for further colloquy with Fajal. I have but a dim impression of my
hands being saluted, and of my striding rapidly with downcast head from
the beach, leaving my fate behind me in the person of the humble Indian
labourer with the horse and cart. In the waning light of the October
evening I hastened back to the inn, and threw myself on my bed to
digest my latest experience, the ultimate phase of my unique mission.
In an hour's time I had shaken off the bewilderment of my encounter by
the beach, and was able to converse naturally with Dr Wayne. It was
now merely a matter of waiting seven days for the call, and there was
nothing to prevent my passing this brief span of time pleasantly and
profitably. I hope I have done what lay in my power to conciliate Dr
Wayne, with whom I enjoyed some interesting walks in the mild drizzling
weather along the summits of the rocky coast. Once or twice the notion
arose in me of taking the good man into my complete confidence, but
eventually I decided against this course, and confined my efforts to
preparing him for the task of publication of my second manuscript and
of Mr Cayley's book which I shall leave behind me when I am called to
quit this Earth. I have an overwhelming desire to see this purpose
fulfilled, and as Fajal has given me express permission to do so, why
should not I indulge this innocent whim of mine, however useless and
trivial it may be deemed? I think it was Dean Swift who once declared
that the man who contrived to make two blades of grass grow where but
one had bloomed before bestowed more solid advantage on the human race
than all the combined clique of the politicians. So, if I can attract
one convert into seeing through my own experienced eyes that what is
called progress is not the sole thing needful and desirable for this
sorely tried old world of my birth, I shall have accomplished my most
modest aim. I shall have sown a seed of arresting reflection amidst the
rampant tares of self-sufficiency and materialism which now clog the
Herthian soil.
* * * * *
It is my last night, my last hour on Earth. Midnight has struck some
time ago, and already the air is resonant with that strange haunting
musical susurration that Fajal's spherule has made familiar to me. My
few preparations are all completed, and I have but to descend quietly,
loosen the bolt of a certain door, cross the haggard, and follow the
path to the headland where the royal vessel awaits the King of Meleager
who now bids farewell for ever and for ever to the World and all that
therein is.
EPIGRAPH
By Charles Wayne, M.D.
The reader who has persisted so far in the present volume will
doubtless recall the fact that the first portion is heralded by a short
foreword from one Edward Cayley, who therein expresses his full belief
in the narrative he publishes. In this preface also he makes allusion
to the traveller Sir W---- Y----, the original finder and owner of
the manuscript. For the sake of convenience and explanation therefore
I shall state here that the Editor of Part I. is the late Mr Edward
Cayley, F.S.A., an official employed in the British Museum, whose book
was issued in the early months of 1913. How this obscure work came into
my possession I shall explain in due course, but I should like to add
here that the book in question evoked no public interest whatsoever,
and that such scanty notices of it as appeared were invariably
unfavourable or contemptuous. Such a fate seems natural enough to me,
for I have long observed how in all publications concerning the occult,
nine out of ten readers are to be found scoffers and unbelievers,
whilst the tenth is over-credulous.
But a few weeks after the appearance of the volume, its editor himself
was far beyond the range of hostile jest or criticism, for one March
evening he was found dead of heart disease in the railway carriage
wherein he was returning to his home at Harrow. Of "the exquisitely
prepared roll of vellum covered with close crabbed writing," as
also of its containing cylinder of some exotic white metal, I have
been assured by Mr Cayley's executor that of neither can a trace be
found--"suddenly, as rare things will, they vanished," though I am
inclined to think that these gentlemen in common with a good many
others of Mr Cayley's friends have never credited their existence save
in the brain of their late owner. Indeed, I am told not a few persons
openly denounced the ill-fated volume as an indiscreet _jeu d'esprit_
of which Cayley himself was both author and editor. As to Sir W----
Y---- I see no reason to withhold the full name of Sir Wardour Yockney,
head of an ancient Kentish house which received its baronetcy so long
ago as the reign of Charles the Martyr. Sir Wardour was a fine shot,
an ardent mountaineer and no mean scholar--alas! that I must use the
aorist here in so speaking of him, for Sir Wardour, who started for
Flanders with a motor car soon after the outbreak of the War, was
described as "missing" so long ago as last October, nor have any
further tidings reached his household concerning his fate.
