too careful, Marion."

"Would it not be as well to move on?" asked the woman.

"For you perhaps, my child. You are young and strong, but I am old, and

my stroll has tired me out. Let us rest yet a little!"

"As you please, M'sieur."

"You were describing the effects of the picra toxic solution,"

suggested my master.

"That is true. Alas! M'sieur, we have once more a failure to record--so

many failures!" she replied drearily. "The operation is always so

perfect, so perfect, and yet always the patients die,--of shock!"

"Ah! Then the woman is dead."

"There will be a funeral to-morrow, M'sieur. The failure is complete.

Sir Charles is sad. He does not speak, but he shuts his mouth, so!"

"And Fulton?"

"From the first he had no hope, M'sieur. He declared the drug a poison,

a neurotic intoxicant--malignant, deadly. He smiles--so--like a dog,

and shrugs his shoulders. But he too said little!"

"What next Marion?" asked my master in a hoarse hollow voice.

"God knows, M'sieur. Soon we shall have exhausted the pharmacopoeia.

Providence is very cruel to us, very cruel. We have been vouchsafed one

half of the secrets of life, and it seems to me that in seeking the

remainder we expand our energies in vain. Meanwhile the hands of us all

become more deeply dyed with blood! M'sieur, as God hears me, I

sometimes think myself a murderess."

"Hush, Marion!"

"No, M'sieur, I shall speak what is in my heart. I cannot see these

wretched creatures die, as day by day they perish, without often asking

myself the question--are we justified? I have spoken to Sir Charles and

Dr. Fulton, but they freeze me with their cold cold 'Science.' I swear

to you, M'sieur, that were it not for George, I would be tempted to

break my oath!"

"Foolish child, you must not trifle with this weakness. Crush it,

subdue it!"

"Ah! Bah! M'sieur. Bid the breeze cease blowing. A woman's heart is

weak!"

"But not the heart of a woman who loves, my child. Remember, this is

George's life for which you are striving. And those others, what are

they but worthless ones, condemned already past redemption. Granted

perhaps that our experiments may hasten the inevitable end. Of what do

we deprive them, but a few weeks or days of painful suffering. Ah, no

my child, you must not turn back now. Any day the secret may be

discovered, the door of life thrown open to us all. And that to you

will mean the instant realizing of your dearest dreams. Think of it,

Marion, your lover yours to wed, yours for long years of happiness."

The woman answered in a sobbing voice. "George is so miserable,

M'sieur."

"Does he yet know?"

"Yes, and he speaks of death, he is filled with despair!"

"You must be firm with him, my child. I have discovered that he is in

debt, deeply in debt. For that reason he most despairs, because he

fears to leave you poor as well as desolate. I fear that he

contemplates some desperate expedition. But you must persuade him to be

patient. You know, Marion, that we are all pledged not to assist each

other financially. On that account I dare not help your lover, though I

care for him as if he were my son. But with you it is different."

"How, M'sieur?"

"Why, my dear--you are not of our order, being a woman, although you

are attached to us by ties which may not be unravelled. Take this

package, child. It contains a great sum of money. Ten thousand pounds.

I shall not ask you to tell me what you do with it. No child, not a

word."

"M'sieur, M'sieur!" cried the woman.

I was so amazed, so confounded with astonishment, that to have saved my

life I could no longer have kept still. I sat up, and turned my head.

