CHAPTER XXII
THE HAUNTED MAN
To have received the cut discourteous from his future father-in-lawmight have been the most commonplace of incidents,--Lessingham evincednot a trace of discomposure. So far as I could judge, he took no noticeof the episode whatever, behaving exactly as if nothing had happened.He merely waited till Mr Lindon was well off the steps; then, turningto me, he placidly observed,
'Interrupting you again, you see.--May I?'
The sight of him had set up such a turmoil in my veins, that, for themoment, I could not trust myself to speak. I felt, acutely, that anexplanation with him was, of all things, the thing most to bedesired,--and that quickly. Providence could not have thrown him moreopportunely in the way. If, before he went away, we did not understandeach other a good deal more clearly, upon certain points, the faultshould not be mine. Without a responsive word, turning on my heels, Iled the way into the laboratory.
Whether he noticed anything peculiar in my demeanour, I could not tell.Within he looked about him with that purely facial smile, the sight ofwhich had always engendered in me a certain distrust of him.
'Do you always receive visitors in here?'
'By no means.'
'What is this?'
Stooping down, he picked up something from the floor. It was a lady'spurse,--a gorgeous affair, of crimson leather and gleaming gold.Whether it was Marjorie's or Miss Grayling's I could not tell. Hewatched me as I examined it.
'Is it yours?'
'No. It is not mine.'
Placing his hat and umbrella on one chair, he placed himself uponanother,--very leisurely. Crossing his legs, laying his folded handsupon his knees, he sat and looked at me. I was quite conscious of hisobservation; but endured it in silence, being a little wishful that heshould begin.
Presently he had, as I suppose, enough of looking at me, and spoke.
'Atherton, what is the matter with you?--Have I done something tooffend you too?'
'Why do you ask?'
'Your manner seems a little singular.'
'You think so?'
'I do.'
'What have you come to see me about?'
'Just now, nothing.--I like to know where I stand.'
His manner was courteous, easy, even graceful. I was outmanoeuvred. Iunderstood the man sufficiently well to be aware that when once he wason the defensive, the first blow would have to come from me. So Istruck it.
'I, also, like to know where I stand.--Lessingham, I am aware, and youknow that I am aware, that you have made certain overtures to MissLindon. That is a fact in which I am keenly interested.'
'As--how?'
'The Lindons and the Athertons are not the acquaintances of onegeneration only. Marjorie Lindon and I have been friends sincechildhood. She looks upon me as a brother--'
'As a brother?'
'As a brother.'
'Yes.'
'Mr Lindon regains me as a son. He has given me his confidence; as Ibelieve you are aware, Marjorie has given me hers; and now I want youto give me yours.'
'What do you want to know?'
'I wish to explain my position before I say what I have to say, becauseI want you to understand me clearly.--I believe, honestly, that thething I most desire in this world is to see Marjorie Lindon happy. If Ithought she would be happy with you, I should say, God speed you both!and I should congratulate you with all my heart, because I think thatyou would have won the best girl in the whole world to be your wife.'
'I think so too.'
'But, before I did that, I should have to see, at least, somereasonable probability that she would be happy with you.'
'Why should she not?'
'Will you answer a question?'
'What is the question?'
'What is the story in your life of which you stand in such hideousterror?'
There was a perceptible pause before he answered.
'Explain yourself.'
'No explanation is needed,--you know perfectly well what I mean.'
'You credit me with miraculous acumen.'
'Don't juggle, Lessingham,--be frank!'
'The frankness should not be all on one side.--There is that in yourfrankness, although you may be unconscious of it, which some men mightnot unreasonably resent.'
'Do you resent it?'
'That depends. If you are arrogating to yourself the right to placeyourself between Miss Lindon and me, I do resent it, strongly.'
'Answer my question!'
'I answer no question which is addressed to me in such a tone.'
He was as calm as you please. I recognised that already I was in perilof losing my temper,--which was not at all what I desired. I eyed himintently, he returning me look for look. His countenance betrayed nosign of a guilty conscience; I had not seen him more completely at hisease. He smiled,--facially, and also, as it seemed to me, a littlederisively. I am bound to admit that his bearing showed not thefaintest shadow of resentment, and that in his eyes there was agentleness, a softness, which I had not observed in them before,--Icould almost have suspected him of being sympathetic.
