CHAPTER III.
A SECOND INTERVIEW WITH THE MYSTERIOUS VISITOR.
It is not pleasant to have one's mental responsibility brought inquestion, and the result of my interview with Professor Chickering was,to put it mildly, unsatisfactory. Not that he had exactly questioned mysanity, but it was all too evident that he was disposed to accept mystatement of a plain matter-of-fact occurrence with a too liberalmodicum of salt. I say "matter-of-fact occurrence" in full knowledge ofthe truth that I myself had at first regarded the whole transaction as afantasia or flight of mind, the result of extreme nervous tension; butin the interval succeeding I had abundant opportunity to correlate mythoughts, and to bring some sort of order out of the mental and physicalchaos of that strange, eventful night. True, the preliminary eventsleading up to it were extraordinary; the dismal weather, the depressionof body and spirit under which I labored, the wild whirl of thoughtkeeping pace with the elements--in short, a general concatenation ofevents that seemed to be ordered especially for the introduction of someabnormal visitor--the night would indeed have been incomplete without aghost! But was it a ghost? There was nothing ghostly about my visitor,except the manner of his entrance and exit. In other respects, he seemedsubstantial enough. He was, in his manners, courteous and polished as aChesterfield; learned as a savant in his conversation; human in histhoughtful regard of my fears and misgivings; but that tremendousforehead, with its crown of silver hair, the long, translucent beard ofpearly whiteness, and above all the astounding facility with which heread my hidden thoughts--these were not natural.
The Professor had been patient with me--I had a right to expect that; hewas entertaining to the extent of reading such excerpts as he had withhim on the subject of hallucinations and their supposed causes, but hadhe not spoiled all by assigning me at last to a place with thequestionable, unbalanced characters he had cited? I thought so, and thereflection provoked me; and this thought grew upon me until I came toregard his stories and attendant theories as so much literary trash.
My own reflections had been sober and deliberate, and had led me to seeka rational explanation of the unusual phenomena. I had gone to ProfessorChickering for a certain measure of sympathy, and what was more to thepoint, to secure his suggestions and assistance in the furtherunraveling of a profound mystery that might contain a secret of untolduse to humanity. Repulsed by the mode in which my confidence had beenreceived, I decided to do what I should have done from the outset--tokeep my own counsel, and to follow alone the investigation to the end,no matter what the result might be. I could not forget or ignore thesilver hair I had so religiously preserved. That was genuine; it was astangible, as real, as convincing a witness as would have been the entirehead of my singular visitant, whatever might be his nature.
I began to feel at ease the moment my course was decided, and thefeeling was at once renewed within me that the gray head would comeagain, and by degrees that expectation ripened into a desire, onlyintensified as the days sped by. The weeks passed into months; summercame and went; autumn was fast fading, but the mysterious unknown didnot appear. A curious fancy led me now to regard him as my friend, forthe mixed and indefinite feelings I felt at first towards him had almostunaccountably been changed to those of sincere regard. He was not alwaysin my thoughts, for I had abundant occupation at all times to keep bothbrain and hands busy, but there were few evenings in which I did not,just before retiring, give myself up for a brief period to quietcommunion with my own thoughts, and I must confess at such times theunknown occupied the larger share of attention. The constantcontemplation of any theme begets a feeling of familiarity oracquaintance with the same, and if that subject be an individual, as inthe present instance, such contemplation lessens the liability tosurprise from any unexpected development. In fact, I not onlyanticipated a visit, but courted it. The old Latin maxim that I hadplayed with, "Never less alone than when alone" had domiciled itselfwithin my brain as a permanent lodger--a conviction, a feeling ratherthan a thought defined, and I had but little difficulty in associatingan easy-chair which I had come to place in a certain position for myexpected visitor, with his presence.