The tableau is as clear to my remembrance now as though it had happened

yesterday. My master was gazing at the woman, his companion, with a

look of paternal tenderness. His countenance was transfigured beyond

recognition, for in place of his half saturnine, half querulous aspect,

I saw an expression of such holy and unselfish love, that in very

wonder I caught my breath. The woman with both hands held the package

he had given her, to her breast. Her bosom heaved and fell with deep

inarticulate emotion. Moreover she had raised her veil. Never had I

seen a face one half so beautiful. Her eyes were large and finely

shaped, in colour a passionate red brown. Her nose was straight, and

cast in the Grecian mould, with thin quivering curved nostrils. Her

mouth a perfect bow. The lips were tremulously parted. I have since

seen the expression they wore then, perpetuated on the canvas of

Botticelli's most famous Madonna. It was indescribably pathetic, full

of both bliss and pain. Her face was pure oval, and so delicately

tinted was the skin, that I could have fancied that I looked upon an

inspired painting, rather than a mere human woman. Fortunately for me,

neither had remarked my movement. As soon as I perceived the

indiscretion of which I had been guilty, I turned about again, and

bending my forehead to my knees, I groaned aloud. The sound broke the

spell. I heard them mutter together, and a moment later their departing

footsteps. I waited until all sound had died away, then rose hurriedly

to my feet, and cautiously pursued them. Shielded by the trees, I

watched them from the edge of the grove take a north-westerly course,

that seemed destined to lead them to a point between Child's Hill and

Hendon. I followed in a diagonal direction, taking advantage of every

obstacle in the landscape to conceal myself from view, for the woman

frequently looked back. Quitting the Heath at length, they entered a

hedge-fenced road, full of twists and turns, which helped my purpose

famously. At the angle of each curve, I waited until they had turned

the next, and so on. Soon, however, they abandoned the main road, in

favour of a devious maze of lanes. At last I lost them; lingering over

long at one bend, when I reached the next they had disappeared. They

had been moving so slowly, that I knew very well that they must have

entered some house. I retraced my steps, and searched the lane, which

had evidently swallowed them up. Only one house had a frontage to that

spot. It was a large grey stone edifice, set back about a quarter mile

from the road. The grounds were encompassed with a high stone wall, and

planted thickly with beeches, chestnuts, and elm trees. I nodded and

approached the gates, which stood wide open. Upon one of the posts was

fastened a small brass plate, inscribed with the following

legend:--"Kingsmere Hospital for Consumptives." I closed one eye

slowly, and nodded again. As well as if Sir William Dagmar had informed

me, I knew that before me lay the key to the mystery, which it was my

self-constituted task to solve. In order to make assurance doubly sure,

I passed through the gates, and with the cautious cunning of an Indian,

I approached the house. The path was wide and gravelled, but somewhat

overgrown with weeds. It often bifurcated to surround a grove of

shrubs, or shade trees. The whole garden wore a rank, uncared-for look.

The plantations were thick with undergrowth. In certain beds the

unpruned rose-bushes had become giants, and had grown into thickets,

while in others grasses choked all memory of cultivation. The place was

in fact a wilderness. The cover was so excellent, that I was able to

insinuate myself within twenty paces of the building, without risk of

discovery. Striking aside from the road at that point, I sneaked into a

grove of laurels, that commanded a view of two sides of the house.

There I cast myself down upon the ground, and although perfectly

defended from the keenest observation myself, by peering through the

weeds and tree trunks, I could watch both path and house, as well as

any spy could wish to do. The building was three storied, but of no

great size. Its front was ornamented with a doric porch; otherwise it

was plain, square, and unpretentious. I judged it to contain a dozen

large rooms at most. Its windows were all shut, and covered with

impenetrable green blinds, though the lattices stood open, perhaps for

purposes of sanitation. At the rear I could see a line of straggling

stone, slate roofed sheds, which seemed to have been recently erected,

for their cemented walls had a fresh, unweathered look. I wondered what

they contained, for they were too large and numerous to be assigned as

stores for ordinary domestic uses. "Morgues perhaps!" I thought, and

shuddered. "By chance the dead patient, of whom the woman and my master

had conversed, was even now lying in one of them!"

