John Huish's brain was still confused. At times he was ready to give
way to the idea that he must be quite mad, and at such times he had a
dire mental struggle to master the wild rush of thoughts so that he
might get one uppermost and let it have due course--that one wild idea
that he must bring himself face to face with the fiend who mocked his
existence, had tortured him for years, and who lived in his semblance;
and he felt in nowise surprised, as he passed down the road, at seeing
himself, dressed exactly as he then was, turn suddenly out of a
side-street and walk rapidly towards the house he had just left.
"At last!" he said beneath his breath; and he drew back into a garden to
avoid being seen.
He was in nowise surprised either, as, with the cunning of a madman, he
watched till his semblance went straight up to the house and knocked;
and, feeling that he would enter, Huish stole slowly out of his
hiding-place and followed.
"Trapped!" he said in a low voice. "Only room for one of us in this
little world."
His teeth grated together, his fingers were tightly clenched, and he
crept on towards the gateway of his house, hidden by the tall privet
hedge within the railings, and reached the entry just as his semblance
came back from the door frowning and savage with disappointment at the
result of his quest of her who had disappeared just as he had triumphed
in his heart over a long-cherished idea of revenge.
The two men were face to face; and with a cry of savage delight John
Huish sprang at his semblance's throat, but to be met by a blinding
flash and a tremendous blow, which sent him staggering back, clutching
vainly at the railings before he fell upon the pavement and rolled over
and over half stunned.
He sprang to his feet, though, and gnashed his teeth with rage as he
looked up and down and saw that a couple of the very few people about,
alarmed by the shot, were coming to his assistance, but him he sought
was gone.
Before anyone could reach him, John Huish had started off running hard
to the bottom of the road, chancing which way the man he hunted had
gone, and was just in time to see him enter a hansom, to be rapidly
driven off.
Running pretty quickly, he became aware that he was exciting attention,
and, remembering his appearance, he subsided into a slower pace, for
another cab was on ahead, and he hailed it just in time.
"Follow that hansom!" he cried to the man as he leaped in. "Double
fare."
The horse sprang forward, and to his great satisfaction he saw that he
gained upon the fugitive, so he sat back patiently waiting, with the
determination now to hunt him down.
Mad or sane, there was but one thought still in John Huish's brain, and
that was to get this fiend, this haunting demon, by the throat. Whether
he was human or some strange creature from another world, he had ceased
now to speculate; his head had been troubled with too much stress. All
he felt was that they two could not exist together upon earth: that was
his evil half, and he must kill it.
Once or twice a thrill of mad rage made his nerves tingle, for he seemed
to see Gertrude resting lovingly in that other's arms, responding to his
caresses, smiling in his face, and blessing him with her love; and at
such moments his brain whirled like one of the wheels by his side.
The sight of the cab in front drove these thoughts away, though, and,
clenching his teeth, he shook his head as if to clear his brain for the
one object in view.
And now, for the first time, he became aware of a strange pain, and of
something warm trickling down beside his ear, and putting up his hand,
he withdrew it covered with blood.
"He could not kill me," he muttered, taking out his handkerchief and
applying it to where the bullet had struck the top of his head and
glanced off, making a deep cut which bled freely.
He did not know it then, but it was the one thing for which he had
reason to thank the man he pursued. Though sent with a mission to
destroy, it was the saving of his life.
On still through the crowded streets, which were empty to John Huish,
for he saw nothing but the cab before him. As in his then wild state
there seemed to be room in the world for but one of them two, so in his
vision there was room but for the single object he pursued.
There were turnings and checks, and more than once the cab was nearly
lost; but the driver he had knew his work, and twice over, when Huish
was about to leap out and continue the pursuit on foot, there was the
cab on ahead.
Over a bridge, and then down a turning for a short cut. Yes, he must be
making for Waterloo Station; and as Huish sprang out he saw the man he
sought at the ticket-office, and darted towards him.
The fugitive looked round in the act of taking his ticket, saw the wild
face of Huish, and turned and fled, with his pursuer hunting him like a
dog and close upon his heels.
Without a moment's hesitation, on reaching the platform, he ran to the
right, doubled back along the next, leaped down on the line, crossed it,
reached the next platform, doubled again in and out, amidst the shouts
of the porters, passed through a tangle of trains and empty carriages,
and so reached again another platform, before glancing back to find
Huish doggedly on his track.