'In this matter, you must know, I stand in the place of Mr Lindon.'
'Well?'
'Surely you must understand that before anyone is allowed to think ofmarriage with Marjorie Lindon he will have to show that his past, asthe advertisements have it, will bear the fullest investigation.'
'Is that so?--Will your past bear the fullest investigation?'
I winced.
'At any rate, it is known to all the world.'
'Is it?--Forgive me if I say, I doubt it. I doubt if, of any wise man,that can be said with truth. In all our lives there are episodes whichwe keep to ourselves.'
I felt that that was so true that, for the instant, I hardly knew whatto say.
'But there are episodes and episodes, and when it comes to a man beinghaunted one draws the line.'
'Haunted?'
'As you are.'
He got up.
'Atherton, I think that I understand you, but I fear that you do notunderstand me.' He went to where a self-acting mercurial air-pump wasstanding on a shelf. 'What is this curious arrangement of glass tubesand bulbs?'
'I do not think that you do understand me, or you would know that I amin no mood to be trifled with.'
'Is it some kind of an exhauster?'
'My dear Lessingham, I am entirely at your service. I intend to have ananswer to my question before you leave this room, but, in themeanwhile, your convenience is mine. There are some very interestingthings here which you might care to see.'
'Marvellous, is it not, how the human intellect progresses,--fromconquest unto conquest.'
'Among the ancients the progression had proceeded farther than with us.'
'In what respect?'
'For instance, in the affair of the Apotheosis of the Beetle;--I saw ittake place last night.'
'Where?'
'Here,--within a few feet of where you are standing.'
'Are you serious?'
'Perfectly.'
'What did you see?'
'I saw the legendary Apotheosis of the Beetle performed, last night,before my eyes, with a gaudy magnificence at which the legends neverhinted.'
'That is odd. I once thought that I saw something of the kind myself.'
'So I understand.'
'From whom?'
'From a friend of yours.'
'From a friend of mine?--Are you sure it was from a friend of mine?'
The man's attempt at coolness did him credit,--but it did not deceiveme. That he thought I was endeavouring to bluff him out of his secret Iperceived quite clearly; that it was a secret which he would onlyrender with his life I was beginning to suspect. Had it not been forMarjorie, I should have cared nothing,--his affairs were his affairs;though I realised perfectly well that there was something about the manwhich, from the scientific explorer's point of view, might be wellworth finding out. Still, as I say, if it had not been for Marjorie, Ishou
ld have let it go; but, since she was so intimately concerned init, I wondered more and more what it could be.
My attitude towards what is called the supernatural is an open one.That all things are possible I unhesitatingly believe,--I have, even inmy short time, seen so many so-called impossibilities proved possible.That we know everything, I doubt;--that ourgreat-great-great-great-grandsires, our forebears of thousands of yearsago, of the extinct civilisations, knew more on some subjects than wedo, I think is, at least, probable. All the legends can hardly be false.
Because men claimed to be able to do things in those days which wecannot do, and which we do not know how they did we profess to thinkthat their claims are finally dismissed by exclaiming--lies! But it isnot so sure.
For my part, what I had seen I had seen. I had seen some devil's trickplayed before my very eyes. Some trick of the same sort seemed to havebeen played upon my Marjorie,--I repeat that I write 'my Marjorie'because, to me, she will always be 'my' Marjorie! It had driven herhalf out of her senses. As I looked at Lessingham, I seemed to see herat his side, as I had seen her not long ago, with her white, drawnface, and staring eyes, dumb with an agony of fear. Her life wasbidding fair to be knit with his,--what Upas tree of horror was rootedin his very bones? The thought that her sweet purity was likely to beengulfed in a devil's slough in which he was wallowing was not to beendured. As I realised that the man was more than my match at the gamewhich I was playing--in which such vital interests were at stake!--myhands itched to clutch him by the throat, and try another way.