The idea gave me the creeps, for I have a horror of death. I tried to

forget the sheds, and resolutely watched the house. A soundless hour

went by, and I was feeling hungry, but I did not think of departing. My

Waterbury told me it was half-past two o'clock. At three, I began to

wonder at the silence of the place. At four, I was suspecting the place

to be deserted. The shadows were lengthening to the day's close, and I

was chewing my handkerchief to assuage my famished appetite when of a

sudden I heard a curious noise. It was hoarse, guttural, chattering,

and it seemed to issue from the sheds, which I had fancied to be

morgues. I listened with every sense on strain. The noise increased,

and subsided at intervals, sometimes it became a perfect babel, and

harsh animal-like cries quivered through the din. My curiosity became a

plague, but I no longer doubted that the place was tenanted, and I

dared not explore. The queer sounds I have attempted to describe,

lasted about twenty minutes, and then all was still again. I did not

know what to think. Were wild animals confined in those sheds? I was

still wondering when I heard footfalls on the gravel path, rapidly

approaching the house from the lane. A moment later I saw Sir William

Venner striding through the twilight. His face was quite

expressionless. He marched up to the porch, and disappeared. As I heard

neither knock nor sound of bell, I concluded that he had entered with a

latch-key. More than ever determined to remain, I fought my appetite as

best I could for the next three hours. By then it was quite dark, and

the glow of lamps appeared through the green blinds, covering the

windows of the house. Feeling wretchedly stiff and cramped, and cold to

my bones, I stood up and rubbed my limbs. When the circulation was

restored, I crept out of the covert, where I had lain so long and

stealthily approached the line of sheds. Their back walls were of blank

stone, and showed me nothing; moreover, although of different size and

height, all were attached together, and also to the house. I skirted

the rear, and turned the corner. Still no window, but before me

stretched an asphalted court-yard. Peering round the second corner, I

saw into the hospital's kitchen, through the open back door. It was

lighted up, and a comfortable fire burned in a large stove, before

which stood a covered spit. A wrinkled old woman sat before a table

kneading some pastry with her fingers. An old, grey-bearded man sat in

a distant corner, his knees crossed, his arms folded. He was smoking a

pipe, and the light glistened on his bald pate. It made rather a pretty

picture, that kitchen, with its Darby and Joan interior. I considered

it a while, and then glanced along the face of the mysterious sheds,

only once more to be baffled. It consisted of a blank wall, pierced

only with an occasional padlocked door.

Thoroughly disgusted I returned to the front of the house, and took up

a position hard by the trunk of a fine old elm tree, that grew at the

first branch of the path. There I waited for another hour, but at last

my patience was rewarded. The door suddenly opened, a man came out, and

approached me with a quick firm tread. It was too dark to see his face,

but I guessed him to be Sir Charles Venner. He passed me so closely,

that by stretching out my hand I could have brushed his cloak. He had

not taken another ten steps, however, before the house door was again

thrown open, and another man issued at a run. "Venner!" he shouted,

"Venner!"

The voice was Dr. Fulton's.

"What is it?" demanded Sir Charles, from behind me, coming to an abrupt

halt.

"One moment, Venner, where are you?"

"Here!"

Sir Charles Venner returned towards the house, and the two men met at

the very angle of the path, within six feet of my nose. I hugged the

tree-trunk, and waited, hardly daring to breathe.

"Could you strain a point, Venner, and operate to-morrow night?" asked

Dr. Fulton in a pleading voice.

"No, old chap, I can't. You know my rule. I must give myself three days

between each, for the sake of my nerve."

"Just for once!"

"Impossible, Fulton. I wonder that you ask me. I have myself to

consider as well as the cause. We may succeed or we may not. But I am

hanged if I deliberately risk destroying my own health for anything or

anyone. I consider that I do quite enough for the cause as it is."

"You do, Venner, you do; but just for once do oblige Marion. She begged

me to ask you. You see, the fact is, Cavanagh is cranky."

"Damn Cavanagh!"

"With all my heart, but then you see, there is Marion. What should we

do without her?"

"That is all very well. But what should we do without me!"

"The poor girl is half out of her mind worrying about Cavanagh. He has

not even had the grace to come here all day, though he promised."

"He is an infernal young cad!"

"I think so too, but it does not mend matters. The girl is crazily in

love with him, and she thinks he will kill himself, if we can't do

something for him soon."

"Puppy!" The tone was bitterly contemptuous. Sir Charles seemed to

hesitate. "Look here, Fulton," he proceeded, "I am sorry for Marion, of

course; nevertheless, I cannot help her. Tell her I am out of sorts, or

make any other excuse you like. I shall not operate until Tuesday

evening. Good-night to you!"

"One second, Venner, She begged me, if you refused her first request,

to ask leave for Cavanagh to be present at the operation. You'll have

no objection to that I suppose!"

"Oh! curse the fellow," exclaimed Sir Charles very irritably. "He

becomes the bane of my existence. If we admit him to the room, we are

bound to have a scene. He will either faint or do something equally

idiotic. You know very well that the least interruption may play the

devil with my knife."

"She has pledged his good behaviour, Venner. Besides, I'll promise to

look after him. Come, come, old chap, don't send me back to her quite

empty-handed."

"The consequences must be upon your own head then."