A wild, strange look of horror came into his face as he glanced around
him, seeking which way to go, and for the moment he made for the way
down to the waterside by Hungerford Bridge; but a train was on the point
of starting--not the one for which he had taken a ticket, but anywhere
would do, so that he could get away from the madman who hunted him like
fate.
He dashed to the gate just as it was closed, and the stern official
uttered the words. "Too late."
He glanced over his shoulder, and saw that John Huish was within ten
yards, and half a dozen porters in pursuit. Had he possessed the
presence of mind now to face him, he had but to say. "This is an
escaped lunatic," to see Huish secured.
But his nerve was gone, and in his horror he glanced wildly from place
to place, ran a few yards, dashed through another gate, and ran along
another platform just as the train was gliding away by the next.
Shouts and orders to stop reached him, but they fell upon ears that
heard nothing, and, boldly leaping down at the end of the platform, he
ran along the line, caught the handle of one of the carriages about the
middle of the train, and climbed on to the footboard.
"Safe!" he muttered. "Curse him! he is a devil incarnate!"
As he spoke he climbed into the compartment, which proved to be empty;
and then, with a smile of triumph, he thrust his head out of the window
to gaze back at his discomfited pursuer; for the engine was now rapidly
gathering speed, and being one of the long-distance trains, it would
probably run ten or a dozen miles without stopping.
As he looked out, though, his eyes became fixed and his teeth chattered
together with horror, for there, far back, standing on the footboard of
the guard's break, was John Huish, and as the young men's eyes met there
was a strange kind of fascination which held the fugitive to the window,
while his pursuer seemed to come nearer and nearer till their eyes
almost touched.
Occurring as these incidents did on the off side of the train, they had
not been seen by the guard, who was in profound ignorance of what had
taken place, while the officials at the terminus gave him the credit of
seeing the strange passengers, and taking such steps as were necessary
at the first stopping station. But he saw nothing till, looking out,
about a couple of miles down the line, he saw John Huish standing on the
footboard, and the next minute he entered the brake.
To the guard's remarks there was no reply, and finding himself in
company with a wild-looking man, with closely cut hair, his head
bleeding, and who paid no heed to his words, he was about to check the
train; but as his hand was stretched out to the wheel that bore the
line, John Huish's eyes blazed up and he shrank back, afraid to enter
into an encounter with one whom he looked upon as mad.
"Where do you stop first?" said Huish at last.
"Bulter Lane," replied the man, naming a station some fourteen miles
down the line; and John Huish was silent during the half-hour's run,
while the guard kept glancing anxiously out at the stations they passed,
and longed for help to rid him of his strange companion.
They were over two miles from their destination when, before he could
arrest him, the guard saw Huish--who had been leaning out of the window,
first on one side, then on the other--suddenly open the door, step down,
and leap from the train.
"Why, there's another!" he cried, looking out. "I wonder they haven't
broken their necks."
Had he been gazing out as the train ran on through the pretty country
place, he would have seen the fugitive, after anxiously looking ahead,
suddenly step down upon the footboard, leap forward, stagger as his feet
touched the ballast, and then go down on hands and knees, but to get up
and begin walking fast to the boundary hedge, which he crossed just as
John Huish also took his leap from the train, alighted in safety, and
once more began the pursuit.
"Why, the hunt's t'other way on," cried the guard excitedly, as he
looked back. "Madman's hunting his keeper, I think; and he'll have him
too," he added, as the train thundered rapidly along, and they glided
into the station, his last glimpse of the two strange passengers being
as they ran across a meadow nearly two miles back. He gave information
to the station-master, and two or three passengers who had seen the
fugitive leave the carriage, and whose destination this proved to be,
set off at a trot in the direction taken by the hunted man, while, after
telling the engine-driver and stoker that it was a rum start, the guard
resumed his place and the train continued its way.
It was a desperate leap, but in the dread which had seized him, the
fugitive would have taken one of greater danger, for something seemed to
tell him that he was fleeing from death, and that death was the stronger
of the two.
He fell heavily, and cut his knees and hands upon the rough gravel, but
he was up again, leaped the hedge beside the lane, and was hurrying
across the meadow in the hope that Huish would not miss him until he
reached the next station.
