FELSENWEIR
1
In the night hush--it was close upon four--I could hear the
chattering Oos as it flowed in miniature cataracts but a few yards
from my balcony.
Nature had claimed her due. Not even that ghastly omen of the Second
Warning had sufficed to keep me awake. Yet I was not destined to sleep
in peace. Something had reached me, deeply though I slumbered, and I
had awakened automatically--as is the way of one who has lived in wild
places.
Memory of a sound came over from sleep.
Creaking.
There was silence. No moon broke the blackness of the outer room,
dimly visible from where I lay. Then, it came again--creaking.
I turned, noiselessly.
_Someone_--a vague silhouette--had stealthily raised the shutters!
Slowly and cautiously, hoping my manœuvres were unseen in the
darkness of the alcove, I lifted myself upon an elbow. The figure was
still there--stooping, I thought, and looking into the outer room. The
shutter had been moved up fully three feet, by what means I could not
imagine, but whilst it was high enough for cramped entrance, it was
yet so low as to have hampered swift retreat.
I wondered if I had made any sound in the moment of awakening: the
intruder was so motionless--so silent. My finger rested, tautly, upon
the trigger of the Colt.
And as I lay there, watching, and awaiting the next development, this
quietude became definitely horrible. I visualized that incredible
thing with great gray-purplish wings, which had disappeared among the
tombs.
_What_ was it, so silent out there on the balcony, which peered in?
Did it crouch, animally, on all fours? Was it _crawling_ toward me?
Whoever, or whatever, was there gave no sign. Inch by inch I drew
myself up, preparatory to springing out. My eyes were becoming used to
the darkness. Where I had seen, or thought I had seen, the silhouette
of a stooping figure, I now could detect vague half-lights. Was it
possible that the intruder had withdrawn even as I lay watching?
And now, being ready, I cast off the sheets and leaped on to the
carpet. In nine strides I reached the window.
The gap, three feet high, between floor and shutter was vacant.
Nobody, nothing was there! I stumbled back to the switch beside the
door. A swift flood of light came and I stood blinking toward the
window.
Then I recrossed, grasped the cords, and raised the central shutter
fully.
Barefooted, I stepped out on to the tiled balcony. A table and two
chairs alone broke its emptiness. Right, three steps led down to a
gravelled garden path.
Someone moved… near me--below.
I leaned over the stone balustrade.
“Good-evening, sir,” said a gruff voice in German. “Has something
disturbed you?”
A wave of relief flowed over me hotly. There was nothing supernatural
about this voice--and human companionship I welcomed.
“Good-evening,” I replied. “Who are you?”
“Night watchman, sir. I patrol the gardens every half hour. These
ground-floor rooms are so easily entered, you see.”
I was peering in the speaker’s direction. But he merely showed as a
darker patch in the general gloom.
“They are!” I agreed. “When did you arrive?”
“At this moment.”
“Someone raised my shutters a few minutes ago.”
“That is impossible, sir, from outside, if they were fully closed.”
“They were fully closed.”
“Very strange, sir.”
“But you saw no one?”
“No one came round the south corner, sir--the way I arrived. Could you
describe him?”
“No. But I saw him--dimly.”
“Nothing is disturbed?”
“No.”
“I will report the matter, sir. Will you please reclose your
shutters?--and make sure they are safe.”
“I shall certainly take your advice!”
“Good-night, sir.”
“Good-night.”
I heard footsteps on the gravel path as I withdrew and began to pull
on the cords which lowered the heavy shutter. I was so engaged when
the steps, or so I supposed, returned along the path, and:
“Hullo, there!” called a voice--but not the same voice!
I desisted. The bottom of the shutter was still some five feet from
the floor. I looked out. A beam of light shone blindingly into my
eyes.
“Hullo to _you_!” I cried. “What the devil’s up?”
“This is what I am asking, sir,” the speaker replied. “I am the night
watchman and it is my duty to ask.”
I was astounded. Not only was this voice unlike the other, but the man
spoke with a sort of military brusquerie which inclined me favourably
toward him.
Again I stepped out on the balcony.
Standing plainly visible on the path below in the light from my
windows was a square-jawed, iron-gray figure wearing a perfectly
fitting uniform, with smart field boots. The Regal badge was on his
shoulder straps and glittered in his cap.