These two principal witnesses therefore being no longer available,
there remains none to whom I can apply for information, none with whom
it would prove worth my while to communicate. It lies therefore with
myself alone to deal as I may think fit with the manuscript, which
is practically a continuation or sequel of the extraordinary story
already accepted and published as solid truth by Mr Cayley. This second
manuscript was found by me under circumstances I shall presently relate
in the bedroom of a sea-side inn in South Wales. With the narrative was
also a letter addressed to me wherein the writer thanked me in warm and
sincere language for the small amount of assistance and sympathy it had
been my privilege to vouchsafe to him during our past twelve weeks of
companionship on Earth, but the contents of the letter shed no further
light on the subject-matter of the manuscript. In addition to these
there was a copy of Mr Cayley's book, which is already become so scarce
as to be almost unattainable. The contents of this little volume I have
therefore placed at the beginning of the present publication, so that
the reader can follow in due sequence all the amazing adventures of the
writer from the date of his first departure from the Earth to the stars
until the very moment when he voluntarily chose a second time to quit
this planet in order to resume a state of sovereignty whose tragical
interruption he has already described with his own pen.
* * * * *
I have always reckoned myself with perfect contentment as a
private person of no importance; _de me igitur nefas omninò loqui_.
Nevertheless, I have been propelled willy-nilly into obtruding some
portion of my personal affairs before the public and in what I conceive
to be the public's true interest. For I myself have been requisitioned,
so to speak, for the solution of some gigantic problem which is of deep
import to our race, and my realisation of this unsought attention on my
part must serve as my excuse for the short biographical details that
follow.
I was born in the year 1853, one of a respectable family of dalesmen in
Cumberland, and after a boyhood wherein the passionate love of solitary
wandering over the wild north country fells seems the only trait I
think worth recording, I was sent to study medicine at Edinburgh. Here
I had a successful if not a distinguished career, and after taking the
required degrees I departed to the East to practise my profession and
to amass the conventional fortune. In the former object I trust I have
performed my duty satisfactorily; and as to the second, I have at any
rate acquired a sufficient pension for the needs of my evening of life.
I have also found alleviation and no small degree of pleasure in my
chosen science, especially in the study of certain tropical diseases,
though my natural inclination for privacy has hitherto prevented my
publishing some interesting notes and observations covering many years'
research in this particular section of medicine. In my domestic life
however I have been less fortunate, for having married an estimable
woman with every prospect of a joint happy existence before us, we
were both deeply wounded in the deaths at rapid intervals of our four
children, a series of blows that I myself, thanks to my profession and
other interests in life, was able to bear with tolerable courage. Not
so my poor partner; from the date of her last boy's loss at Singapore
she could support this prolonged visitation of malign fortune no
longer, and after a short but terrible attack of violent dementia she
relapsed into a permanent condition of apathetic melancholy, from which
she either could not or would not be diverted. I hope and trust I did
all that was possible by patience and calmness to soften her hard lot;
but, needless to say, it was a cheerless home wherein I moved, until
after many years my suffering wife was at last called to rejoin her
lost children.
From the date of her death I devoted myself with increased ardour to
my duties, whilst I occupied my many spare hours in studying with
care and intelligence such literature as deals with the cult of the
supernatural, which has always possessed a singular fascination for
my mind, and has, I feel sure, helped me to sustain with equanimity
hitherto so many slings and arrows of outrageous fortune on this
Earth. The years rolled by, so that in due course I became eligible
for my retiring pension, yet even then I was in no haste to turn my
back on the East, where I had passed practically the whole of my life
since adolescence, for during thirty-seven years of service I had only
twice returned home on short leave. And now, when in professional
decency and according to the custom of my caste I was expected to
resign, I felt small inclination to revisit my native land, where the
only contemporary relative I owned was a married sister living at
Aberdeen. Of my various nephews and nieces I knew nothing, and I felt
a not unnatural dread of being exploited or patronised by a coterie
of self-satisfied young persons of the present generation. At times I
thought of migrating to some sparsely peopled British colony, such as
Western Australia or Tasmania, where the advent of an elderly widower
might possibly be welcome, if only as tending to swell the meagre tale
of the approaching census. I was still hesitating and pondering, when
in July 1914 the tedious question was solved for me rather arbitrarily
in the following manner.