Glancing back, though, when he had run some fifty yards, he uttered a
shriek that was like that of a frightened woman, for he could see Huish
passing the hedge, and now he knew it was a trial of speed and
endurance.
"He'll kill me," he cried hoarsely, as with trembling hands he pulled
out the revolver from his breast, and, thrusting a hand into his
pockets, sought for a cartridge to replace that which he had fired; but
his fingers refused their office; and giving up the task, he ran on
across meadow after meadow, checked by the hedges, and aiming afterwards
at the gates.
A grim smile overspread his face as, after about a mile had been
covered, he glanced back to see that he was the faster of the two, and,
aiming for the open country, he pressed on.
"I shall tire him out," he muttered as he toiled on, feeling disposed to
throw away the revolver, but fearing to part with what might prove the
means of saving his life.
The country was wooded and park-like; and with a strange perversity he
sought the open, when he might have obtained help had he sought the
nearest village. It was as if, in this time of peril, he, the clever,
scheming, ready-witted man, had lost all command over his actions, and
every nerve seemed concentrated upon the sole thought of fleeing from
his pursuer.
They were too far ahead in their start to be seen by the porters who ran
up the line from the station, and then followed their footprints across
the meadows, so that there were no witnesses to the savage, relentless
pursuit of the one, and the blind, terror-stricken flight of the other.
The pursued was right: unchecked by illness and confinement, he was the
swifter of the two, gradually placing more distance between himself and
his pursuer; but he had not calculated upon the latter's stern
determination.
For after a few minutes, in place of exerting himself to overtake his
quarry, John Huish settled down into a steady, plodding run, husbanding
his strength, and contented to keep his double in sight.
A few minutes later, as he still kept his eyes upon the man ahead, he
slipped off his coat and steadily ran on, easier now that he was freed
from this encumbrance.
A mile was covered, then, more slowly, another, and now the exertions of
pursuer and pursued showed in the sluggish pace at which they toiled on.
Huish's face was black with the heat, and the veins in his forehead
were starting, his breath came thick and fast, and now, dragging off his
vest, collar, and tie, one by one, he threw them aside, and seeming to
nerve himself as he saw his enemy stagger in his track, he increased his
pace.
Fields were everywhere, save that in the distance were the spires of a
couple of churches. At the end of a hundred more yards they came
suddenly upon a wide expanse of undulating common-land, dotted with
clumps of Scotch firs, and tufts of gorse and bracken, offering plenty
of places of concealment to a hunted man, could he but reach one unseen.
But Huish was too close, while now the endurance was telling over speed,
and as, like a hunted hare, the pursued glanced back with wild and
starting eyes, he could see that his pursuer was gaining steadily, and
the distance between them becoming short.
The afternoon sun cast long shadows, and glorified the golden gorse and
bronzed the dark-green pines, while ever and again a rabbit scuttled
away to its safe sanctuary in the sandy earth, and turned as if to gaze
pityingly at the hunted stranger. Now and then, too, a blackbird darted
away, uttering its alarm note, while high overhead in the peaceful arch
of heaven a lark sent forth its trill of joy and peace.
Peace, while war to the death was in preparation for enactment by those
two men, who, with bloodshot eyes, hot, dry tongues, and hoarse
breathing, stumbled on over the heath and gorse! All around was a scene
of silent beauty, such as the wild parts of Surrey can display in the
greatest perfection; but bird, wild-flower, the mellow afternoon
sunshine, all were as naught to John Huish, who saw but the tottering
figure some forty yards ahead, and with his chest seeming to be aflame,
the foam at his lip, and the taste of hot blood in his mouth, he toiled
on.
"I can go no farther!" panted the man he pursued, as, after wildly
looking round for help, he made for a clump of firs, to one of which he
clung as if to steady himself as he laid the pistol against the trunk
and fired, while his pursuer was twenty yards away.
The bullet whizzed by John Huish's head as he came on, and there was
another report and the strange singing noise of a second bullet, but he
passed on unharmed. His bloodshot eyes were fixed upon the half-hidden
figure by the fir-tree, now not ten yards away--now not five, as there
was a flash, a report, and a jerking feeling in his left arm.
The next moment the hunted man had dropped the pistol and turned to
flee, running amongst the trees to where there was a hollow beneath a
bank of yellow sand, capped with golden broom, and here he crouched,
half turned away, thrusting one arm into a rabbit burrow, pressing
himself against the crumbling soil, and literally shrieking in a wild,
hoarse way as might some rat that has been hunted into a corner where
there is no escape.