He stood at attention, looking up. His electric torch he held beside
him like a rifle barrel at the order. We stared hard at one another,
then:
“Come in for a moment, night watchman,” I said, “I have something for
you to report.”
“Very good, sir.”
A moment later, ducking his close-cropped head, for he was all of six
feet, and carrying his cap, he joined me in my room. He stood at
attention again.
“Sit down,” I said. “Something very queer has happened here to-night.”
“Thank you, sir.”
The night watchman bowed stiffly, and sat down on the extreme edge of
an uncomfortable chair. As his unflinching regard met mine:
“Is there another watchman on duty in the gardens?” I asked.
“At four o’clock, sir, I am relieved.”
“No one else is on duty now?”
“No one--outside the hotel. There are two men on duty inside.”
“Then listen to what I am going to tell you,” said I, “and explain it
if you can.”
As briefly as possible I outlined what had passed, and finally:
“The man impersonating you,” I concluded, “was probably the same who
raised my shutter.”
“Very little doubt of it, sir. He didn’t know how much you could see.
He slipped to the nearest cover and waited. Allow me to examine the
shutter.”
He rose stiffly, crossed and tested the apparatus; then:
“It does not lock,” he reported. “There is some fault. This man must
have known of it.”
“But why did he speak to me?”
“To find out if you could identify him.”
“Very daring.”
“I agree with you, sir. I must report this. A dangerous man is
evidently about the hotel.”
There was a bottle of Pilsener on the writing table, so, taking it up:
“A glass of beer?” I suggested.
The night watchman immediately sprang to attention.
“Thank you, sir. But contrary to orders.”
One might have replied, “Nobody will be the wiser,” or “What does it
matter?” But, looking into hard blue eyes, I said:
“You are an old soldier?”
“I had the honour of being a sergeant in the Prussian Guard, sir.”
As I had “had the honour of being” a lieutenant in the Coldstream
Guards, the situation did not lack drama, or comedy. But never a ghost
of a smile disturbed the speaker’s grim lips.
“Orders are orders,” said I, and put the bottle down. “Good-night,
Sergeant.”
“Thank you, sir,” he replied, and clicked his heels. “Good-night,
sir.”
He turned smartly, ducked his head, and went out under the half-raised
shutter. I heard his regular footsteps grow faint upon gravel paths.
If discipline could have conquered Europe, I reflected, then to-day
Europe had certainly been one vast German Empire. I had never before
met a night worker who could decline a bottle of beer at four o’clock
in the morning!
My shutters were as safe as I could make them from outside
interference when I turned in again; and my sleep was not disturbed a
second time.
2
I breakfasted on the balcony, as was my custom, watching early
promenaders in wooded paths beside the tiny river and trying to
reconcile the morning beauty of this sheltered valley with that
nightly terror of the Voice.
“You have two days…”
Already, I regretted having confided so much of the facts respecting
my nocturnal visitor to the watchman. I had on my breakfast table a
note from the management respectfully requesting an interview.
As I poured out a second cup of coffee and stared in the direction of
Lichtenthaler Allee, I saw a slim figure moving through the trees with
peculiar grace. That proud, slender body could belong to no one but
Mme. Yburg. I was not mistaken. And she was coming toward the hotel.
Ideas--fantastic, horrible--entered my mind. I flogged my memory for
details of the shape I had seen, or thought I had seen, on this very
balcony in the night. The man, the man who had spoken to me out of the
shadows, might have been no more than an accomplice--his task to cover
the retreat of… the other!
She saw me presently, waved her hand, and went on to where a bridge
spanned the stream. I was lighting a cigarette when she came round an
angle of the hotel and walked along a gravel path to the balcony.
“Good-morning,” I said. “You don’t look as though you had had a late
night.”
“I didn’t,” she replied, and tapped at the gravel with a light stick
which she carried. “I was so terribly bored! I escaped. It was mean of
you to desert me.”
I met the glance of her unfathomable eyes. They were slightly oblique,
which always defeats me.
“What could I do? Mr. Kluster is a most alarming dragon.”
“No.” She was watching me all the time and her gaze was disconcerting.
“I had to be victimized, I suppose. What are you doing with yourself
to-day?”