A friend of mine about to revisit England had already engaged and paid
for his passage from Rangoon, and was eagerly looking forward to his
intended holiday, when almost at the last moment the poor fellow met
with a shocking accident, whereby he was so unfortunate as to break
both his legs. Visiting the patient at his house in the capacity of
friend and not as physician, I found Mr ---- in a pitiable state
of lamentation over the money spent on his passage home, which he
regarded as practically lost; indeed, this particular matter seemed to
oppress the invalid even more heavily than his other far more serious
disaster. I reflected a while on the situation, and then deeming it a
special opportunity for me to break from my thraldom of indecision and
simultaneously to perform a real kindness to a brother in distress, I
offered to relieve my sick friend of his ticket and to have his cabin
transferred to myself. As a result of this suggestion I had at least
the satisfaction of the injured man's warm gratitude, though I confess
the homing instinct within me had grown so faint that I could summon
up little or no enthusiasm at this new prospect of a speedy return to
the land of my birth. One external ray of consolation however I was
able to draw from this new arrangement, which was that the _Orissa_
of the Pheon Line, the boat selected by my friend, was timed to sail
on the seventeenth day of the seventh month of the year. I have long
held a secret veneration for the figure seven, and in this case the
circumstance of the benign figures was combined with certain stellar
conjunctions in the heavens on which I need not dwell here.
Be that as it may, this tardy decision to sail on the _Orissa_ at least
put an end to my trials of irresolution, of which I could not help
feeling heartily ashamed; and as the very brief intervening time was
fully employed in packing my effects and in making other preparations
for departure, I was spared the usual cycle of farewell visits of
ceremony which I greatly dreaded. On the day appointed therefore I
found myself settled on the _Orissa_, a comfortable boat, and we
proceeded on our homeward voyage, which proved wholly uneventful
until we reached the Suez Canal. Here for the first time we received
ominous reports of a colossal upheaval amongst the Great Powers of
Europe, whilst our natural alarm was increased tenfold on learning
at Port Said of the impending declaration of war between England and
the German Empire. I shall not linger over the seething excitement on
board our ship as we hurried at full speed through the Mediterranean
in hourly fear of being sighted by the _Goeben_ or some other German
cruiser. It was therefore with an immense sense of relief that we found
ourselves under lee of the guns of Gibraltar before we emerged thence
into the waters of the Atlantic. We were about a day's sail from the
Straits, with the weather still very hot and enervating, although we
were north of the tropics, when at my usual hour for retiring I sought
my cabin. I am generally a light but restful sleeper, and have rarely
experienced even in its most transient form the curse of insomnia; but
on this particular night, which was the seventh of August, I found
myself a prey to a perfect demon of unrest. It was not the effect of
the heat, to which I am thoroughly accustomed; nor was it the strain
and stress of the late intelligence of war, for my extensive reading
in the domain of the supernatural has long divested my mind of all
sublunary foreboding; no, it was, I am convinced, the close approach
of some event of the first magnitude in which I was marked out to
play a considerable part. (But perhaps I am describing my predominant
sensations by the light of subsequent happenings; still I can at least
faithfully aver I was conscious of some imminent crisis that demanded
my fullest energies.)
For several hours I lay thus in my berth, my brain active and alert and
prepared to detect the smallest sound or motion that was suspicious
amid the ordinary routine of ship life during the night watches. But
no such occasion arose, nor was there any conceivable excuse for my
nervous tension and distressing wakefulness, which grew so unbearable
that the first luminous flush of early dawn forced me to leave my bed.