Doubtless my face revealed my feelings, because, presently, he said,
'Are you aware how strangely you are looking at me, Atherton? Were mycountenance a mirror I think you would be surprised to see in it yourown.'
I drew back from him,--I daresay, sullenly.
'Not so surprised as, yesterday morning, you would have been to haveseen yours,--at the mere sight of a pictured scarab.'
'How easily you quarrel.'
'I do not quarrel.'
'Then perhaps it's I. If that is so, then, at once, the quarrel'sended,--pouf! it's done. Mr Lindon, I fear, because, politically, wediffer, regards me as anathema. Has he put some of his spirit intoyou?--You are a wiser man.'
'I am aware that you are an adept with words. But this is a case inwhich words only will not serve.'
'Then what will serve?'
'I am myself beginning to wonder.'
'And I.'
'As you so courteously suggest, I believe I am wiser than Lindon. I donot care for your politics, or for what you call your politics, onefig. I do not care if you are as other men are, as I am,--not unspottedfrom the world! But I do care if you are leprous. And I believe youare.'
'Atherton!'
'Ever since I have known you I have been conscious of there beingsomething about you which I found it difficult to diagnose;--in anunwholesome sense, something out of the common, non-natural; anatmosphere of your own. Events, so far as you are concerned, have,during the last few days moved quickly. They have thrown anuncomfortably lurid light on that peculiarity of yours which I havenoticed. Unless you can explain them to my satisfaction, you willwithdraw your pretensions to Miss Lindon's hand, or I shall placecertain facts before that lady, and, if necessary, publish them to theworld.'
He grew visibly paler but he smiled--facially.
'You have your own way of conducting a conversation, Mr Atherton.--Whatare the events to whose rapid transit you are alluding?'
'Who was the individual, practically stark naked, who came out of yourhouse, in such singular fashion, at dead of night?'
'Is that one of the facts with which you propose to tickle the publicear?'
'Is that the only explanation which you have to offer?'
'Proceed, for the present, with your indictment.'
'I am not so unobservant as you appear to imagine. There were featuresabout the episode which struck me forcibly at the time, and which havestruck me more forcibly since. To suggest, as you did yesterdaymorning, that it was an ordinary case of burglary, or that the man wasa lunatic, is an absurdity.
'Pardon me,--I did nothing of the kind.'
'Then what do you suggest?'
'I suggested, and do suggest, nothing. All the suggestions come fromyou.'
'You went very much out of your way to beg me to keep the matter quiet.There is an appearance of suggestion about that.'
'You take a jaundiced view of all my actions, Mr Atherton. Nothing, tome, could seem more natural.--However,--proceed.'
He had his hands behind his back, and rested them on the edge of thetable against which he was leaning. He was undoubtedly ill at ease; butso far I had not made the impression on him, either mentally ormorally, which I desired.
'Who is your Oriental friend?'
'I do not follow you.'
'Are you sure?'
'I am certain. Repeat your question.'
'Who is your Oriental friend?'
'I was not aware that I had one.'
'Do you swear that?'
He laughed, a strange laugh.
'Do you seek to catch me tripping? You conduct your case with too muchanimus. You must allow me to grasp the exact purport of your inquirybefore I can undertake to reply to it on oath.'
'Are you not aware that at present there is in London an individual whoclaims to have had a very close, and a very curious, acquaintance withyou in the East?'
'I am not.'
'That you swear?'
'That I do swear.'
'That is singular.'
'Why is it singular?'
'Because I fancy that that individual haunts you.'
'Haunts me?'
'Haunts you.'
'You jest.'
'You think so?--You remember that picture of the scarabaeus which,yesterday morning, frightened you into a state of semi-idiocy.'
'You use strong language.--I know what you allude to.'
'Do you mean to say that you don't know that you were indebted for thatto your Oriental friend?'
'I don't understand you.'
'Are you sure?'
'Certainly I am sure.--It occurs to me, Mr Atherton, that anexplanation is demanded from you rather than from me. Are you awarethat the purport of my presence here is to ask you how that picturefound its way into your room?'
'It was projected by the Lord of the Beetle.'
The words were chance ones,--but they struck a mark.