As Huish came at him he made another effort to flee, running a few
yards, shrieking still in his agony of fear, more like some wild
creature than a man. Then in his horror he faced round just as,
gathering up his remaining strength, Huish sprang at his breast and they
fell, the latter lying upon his enemy's chest with his hands feebly
clasping his throat.
"At last!" he panted with a savage laugh, and then lay helpless. He had
overtaken his enemy, the creature who had blasted his life, maddened
him, and robbed him of his fame and all he loved, and now he was
helpless as a child.
For a time there was the hoarse panting of their laboured breath, and
the eyes of the two men alone engaged in deadly strife; their limbs were
completely paralysed. The sun sank lower, casting the shadows of the
pines across them, and, emboldened by the silence, the furze chats
twittered here and there, while from the distance came the soft mellow
caw of a rook in homeward flight. Then from the dry grass hard by came
the shrill crisp _chizz_ of the grasshopper, and soft and deep from the
clump of firs the low rattling whir of the evejar preparing for its
hawking flight round the trees in quest of the moths and beetles that
formed its fare.
But one thing in the soft evening beauty seemed to accord with the
passions and hellish fury of the two men, and that was the low hiss and
writhing shape of a short thick viper which glided slowly from beneath
one tuft of heath where it had been driven by the coming footsteps, to
seek its lurking-place beneath another.
For fully twenty minutes, panting, heated, exhausted, did the two men
lie there, glaring into each other's eyes. Once only did the hunted
move, and his hand stole softly towards his breast-pocket; but it was
pinioned on the instant, and he lay prone, waiting his time.
Meanwhile the sobbing hoarse murmur of their breathing grew more
subdued, the heavy beating of their hearts more even, and the great
drops of sweat ceased to trickle down from neck and temple, to coalesce,
and then drop upon the grass. The feeling of helplessness, of paralysed
muscles, passed away, and with the fire in his eye growing fiercer as he
felt his strength returning, John Huish uttered a sigh of content as he
told himself that he could now crush out the life of the creature who
had destroyed his happy life.
The sun sank lower as he gazed down at the face beneath him. It was
like looking at his own angry countenance in a mirror, and for the
moment he was startled; but that passed away, for the thought of
Gertrude came like a flash through his insane brain.
It was for vengeance.
"Devil!" he cried hoarsely; and with one sharp movement he struck at the
prostrate man.
The latter had seen the change in his countenance, and was prepared for
the assault. With the activity of a panther he seized the coming hand,
and throwing up his chest as he bent his spine like a bow, he tried to
throw his adversary off, and then a deadly struggle began.
At this moment there was little difference in the physical power of the
two adversaries. Huish, though, from his position had the advantage,
one that he fought hard to keep. At first it seemed that he would lose
it, for, having somewhat recovered from his horror and fear of death,
the hunted man threw the strength he had been husbanding into his first
effort, flung John Huish aside, and nearly escaped. His advantage,
however, was but a matter of minutes, for Huish steadily held on, and he
was never able to rise to his feet. The grass was crushed down, the
purple heather broken, and the sand torn up, while, growing giddy and
weak with his exertions, the old fear came back, and once more the man
lay prone upon his back, gazing up into Huish's relentless eyes, and
shuddered at the remorseless countenance he saw.
Then he raised his head slightly to try and look round for help, but he
could see nothing but the setting sun, now glorifying the whole scene of
peace made horrible by the life-and-death struggle that was going on.
He thought of the past, of his wife, and as a strange singing arose in
his ears, it seemed to take the form of words imploring for mercy--the
mercy that he would not show.
"I can't die--I am not fit to die!" he gasped. "John Huish, have mercy
on me!"
He shuddered as his adversary burst into a wild, hoarse laugh, and
glared down at him; and truly his face was horrible, distorted as it was
by passion, his brow smeared with blood from the wound in his head, and
every vein knotted and standing out from his exertions.
"He is mad!" the man muttered, as he saw the wild look in the other's
eyes, and once more he shrieked aloud. "No, no! do not kill me!" he
cried; "I cannot die!"
"Not die!" cried Huish. "We shall see!"