With a deep sigh of relief I vaulted to the floor, donned my overcoat
and slippers, seized my pipe and tobacco pouch, and thus lightly
equipped sought the open air.
Day was breaking with more than the usual riot of variegated colour
over a calm, glassy sea when I reached the boat deck, which I set to
pace hurriedly in order to quieten the throbbings of my unrested brain.
Scarcely had I thrice tramped the planks before I heard a sharp shrill
call from the bridge, and casting my eyes in the direction of the
sound, I observed the officer on watch staring intently at something
high in the air on the port side of the vessel. Leaning over the
taffrail I quickly espied an object in the sky at no great distance
from the _Orissa_--an object which I can best compare in shape to a
huge carp and of a silvery hue in the encroaching sunlight. Even as I
gazed intently, I perceived the thing fall swiftly in a wavering course
till it touched the sea, its actual collapse synchronising with the
blast of the officer's whistle and the tinkle of two bells, for it was
just five o'clock in the morning. All was now bustle, though without
confusion; the steamer's reversed engines echoed with resounding thuds;
the boat deck was peopled by bare-footed seamen who were disengaging
one of the boats from its davits; there were calls for this person and
that, including the ship's doctor, who I knew to be heavily sleeping
off the potations of the previous night. All the hands required were
quickly on the spot with the sole exception of the dissipated surgeon,
whom a steward had hurried below to awaken. But the captain was too
impatient to brook the least delay, and suddenly turning to myself,
begged me to enter the waiting boat instead of the laggard absentee, a
proposal I willingly accepted. Our boat was now lowered to the water;
our swift strokes brought us closer and closer to the scene of the late
mishap; we duly reached the spot. Not a sign of any wreckage, not a
ripple on the surface, only the figure of a solitary survivor swimming
or floating in the tepid crystalline sea.
We steered straight towards the supposed aeronaut and soon pulled
him aboard without difficulty. He was certainly a remarkable man;
slender but of immense height and clothed in a strange outlandish
attire such as I had never seen before; yet he appeared to be of
English or possibly of Scandinavian nationality from the extreme
whiteness of his skin and the flaxen yellow of his hair, which was of
a prodigious length. His eyes were tightly closed and the face was
pallid, but I quickly reassured myself on testing the action of the
heart and pulse that our derelict was practically uninjured by his
recent fall. During our passage back to the _Orissa_, I placed the
rescued man in as comfortable a pose as I could contrive, keeping
his head with its dripping golden mane on my knees. I tried to pour
brandy down his throat, but failed to open the clenched white teeth
that resisted stoutly, and I saw no special reason to persist in my
endeavour. Once during our transit my patient for an instant opened
a pair of great sapphire-blue eyes and smiled faintly up to my face;
and the strangeness of that fleeting glance increased the compassion
and curiosity and interest which had already, naturally enough, been
awakened in me.
Conveyed to my cabin, the strange man had to be stripped of his soaked
garments consisting of a tunic and under-vest of fine texture; a small
bag depending by a chain from his neck he fiercely defended, but
otherwise was tractable enough, and seemed grateful for our attentions
though he never uttered a word. With no small difficulty I managed
to dismiss inquisitive stewards and fellow-passengers and ministered
myself to the needs of my unexpected guest, who finally fell into a
deep refreshing sleep.
Towards evening he awoke, smiled on me graciously, and then extended
his right hand towards me with a gesture that was at once half-wistful,
half-imperious; but when I grasped it according to wont, he seemed
manifestly surprised. This puzzled me, but since that time I have
grown to learn and understand many matters, great and small, which
I failed to comprehend in these early days of our acquaintance. At
first, I confess, I harboured some doubts as to the sanity of my
mysterious stranger, but I soon perceived that though he spoke English
in somewhat halting fashion and his brain worked with some degree of
deliberation, yet of the acuteness of his reasoning powers there could
be no question. In certain appeals of mine he deferred eventually to
my arguments and acknowledged their justice, submitting amongst other
things to have his thick chevelure clipped to a more conventional
length, in order to avoid vulgar comment. After some reflection too
he ultimately agreed with me as to the desirability of his adopting
some name in consonance with the regulations for landing at Liverpool.
