IV

But Eustace Borlsover did not follow the advice of his uncle and marry.

He was too fond of old slippers and tobacco. The cooking, too, under

Mrs. Handyside's management was excellent, and she seemed, too, to have

a heaven-sent faculty in knowing when to stop dusting.

Little by little the old life resumed its old power. Then came the

burglary. The men, it was said, broke into the house by way of the

conservatory. It was really little more than an attempt, for they only

succeeded in carrying away a few pieces of plate from the pantry. The

safe in the study was certainly found open and empty, but, as Mr.

Borlsover informed the police inspector, he had kept nothing of value in

it during the last six months.

"Then you're lucky in getting off so easily, sir," the man replied. "By

the way they have gone about their business, I should say they were

experienced cracksmen. They must have caught the alarm when they were

just beginning their evening's work."

"Yes," said Eustace, "I suppose I am lucky."

"I've no doubt," said the inspector, "that we shall be able to trace

the men. I've said that they must have been old hands at the game. The

way they got in and opened the safe shows that. But there's one little

thing that puzzles me. One of them was careless enough not to wear

gloves, and I'm bothered if I know what he was trying to do. I've traced

his finger-marks on the new varnish on the window sashes in every one of

the downstairs rooms. They are very distinct ones too."

"Right hand or left, or both?" asked Eustace.

"Oh, right every time. That's the funny thing. He must have been a

foolhardy fellow, and I rather think it was him that wrote that." He

took out a slip of paper from his pocket. "That's what he wrote, sir.

'I've got out, Eustace Borlsover, but I'll be back before long.' Some

gaol bird just escaped, I suppose. It will make it all the easier for us

to trace him. Do you know the writing, sir?"

"No," said Eustace; "it's not the writing of anyone I know."

"I'm not going to stay here any longer," said Eustace to Saunders at

luncheon. "I've got on far better during the last six months than ever I

expected, but I'm not going to run the risk of seeing that thing again.

I shall go up to town this afternoon. Get Morton to put my things

together, and join me with the car at Brighton on the day after

to-morrow. And bring the proofs of those two papers with you. We'll run

over them together."

"How long are you going to be away?"

"I can't say for certain, but be prepared to stay for some time. We've

stuck to work pretty closely through the summer, and I for one need a

holiday. I'll engage the rooms at Brighton. You'll find it best to break

the journey at Hitchin. I'll wire to you there at the Crown to tell you

the Brighton address."

The house he chose at Brighton was in a terrace. He had been there

before. It was kept by his old college gyp, a man of discreet silence,

who was admirably partnered by an excellent cook. The rooms were on the

first floor. The two bedrooms were at the back, and opened out of each

other. "Saunders can have the smaller one, though it is the only one

with a fireplace," he said. "I'll stick to the larger of the two, since

it's got a bathroom adjoining. I wonder what time he'll arrive with the

car."

Saunders came about seven, cold and cross and dirty. "We'll light the

fire in the dining-room," said Eustace, "and get Prince to unpack some

of the things while we are at dinner. What were the roads like?"

"Rotten; swimming with mud, and a beastly cold wind against us all day.

And this is July. Dear old England!"

"Yes," said Eustace, "I think we might do worse than leave dear old

England for a few months."

They turned in soon after twelve.

"You oughtn't to feel cold, Saunders," said Eustace, "when you can

afford to sport a great cat-skin lined coat like this. You do yourself

very well, all things considered. Look at those gloves, for instance.

Who could possibly feel cold when wearing them?"

"They are far too clumsy though for driving. Try them on and see," and

he tossed them through the door on to Eustace's bed, and went on with

his unpacking. A minute later he heard a shrill cry of terror. "Oh,

Lord," he heard, "it's in the glove! Quick, Saunders, quick!" Then came

a smacking thud. Eustace had thrown it from him. "I've chucked it into

the bathroom," he gasped, "it's hit the wall and fallen into the bath.