"Thank you, Venner, you are a good fellow! Good-night!"

"I am, on the contrary, a soft-hearted fool. Good-night!"

They parted, and I heaved a sigh of relief.

When the silence had resumed itself, I stole through the plantation to

the gate, whence, after carefully fixing the locale of the hospital in

my mind, I made a speedy return to civilization, and an hour later I

was discussing a hearty meal in a private room at Jack Straw's Castle.

IV

THE OPERATION

Tuesday arrived before I knew quite what to do. On that particular

morning the postman handed me, amongst a sheaf of bills and circulars,

a letter sealed with a peculiar signet, addressed like the others to my

master. As it wanted an hour to Sir William's waking time, I had plenty

of leisure to investigate its contents. It puzzles me how any people

can be foolish enough to imagine that a mere dab of wax, however

cunningly impressed, can confer security upon their correspondence. In

two minutes the seal was lying safe and uninjured upon my pantry table,

and the detached envelope rested confidingly across the mouth of a bowl

of boiling water. The letter ran as follows: "My dear Dagmar,--Whoever

the rascal really is who imposed upon Cavanagh and myself on a recent

memorable evening, he lied in declaring himself an emissary of the

police. I have just succeeded in establishing this fact, and take the

earliest opportunity of reassuring you, while allowing detailed

explanations to await until we meet. I have no longer any doubt but

that our adversary is a blackmailer, and I feel sure that before long

one or other of us will be approached. I sincerely trust that the

fellow will turn out, as you suspected, to be your scapegrace nephew.

In that case you, of course, must deal with him, but in any other event

I am convinced that our best course will be to prosecute. This will

notify you that I intend to propose such a resolution at our next

conclave.--Yours sincerely, Charles Venner.

"P.S.--If you can, see Cavanagh to-day. I have been weak enough to

permit him to witness the operation. It is possible that you may

dissuade him.--C.V."

I carefully resealed the letter, and pressed the envelope with a heated

flat-iron in order to remove all traces of my manipulations. All the

time I was in a whirl of thought. For three days I had been wondering

how I might get a footing inside the hospital and witness the operation

which Mr. Cavanagh had extorted a privilege to see. After reading Sir

Charles Venner's letter I was more anxious than ever to do so, but the

more determined I became the less hopeful seemed my prospects. If Mr.

Cavanagh had been a bigger man I believe I should have resorted to some

desperate expedient to get him out of the way, so that I might take his

place. Unhappily for me, however, he lacked full two inches of my

stature, and I dared not attempt to impersonate him under the brilliant

light which must necessarily pervade a surgeon's operating-room. I

solved the problem that was troubling me, while preparing my master's

breakfast, and when I proceeded to his room and handed him his letters,

I knew exactly what to do. Sir William Dagmar had a scapegrace

nephew--well, his scapegraceship should be my scapegoat. It is true

that part of Dr. Venner's letter put the idea into my mind. I do not

pretend to pose as a superhumanly clever person, but I am not without

talent, and my genius is in my power to twist every accident to my own

advantage.

It was my master's custom to dispose of his correspondence while I

prepared his bath after awaking him. As I re-entered his bed-chamber to

announce his bath ready, I found him standing before the fireplace in

his dressing-gown, watching the transmutation of Sir Charles Venner's

missive into ashes in the grate.

"Your pardon, sir," I murmured softly. "About a fortnight ago you

commanded me to immediately inform you if any stranger should venture

to question me concerning your affairs."

He swung round on the instant and faced me, his lids narrowed over his

eyes, and his lips compressed in a hard straight line.

"Well!" he grated. "Well!"

"This morning, sir, about two hours ago, a man came here and asked to

see you----"

"His name?" he interrupted harshly.

"He would not give his name, sir, and for that reason I took the

liberty of refusing to admit him."

"You did well, Brown. What had he to say?"

"He left a message for you, sir. He asked me to tell you that Mr.

Sefton Dagmar wished you to meet him alone on the railway station at

Newhaven, at nine o'clock to-night precisely." Butts had told me that

Sefton Dagmar lived at Newhaven. One of my greatest natural endowments

is an almost perfect memory.

My master's eyes glistened and his cheeks flushed. "Oh, indeed!" he

muttered. "Anything else, Brown?"

"Y--yes, sir!" I lowered my eyes and tried to look abashed.