Indian summer had passed, and the fall was nearly gone when for someinexplicable reason the number seven began to haunt me. What had I to dowith seven, or seven with me? When I sat down at night this persistentnumber mixed itself in my thoughts, to my intense annoyance. Bother takethe mystic numeral! What was I to do with seven? I found myself askingthis question audibly one evening, when it suddenly occurred to me thatI would refer to the date of my friend's visit. I kept no journal, butreference to a record of some business transactions that I hadassociated with that event showed that it took place on Novemberseventh. That settled the importunate seven! I should look for whomeverhe was on the first anniversary of his visit, which was the seventh, nowclose at hand. The instant I had reached this conclusion the number leftme, and troubled me no more.
November third had passed, the fourth, and the fifth had come, when astubborn, protesting notion entered my mind that I was yielding to asuperstitious idea, and that it was time to control my vacillating will.Accordingly on this day I sent word to a friend that, if agreeable tohim, I would call on him on the evening of the seventh for a shortsocial chat, but as I expected to be engaged until later than usual,would he excuse me if I did not reach his apartments until ten? Therequest was singular, but as I was now accounted somewhat odd, itexcited no comment, and the answer was returned, requesting me to come.The seventh of November came at last. I was nervous during the day,which seemed to drag tediously, and several times it was remarked of methat I seemed abstracted and ill at ease, but I held my peace. Nightcame cold and clear, and the stars shone brighter than usual, I thought.It was a sharp contrast to the night of a year ago. I took an earlysupper, for which I had no appetite, after which I strolled aimlesslyabout the streets, revolving how I should put in the time till teno'clock, when I was to call upon my friend. I decided to go to thetheater, and to the theater I went. The play was spectacular, "Aladdin;or, The Wonderful Lamp." The entertainment, to me, was a flat failure,for I was busy with my thoughts, and it was not long until my thoughtswere busy with me, and I found myself attempting to answer a series ofquestions that finally became embarrassing. "Why did you make anappointment for ten o'clock instead of eight, if you wished to keep awayfrom your apartments?" I hadn't thought of that before; it was stupid toa degree, if not ill-mannered, and I frankly admitted as much. "Why didyou make an appointment at all, in the face of the fact that you notonly expected a visitor, but were anxious to meet him?" This was easilyanswered: because I did not wish to yield to what struck me assuperstition. "But do you expect to extend your call until morning?"Well, no, I hadn't thought or arranged to do so. "Well, then, what is toprevent your expected guest from awaiting your return? Or, whatassurance have you that he will not encounter you in the street, undercircumstances that will provoke or, at the least, embarrass you?" Nonewhatever. "Then what have you gained by your stupid perversity?"Nothing, beyond the assertion of my own individuality. "Why not go homeand receive your guest in becoming style?" No; I would not do that. Ihad started on this course, and I would persevere in it. I would beconsistent. And so I persisted, at least until nine o'clock, when I quitthe theater in sullen dejection, and went home to make some slightpreparation for my evening call.
With my latch-key I let myself into the front door of the apartmenthouse wherein I lodged, walked through the hall, up the stair-case, andpaused on the threshold of my room, wondering what I would find inside.Opening the door I entered, leaving it open behind me so that the lightfrom the hall-way would shine into the room, which was dark, and therewas no transom above the door. The grate fire had caked into a solidmass of charred bituminous coal, which shed no illumination beyond afaint red glow at the bottom, showing that it was barely alive, and nomore. I struck a match on the underside of the mantel shelf, and as Ilit the gas I heard the click of the door latch. I turned instantly; thedoor had been gently clo
sed by some unknown force if not by unseenhands, for there was no breath of air stirring. This preternaturalinterference was not pleasant, for I had hoped in the event of anothervisit from my friend, if friend he was, that he would bring no uncannyor ghostly manifestation to disturb me. I looked at the clock; the indexpointed to half past nine. I glanced about the room; it was orderly,everything in proper position, even to the arm-chair that I had beenwont to place for my nondescript visitor. It was time to be going, so Iturned to the dressing case, brushed my hair, put on a clean scarf, andmoved towards the wash-stand, which stood in a little alcove on theopposite side of the room. My self-command well-nigh deserted me as Idid so, for there, in the arm-chair that a moment before was empty, satmy guest of a year ago, facing me with placid features! The room beganto revolve, a faint, sick feeling came over me, and I reeled into thefirst convenient chair, and covered my face with my hands. Thisdepression lasted but an instant, however, and as I recoveredself-possession, I felt or fancied I felt a pair of penetrating eyesfixed upon me with the same mild, searching gaze I remembered so well. Iventured to look up; sure enough, there they were, the beaming eyes, andthere was he! Rising from his chair, he towered up to his full height,smiled pleasantly, and with a slight inclination of the head, murmured:"Permit me to wish you good evening; I am profoundly glad to meet youagain."