Nevertheless, he utterly refused to declare his identity, but merely
kept repeating with a smiling face, "Call me King!" to which pseudonym
of his choice I ventured to add the Christian name of Theodore,
promptly recalling the case of the impoverished King of Corsica on whom
"Fate bestowed a kingdom yet denied him bread," for (quite erroneously)
I then deemed him fully as destitute as that historic royal pauper.
I do not think I need dwell on our subsequent adventures in London
and in Wales, for they have all been amply and faithfully set forth
in the narrative of "Theodore King" himself. In his manuscript he
mentions my name on many occasions in kindly but perhaps not always in
highly flattering terms. Not that I rebel, for I am now well aware how
often my petty scruples and my lack of perception must have irritated
the Superior Being whom I was thus privileged to assist during his
brief sojourn on our Earth. Nor shall I attempt here to analyse the
causes that operated to attach me so closely to the service of one
who drew first my interest, then my devotion, and lastly my whole
fund of loyalty. Imagine me then at an early stage of our strange
alliance as placing myself wholly at the disposal of this stranger,
whose semi-divine attributes I was quick to perceive and acknowledge;
and merely venturing at certain times to proffer such humble aid in
mundane details and trifles as would naturally fall beneath the notice
of a King of Meleager, transported to Earth and torn with celestial
anguish as to his future duties towards his relinquished realm. And in
this blind mental servitude I refuse to see anything dishonourable;
on the contrary, my feeling is that of a man who has for a few moments
been permitted of grace so to clutch at the fringe of the robe of the
Superhuman; as a child of Earth who has succeeded in tracking the
rainbow to its hidden source and bathed his hands in its fabled shower
of golden dew.
Whither our strange alliance was tending or what would eventuate with
regard to my companion, I purposely refrained from debating even with
myself. I merely stood aside and awaited all developments with perfect
calm. I never sought to pry into the nature of the visits of the
outlandish wanderers who pursued our steps both in London and at our
quiet Welsh retreat. Yet I was fully aware of the gradual unravelling
of some wondrous skein of Fate, wherewith I had only an indirect and
subsidiary interest. For "Theodore King" was usually silent, and it was
only during his last days prior to his final disappearance that he ever
exhibited the smallest desire to take me into his confidence, and even
then his statements to me were vague, and rather hinted at services to
be rendered by me in the future than at an elucidation of the past.
At the same time I was not overtaken by surprise when the final event
supervened, and I awoke one morning to find my Superior Being flown
from this Earth whereon he felt so little inclination to linger.
In the manuscript the reader will observe the writer describes his
feelings and movements till the supreme moment of leaving his abode
in order to sail back to Meleager. Up till that point therefore I
shall not presume to interpose my own account, and there is little
further to report after that climax to my unique adventure. It was my
daily custom to enter "Theodore King's" bed-chamber at about eight
o'clock, and on fulfilling my normal visit on the morning of 27th
October I saw at once the bed had never been slept in, whilst a large
package addressed to myself lay in a prominent place on the table. It
contained the manuscript, the copy of Edward Cayley's book, a private
letter to myself and the bag of gems. At the same time I found in
another place an envelope containing a short but perfectly drafted
will signed by Theodore King and witnessed by two persons at Pen
Maelgwyn farm, bequeathing everything he possessed to "his excellent
friend and physician, Charles Wayne, late of Rangoon." Nor had I later
on the least difficulty in obtaining probate. Apparently there was
nothing of value to leave, for I did not think it necessary to mention
the existence of the Meleagrian jewels to any outsider, whilst I was
touched and flattered by the kind thought. I have my own intentions
with regard to applying the considerable sum of money represented by
those splendid gems; and if God in His mercy be pleased to bring back
our unhappy land into the old paths of peace and prosperity I hope to
carry out my plan. But this lies altogether outside the pale of my
present task.