Come now if you want to help." Saunders, with a lighted candle in his

hand, looked over the edge of the bath. There it was, old and maimed,

dumb and blind, with a ragged hole in the middle, crawling, staggering,

trying to creep up the slippery sides, only to fall back helpless.

"Stay there," said Saunders. "I'll empty a collar box or something, and

we'll jam it in. It can't get out while I'm away."

"Yes, it can," shouted Eustace. "It's getting out now. It's climbing up

the plug chain. No, you brute, you filthy brute, you don't! Come back,

Saunders, it's getting away from me. I can't hold it; it's all slippery.

Curse its claw! Shut the window, you idiot! The top too, as well as the

bottom. You utter idiot! It's got out!" There was the sound of

something dropping on to the hard flagstones below, and Eustace fell

back fainting.

* * * * *

For a fortnight he was ill.

"I don't know what to make of it," the doctor said to Saunders. "I can

only suppose that Mr. Borlsover has suffered some great emotional shock.

You had better let me send someone to help you nurse him. And by all

means indulge that whim of his never to be left alone in the dark. I

would keep a light burning all night if I were you. But he _must_ have

more fresh air. It's perfectly absurd this hatred of open windows."

Eustace, however, would have no one with him but Saunders. "I don't want

the other men," he said. "They'd smuggle it in somehow. I know they

would."

"Don't worry about it, old chap. This sort of thing can't go on

indefinitely. You know I saw it this time as well as you. It wasn't half

so active. It won't go on living much longer, especially after that

fall. I heard it hit the flags myself. As soon as you're a bit stronger

we'll leave this place; not bag and baggage, but with only the clothes

on our backs, so that it won't be able to hide anywhere. We'll escape it

that way. We won't give any address, and we won't have any parcels sent

after us. Cheer up, Eustace! You'll be well enough to leave in a day or

two. The doctor says I can take you out in a chair to-morrow."

"What have I done?" asked Eustace. "Why does it come after me? I'm no

worse than other men. I'm no worse than you, Saunders; you know I'm not.

It was you who were at the bottom of that dirty business in San Diego,

and that was fifteen years ago."

"It's not that, of course," said Saunders. "We are in the twentieth

century, and even the parsons have dropped the idea of your old sins

finding you out. Before you caught the hand in the library it was filled

with pure malevolence--to you and all mankind. After you spiked it

through with that nail it naturally forgot about other people, and

concentrated its attention on you. It was shut up in the safe, you know,

for nearly six months. That gives plenty of time for thinking of

revenge."

Eustace Borlsover would not leave his room, but he thought that there

might be something in Saunders's suggestion to leave Brighton without

notice. He began rapidly to regain his strength.

"We'll go on the first of September," he said.

* * * * *

The evening of August 31st was oppressively warm. Though at midday the

windows had been wide open, they had been shut an hour or so before

dusk. Mrs. Prince had long since ceased to wonder at the strange habits

of the gentlemen on the first floor. Soon after their arrival she had

been told to take down the heavy window curtains in the two bedrooms,

and day by day the rooms had seemed to grow more bare. Nothing was left

lying about.

"Mr. Borlsover doesn't like to have any place where dirt can collect,"

Saunders had said as an excuse. "He likes to see into all the corners of

the room."

"Couldn't I open the window just a little?" he said to Eustace that

evening. "We're simply roasting in here, you know."

"No, leave well alone. We're not a couple of boarding-school misses

fresh from a course of hygiene lectures. Get the chessboard out."

They sat down and played. At ten o'clock Mrs. Prince came to the door

with a note. "I am sorry I didn't bring it before," she said, "but it

was left in the letter-box."

"Open it, Saunders, and see if it wants answering."

It was very brief. There was neither address nor signature.

"Will eleven o'clock to-night be suitable for our last appointment?"

"Who is it from?" asked Borlsover.

"It was meant for me," said Saunders. "There's no answer, Mrs. Prince,"

and he put the paper into his pocket. "A dunning letter from a tailor; I

suppose he must have got wind of our leaving."

It was a clever lie, and Eustace asked no more questions. They went on

with their game.