It was full a minute before I could muster courage to answer: "I wish Icould say as much for myself."
"And why shouldn't you?" he said, gently and courteously; "you haverealized, for the past six months, that I would return; more thanthat--you have known for some time the very day and almost the exacthour of my coming, have even wished for it, and, in the face of allthis, I find you preparing to evade the requirements of commonhospitality;--are you doing either me or yourself justice?"
I was nettled at the knowledge he displayed of my movements, and of myvery thoughts; my old stubbornness asserted itself, and I was rudeenough to say: "Perhaps it is as you say; at all events, I am obligatedto keep an engagement, and with your permission will now retire."
It was curious to mark the effect of this speech upon the intruder. Heimmediately became grave, reached quietly into an inner pocket of hiscoat, drew thence the same glittering, horrible, mysterious knife thathad so terrified and bewildered me a year before, and looking mesteadily in the eye, said coldly, yet with a certain tone of sadness:"Well, I will not grant permission. It is unpleasant to resort to thisstyle of argument, but I do it to save time and controversy."
I stepped back in terror, and reached for the old-fashioned bell-cord,with the heavy tassel at the end, that depended from the ceiling, andwas on the point of grasping and giving it a vigorous pull.
"Not so fast, if you please," he said, sternly, as he stepped forward,and gave the knife a rapid swish through the air above my head, causingthe cord to fall in a tangle about my hand, cut cleanly, high above myreach!
I gazed in dumb stupor at the rope about my hand, and raised my eyes tothe remnant above. That was motionless; there was not the slightestperceptible vibration, such as would naturally be expected. I turned tolook at my guest; he had resumed his seat, and had also regained hispleasant expression, but he still held the knife in his hand with hisarm extended, at rest, upon the table, which stood upon his right.
"THE SAME GLITTERING, MYSTERIOUS KNIFE."]
"Let us have an end to this folly," he said; "think a moment, and youwill see that you are in fault. Your error we will rectify easily, andthen to business. I will first show you the futility of trying to escapethis interview, and then we will proceed to work, for time presses, andthere is much to do." Having delivered this remark, he detached a singlesilvery hair from his head, blew it from his fingers, and let it floatgently upon the upturned edge of the knife, which was still resting onthe table. The hair was divided as readily as had been the bell-cord. Iwas transfixed with astonishment, for he had evidently aimed to exhibitthe quality of the blade, though he made no allusion to the feat, butsmilingly went on with his discourse: "It is just a year ago to-nightsince we first met. Upon that occasion you made an agreement with mewhich you are in honor bound to keep, and--" here he paused as if to notethe effect of his words upon me, then added significantly--"will keep. Ihave been at some pains to impress upon your mind the fact that Iwould be here to-night. You responded, and knew that I was coming, andyet in obedience to a silly whim, deliberately made a meaninglessengagement with no other purpose than to violate a solemn obligation. Inow insist that you keep your prior engagement with me, but I do notwish that you should be rude to your friend, so you had better write hima polite note excusing yourself, and dispatch it at once."