He tightened his hands now fiercely, when, with almost superhuman
strength, the hunted man made a dying effort to wrench away his neck,
shrieking out: "Huish--John Huish--mercy--do not kill--I am--your
brother!"
John Huish's hands relaxed their grasp, and a strange pang of fear and
wonder combined struck through his brain. This man--his very self in
appearance--his double--who knew his every act, his very life, and who
had impersonated him again and again--was it possible?
He stared down at the distorted countenance before him, his hands clawed
and held a few inches from the prostrate man's throat, while doubt and
incredulity struggled for the mastery. Then a curious smile crossed his
face as his former thought re-mastered his beclouded brain.
"Another wile--a trick--a lie, for a few more moments' breath," he
cried, catching him by the throat once more. "It is a lie, and you are
a devil!"
"Mercy, help!" shrieked the other once more. "Huish--John--would you
kill your brother?"
"I have no brother."
"I am the son of James Huish and Mary Riversley!" cried the other with
starting eyes; and then, as the young man loosed him once more, he
cried: "It is true, I call God to witness--it is true!"
John Huish clasped his forehead with his hands, and tried to comprehend
the fact thus suddenly brought before his clouded brain.
"You--my brother?"
"Ask in the other world!" yelled the other, as, with a stroke like
lightning, he struck Huish full in the shoulder with a long keen-bladed
knife, and, with a low groan, the young man fell over sidewise, and lay
motionless amongst the heath.
"Curse him!" hissed the man savagely, as he rose to his feet, and then
sank down feeling faint and giddy. "I'm sick as a dog. I'm torn to
pieces. Curse him, it was time to strike!"
He wiped the blood from his hands, sought for and picked up the revolver
that had fallen before the struggle began, and came back to think.
"Not room for two John Huishes," he said, with a coarse laugh.
"Shall I go on with the game?" he said at last. "Yes? No? Too late.
I shall be hunted down for this. The Baillestone people must know of
the jump from the train. He will be found here to-morrow. I must get
back."
He bent over the prostrate man for a few moments, gazing at his calm,
placid face, which now in the twilight seemed sleeping.
"Poor devil!" he muttered; "I didn't want your life, but if, as you
said, there was only room for one of us, why, you had to go! Brother,
eh? Good-bye, dear brother Abel; I'm going to play Cain with a
vengeance now; but my mark is on my arm, and not on my brow. Curse it,
how it throbs and burns!"
With a low inspiration of the breath he hurriedly threw off his coat,
and drew up his shirt-sleeve, for half was torn away in the struggle,
and laying bare a great puckered scar upon his arm, it showed red and
fiery, probably, though, from injury in the struggle.
"It is nothing, I suppose. One would think he had had the bite, and not
I. Rabid as a maddened dog!"
He hastily drew on his coat, shivering with cold and horror.
"That would be horrible," he muttered, "to go mad like a dog! What a
fool I am! I shall stay here till I am taken."
He glanced sharply round, and then started off at a steady walk,
thankful for the coming shades of night, which would hide his disordered
apparel.
His figure had hardly grown faint in the distance when a couple of young
men crossing the common with rod and basket on their shoulders came upon
the prostrate form of John Huish, as they chatted carelessly of the
day's sport.
"Drunk, or a tramp?" said one.
"Both," said the other carelessly, as he glanced at the figure. "By
Jove! Harry, there's blood. It's suicide!"
They hurried to the spot, and there was still light enough to display
the tokens of the fierce struggle in the trampled turf, and the torn
neck of the injured man's shirt.
"It's murder!" cried the first speaker. "Run for help!"
"Here it is!" said the other excitedly, as several figures were seen
approaching; and he uttered a loud shout.
"What is it? Have you found them?" cried the first of the fresh party,
panting.
"Found this man--he's dead."
"We've been hunting them for long enough," said the other. "Yes, that's
one; here's his coat and waistcoat. Good God! is he dead?"
"I don't know," said the man, leaning over Huish's body. "He's got an
ugly wound. I wonder who he is?"
"I know," said the man who had come up. "We have found his pocket-book
and a letter. His name's Huish--John Huish--and the letter's from a
doctor--Stonor, I think the name is."
"Never mind the name as long as it is a doctor!" cried the man who knelt
by Huish. "Someone run for him. Here, who's got a flask?"
Volume 3, Chapter XVI.