Now, this seemingly normal inquiry held for me a sinister meaning. I
had been afoot early, and I had obtained in the town a handbook which
dealt with local history. It lay before me now. Particularly, I had
sought for information respecting the older tombs in the cemetery. The
shopman had been able to help me and to augment the facts.
I had learned from this valuable handbook that the last of the once
powerful Felsenweir family was buried approximately at the spot where
that winged horror had alighted. The cypress-shadowed mausoleum which
I had approached was in fact the family vault of the Felsenweirs.
Their great hold in the hills was to-day a ruin and all but
inaccessible.
“There are strange stories about Felsenweir Castle,” the salesman had
told me.
He was a Dutchman and did not display the extraordinary reticence upon
the subject of the Black Forest “vampires” which hitherto I had met
with.
“Anything to do with recent rumours?”
The man’s light blue eyes had lighted up.
“Absolutely. The poor fellow who was found dead in the forest lay on
the borders of the Felsenweir woods. The giant bat you may have heard
about was seen in the same neighbourhood.”
Putting two and two together, and studying an excellent map which I
had obtained from my informant, I had arrived at the conclusion that a
nearer view of Felsenweir was indicated. Approach to the castle ruins
was next to impossible, I was told. The property was held by a trust
and the surrounding woods were strictly private.
But I had made a plan, and now:
“What are you doing with yourself to-day?” Mme. Yburg asked.
“I shall be busy all the morning,” I replied. “But you would make me
very happy if you would join me for tea at the Casino.”
She lowered her eyes and bit her lip meditatively. Her pale, clearly
chiselled features were Greek in purity; but I thought that the little
teeth were terribly white.
“I should love to,” she replied. “But if I’m late--after five, I
mean--you won’t give me up?”
“Certainly not. I may be late myself.”
3
In the office of the management I confirmed the report made by the
Prussian watchman. There were polite regrets--masking incredulity, I
rather fancied. But the fastenings of my shutter should certainly be
looked to.
At about half-past ten on a perfect morning I set out. My Zeiss
glasses I had stuffed into a pocket of my coat as I had no desire to
advertise my intentions. Yet a dreadful sense of futility was growing
hourly more oppressive.
The presence of a pistol on my hip no longer gave any feeling of
security. One cannot shoot a Voice. I was watched, day and night: the
fact was unmistakable. But although the watchers clearly possessed
unusual, indeed superhuman, powers, I could not afford to suppose that
they were infallible. To do so would be to acknowledge defeat. Some,
at least, of my enemies were human enough; and I classified the chief
suspects thus:
(A) Mme. Yburg
(B) Aldous P. Kluster
(C) M. Paul
If the men were victims of the woman or voluntary accomplices, I had
yet to learn. But, until more data came into my possession, my only
safe course was to look upon all three as active opponents of my
mission.
In the lobby of the hotel I was confronted by a dazzling spectacle--a
man arrayed in extravagant plus-fours, with really unique stockings.
His tie was in harmony with his stockings but in harmony with nothing
else. He wore a startling pull-over. Black hair, gray at the temples,
was brushed straight back from a fine, pale brow. The handsome,
clean-shaven face was dominated by laughing but penetrating eyes.
“My _dear_ Mr. Woodville!” cried M. Paul--for he it was--“may I hope
that you are not engaged?”
“Very sorry,” I replied. “But I’m afraid I am engaged until dinner
time.”
“Ah!” cried the Frenchman. “But it is a shame! I am disconsolate. But
dinner--yes! You will dine with me?”
“With pleasure.”
“Good. Then we meet in the bar at half after six----”
“Say, a quarter to seven.”
“Half six to quarter seven--for cocktails?”
“Delighted.”
Presently, I got on my way again. As I came out into the street, I ran
into Mr. Kluster, who was standing by the hotel entrance.
“Hullo!” said he, looking me up and down, “all set for a picnic?”
“Not exactly,” I answered shortly.
“Exploring the forest?”
“Something of the sort,” I called back; for I had scarcely checked my
footsteps, so resentful was I of this man’s would-be facetious
remarks.
But, already, I had gathered food for reflection. It might be no more
than a series of coincidences: yet the fact remained that every
suspect on my list had challenged me in some way regarding my plans
for that day.