I saw that he was right, and that there was no shadow of justificationfor my conduct, or at least I was subdued by his presence, so I wrotethe note without delay, and was casting about for some way to send it,when he said: "Fold it, seal it, and address it; you seem to forget whatis proper." I did as he directed, mechanically, and, without thinkingwhat I was doing, handed it to him. He took it naturally, glanced at thesuperscription, went to the door which he opened slightly, and handedthe billet as if to some messenger who seemed to be in waitingoutside,--then closed and locked the door. Turning toward me with theapparent object of seeing if I was looking, he deftly drew his knifetwice across the front of the door-knob, making a deep cross, and thendeposited the knife in his pocket, and resumed his seat.[2]
[2] I noted afterward that the door-knob, which was of solid metal, was cut deeply, as though made of putty.
As soon as he was comfortably seated, he again began the conversation:"Now that we have settled the preliminaries, I will ask if you rememberwhat I required of you a year ago?" I thought that I did. "Please repeatit; I wish to make sure that you do, then we will start fair."
"In the first place, you were to present me with a manuscript--"
"Hardly correct," he interrupted; "I was to acquaint you with anarrative which is already in manuscript, acquaint you with it, read itto you, if you preferred not to read it to me--"
"I beg your pardon," I answered; "that is correct. You were to read themanuscript to me, and during the reading I was to interpose suchcomments, remarks, or objections, as seemed proper; to embody asinterludes, in the manuscript, as my own interpolations, however, andnot as part of the original."
"Very good," he replied, "you have the idea exactly; proceed."
"I agreed that when the reading had been completed, I would seal thecomplete manuscript securely, deposit it in some safe place, there toremain for thirty years, when it must be published."
"DREW HIS KNIFE TWICE ACROSS THE FRONT OF THEDOOR-KNOB."]
"Just so," he answered; "we understand each other as we should. Beforewe proceed further, however, can you think of any point on which youneed enlightenment? If so, ask such questions as you choose, and I willanswer them."
I thought for a moment, but no query occurred to me; after a pause hesaid: "Well, if you think of nothing now, perhaps hereafter questionswill occur to you which you can ask; but as it is late, and you aretired, we will not commence now. I will see you just one week fromto-night, when we will begin. From that time on, we will follow thesubject as rapidly as you choose, but see to it that you make noengagements that will interfere with our work, for I shall be moreexacting in the future." I promised, and he rose to go. A sudden impulseseized me, and I said: "May I ask one question?"
"Certainly."
"What shall I call you?"
"Why call me aught? It is not necessary in addressing each other thatany name be used."
"But what are you?" I persisted.
A pained expression for an instant rested upon his face, and he said,sadly, pausing between the words: "I--Am--The--Man Who--Did--It."
"Did what?"
"Ask not; the manuscript will tell you. Be content, Llewellyn, andremember this, that I--Am--The--Man."
So saying he bade me good night, opened the door, and disappeared downthe broad stair-case.
One week thereafter he appeared promptly, seated himself, and producinga roll of manuscript, handed it to me, saying, "I am listening; you maybegin to read."
On examination I found each page to be somewhat larger than a sheet ofletter paper, with the written matter occupying a much smaller space, soas to leave a wide white border. One hundred pages were in the package.The last sentence ending abruptly indicated that my guest did not expectto complete his task in one evening, and, I may anticipate by sayingthat with each successive interview he drew about the same amount ofwriting from his bosom. Upon attempting to read the manuscript I atfirst found myself puzzled by a style of chirography very peculiar andcharacteristic, but execrably bad. Vainly did I attempt to read it; eventhe opening sentence was not deciphered without long inspection andgreat difficulty.
The old man, whom I had promised that I would fulfill the task,observing my discomfiture, relieved me of the charge, and without a wordof introduction, read fluently as follows:
THE MANUSCRIPT OF I--AM--THE--MAN.