"I--I--scarcely like to tell you, sir," I stammered; "the messenger

was--most--im--most impertinent, sir."

"Never mind, Brown; tell me exactly what he said."

"He declared, sir, that if you did not keep the appointment, you'd have

leisure to repent your foolishness in gaol!"

"What!" he thundered, and threatened me with his clenched hands. His

face went purple, then pale as death, but his eyes glowed like coals.

"I'm sure I beg your pardon, sir," I muttered, stepping back quickly

and affecting to be terrified. "You--you made me tell you, sir."

With a great and manifest effort my master recovered his composure. He

even contrived to smile. "I--I--you must forgive me, Brown," he

muttered. "I--I could not for a moment conceive that--that my nephew

would dare to send me such a message. Mr. Sefton Dagmar is my nephew,

Brown, and I am sorry to say that----"

I raised my hand and quickly interrupted him. "Please, don't say any

more, sir," I cried in tones of deep respect. "I am your servant, sir,

and I hope I know my place. When you know me better, sir, you will find

that I am not one of the prying sort, who is always trying to hear more

than he should. It's likely that in your anger now you'd be telling me

something that you'd afterwards regret, and if you'll forgive me for

speaking plainly, sir, I like you too much, and I'm too happy in your

service to want to risk losing your confidence and my place together!

Such a thing has happened to me before, sir, and without my seeking

either."

Sir William Dagmar was the most surprised looking man in the world at

that moment. He seemed to have forgotten everything, but the enigma

before him, and he stared at me as if he wished to read into my soul.

"Have you no curiosity?" he demanded at last.

"None that I can't control, sir," I replied respectfully.

"Well, I'll be damned!" he muttered. "You are either a superlatively

finished hypocrite or a philosopher of sorts. Which is it, Brown?"

I looked into his eyes and sighed. "It's as you please, sir, and I

won't pretend not to understand you," I answered mournfully. "But if I

did act the hypocrite a bit in anticipating the occasion to speak as I

did just now, where's the harm, sir? You are a rich gentleman, Sir

William, and you have no idea of what a cursed thing it is for a poor

fellow like me to go about looking for employment, and eating up my

little bit of savings, sir. Last time I was out of a place it cost me

six pounds for board, not to speak of the agent's fee; and I have been

hoping that I was settled here for life, sir."

"You may yet be, if you choose, Brown. I am perfectly satisfied with

you; and, upon my soul, I believe you are reliable."

"Just so, sir; but you won't continue to believe that long if you trust

me with more than a servant should be trusted. It's not in human

nature, sir!"

"You mule!" he cried with a gesture of impatience. "But have your way,

have your way! Now return to the subject. What more have you to tell

me?"

"Very little, sir, except that the man tried to pump me, but I gave him

not a whit of satisfaction. Oh, I beg pardon, sir. The postman came up

while he was talking. I'd have shut the door on him before, only I saw

the postman coming."

"Yes, yes."

"Well, sir, the man saw that letter, and he offered me five pounds for

it--cash down, sir."

"Ah! What reply did you give him?"

"I shut the door in his face, sir."

My master nodded. "What sort of a man did he appear to you, Brown. Not

exactly a gentleman, I suppose?"

"No, indeed, sir. A low creature and poorly dressed. I was ashamed for

the postman to catch us talking, sir."

"Would you recognize him again?"

"Among a thousand; he had a scar across his left cheek and half his

left ear gone, sir."

My master nodded, and, turning, walked thoughtfully into the adjoining

bath-room. We did not converse upon the matter again, but all that day

the poison I had instilled into his mind was working, working. I

perceived its effects when he returned to the house somewhat late in

the afternoon, doubtless after having paid a visit to Mr. Cavanagh, for

he did not go abroad during the forenoon. He looked worried and

distrait as I admitted him, and passing me without a word, he went

straight up to his bedroom. Ten minutes later his bell rang. I hurried

up to find him standing in the hall, clad for the street, a heavy

fur-lined overcoat across his arm and a bag in one hand.

"I'll not be home until to-morrow morning," he said curtly, "so you

need not wait up for me, Brown; but, please, on no account leave the

house."

"Very good, sir."

"Above all, admit no caller. You understand?"

"Yes, sir. Shall I call a cab for you, sir?"