On the landing outside Saunders could hear the grandfather's clock

whispering the seconds, blurting out the quarter-hours.

"Check!" said Eustace. The clock struck eleven. At the same time there

was a gentle knocking on the door; it seemed to come from the bottom

panel.

"Who's there?" asked Eustace.

There was no answer.

"Mrs. Prince, is that you?"

"She is up above," said Saunders; "I can hear her walking about the

room."

"Then lock the door; bolt it too. Your move, Saunders."

While Saunders sat with his eyes on the chessboard, Eustace walked over

to the window and examined the fastenings. He did the same in Saunders's

room and the bathroom. There were no doors between the three rooms, or

he would have shut and locked them too.

"Now, Saunders," he said, "don't stay all night over your move. I've had

time to smoke one cigarette already. It's bad to keep an invalid

waiting. There's only one possible thing for you to do. What was that?"

"The ivy blowing against the window. There, it's your move now,

Eustace."

"It wasn't the ivy, you idiot. It was someone tapping at the window,"

and he pulled up the blind. On the outer side of the window, clinging to

the sash, was the hand.

"What is it that it's holding?"

"It's a pocket-knife. It's going to try to open the window by pushing

back the fastener with the blade."

"Well, let it try," said Eustace. "Those fasteners screw down; they

can't be opened that way. Anyhow, we'll close the shutters. It's your

move, Saunders. I've played."

But Saunders found it impossible to fix his attention on the game. He

could not understand Eustace, who seemed all at once to have lost his

fear. "What do you say to some wine?" he asked. "You seem to be taking

things coolly, but I don't mind confessing that I'm in a blessed funk."

"You've no need to be. There's nothing supernatural about that hand,

Saunders. I mean it seems to be governed by the laws of time and space.

It's not the sort of thing that vanishes into thin air or slides through

oaken doors. And since that's so, I defy it to get in here. We'll leave

the place in the morning. I for one have bottomed the depths of fear.

Fill your glass, man! The windows are all shuttered, the door is locked

and bolted. Pledge me my uncle Adrian! Drink, man! What are you waiting

for?"

Saunders was standing with his glass half raised. "It can get in," he

said hoarsely; "it can get in! We've forgotten. There's the fireplace in

my bedroom. It will come down the chimney."

"Quick!" said Eustace, as he rushed into the other room; "we haven't a

minute to lose. What can we do? Light the fire, Saunders. Give me a

match, quick!"

"They must be all in the other room. I'll get them."

"Hurry, man, for goodness' sake! Look in the bookcase! Look in the

bathroom! Here, come and stand here; I'll look."

"Be quick!" shouted Saunders. "I can hear something!"

"Then plug a sheet from your bed up the chimney. No, here's a match." He

had found one at last that had slipped into a crack in the floor.

"Is the fire laid? Good, but it may not burn. I know--the oil from that

old reading-lamp and this cotton-wool. Now the match, quick! Pull the

sheet away, you fool! We don't want it now."

There was a great roar from the grate as the flames shot up. Saunders

had been a fraction of a second too late with the sheet. The oil had

fallen on to it. It, too, was burning.

"The whole place will be on fire!" cried Eustace, as he tried to beat

out the flames with a blanket. "It's no good! I can't manage it. You

must open the door, Saunders, and get help."

Saunders ran to the door and fumbled with the bolts. The key was stiff

in the lock.

"Hurry!" shouted Eustace; "the whole place is ablaze!"

The key turned in the lock at last. For half a second Saunders stopped

to look back. Afterwards he could never be quite sure as to what he had

seen, but at the time he thought that something black and charred was

creeping slowly, very slowly, from the mass of flames towards Eustace

Borlsover. For a moment he thought of returning to his friend, but the

noise and the smell of the burning sent him running down the passage

crying, "Fire! Fire!" He rushed to the telephone to summon help, and

then back to the bathroom--he should have thought of that before--for

water. As he burst open the bedroom door there came a scream of terror

which ended suddenly, and then the sound of a heavy fall.