'The Lord--' He faltered,--and stopped. He showed signs ofdiscomposure. 'I will be frank with you,--since frankness is what youask.' His smile, that time, was obviously forced. 'Recently I have beenthe victim of delusions;' there was a pause before the word, 'of asingular kind. I have feared that they were the result of mentaloverstrain. Is it possible that you can enlighten me as to theirsource?'
I was silent. He was putting a great strain upon himself, but thetwitching of his lips betrayed him. A little more, and I should reachthe other side of Mr Lessingham,--the side which he kept hidden fromthe world.
'Who is this--individual whom you speak of as my--Oriental friend?'
'Being your friend, you should know better than I do.'
'What sort of man is he to look at?'
'I did not say it was a man.'
'But I presume it is a man.'
'I did not say so.'
He seemed, for a moment, to hold his breath,--and he looked at me witheyes which were not friendly. Then, with a display of self-commandwhich did him credit, he drew himself upright, with an air of dignitywhich well became him.
'Atherton, consciously, or unconsciously, you are doing me a seriousinjustice. I do not know what conception it is which you have formed ofme, or on what the conception is founded, but I protest that, to thebest of my knowledge and belief, I am as reputable, as honest, and asclean a man as you are.'
'But you're haunted.'
'Haunted?' He held himself erect, looking me straight in the face. Thena shiver went all over him; the muscles of h
is mouth twitched; and, inan instant, he was livid. He staggered against the table. 'Yes, Godknows it's true,--I'm haunted.'
'So either you're mad, and therefore unfit to marry; or else you'vedone something which places you outside the tolerably generousboundaries of civilised society, and are therefore still more unfit tomarry. You're on the horns of a dilemma.'
'I--I'm the victim of a delusion.'
'What is the nature of the delusion? Does it take the shape ofa--beetle?'
'Atherton!'
Without the slightest warning, he collapsed,--was transformed; I candescribe the change which took place in him in no other way. He sank ina heap on the floor; he held up his hands above his head; and hegibbered,--like some frenzied animal. A more uncomfortable spectaclethan he presented it would be difficult to find. I have seen it matchedin the padded rooms of lunatic asylums, but nowhere else. The sight ofhim set every nerve of my body on edge.
'In Heaven's name, what is the matter with you, man? Are you stark,staring mad? Here,--drink this!'
Filling a tumbler with brandy, I forced it between his quiveringfingers. Then it was some moments before I could get him to understandwhat it was I wanted him to do. When he did get the glass to his lips,he swallowed its contents as if they were so much water. By degrees hissenses returned to him. He stood up. He looked about him, with a smilewhich was positively ghastly.
'It's--it's a delusion.'
'It's a very queer kind of a delusion, if it is.'
I eyed him, curiously. He was evidently making the most strenuousefforts to regain his self-control,--all the while with that horriblesmile about his lips.
'Atherton, you--you take me at an advantage.' I was still. 'Who--who'syour Oriental friend?'
'My Oriental friend?--you mean yours. I supposed, at first, that theindividual in question was a man; but it appears that she's a woman.'
'A woman?--Oh.--How do you mean?'
'Well, the face is a man's--of an uncommonly disagreeable type, ofwhich the powers forbid that there are many!--and the voice is aman's,--also of a kind!--but the body, as, last night, I chanced todiscover, is a woman's.'
'That sounds very odd.' He closed his eyes. I could see that his cheekswere clammy. 'Do you--do you believe in witchcraft?'
'That depends.'
'Have you heard of Obi?'
'I have.'
'I have been told that an Obeah man can put a spell upon a person whichcompels a person to see whatever he--the Obeah man--may please. Do youthink that's possible?'
'It is not a question to which I should be disposed to answer eitheryes or no.'
He looked at me out of his half-closed eyes. It struck me that he wasmaking conversation,--saying anything for the sake of gaining time.
'I remember reading a book entitled "Obscure Diseases of the Brain." Itcontained some interesting data on the subject of hallucinations.'
'Possibly.'
'Now, candidly, would you recommend me to place myself in the hands ofa mental pathologist?'
'I don't think that you're insane, if that's what you mean.'
'No?--That is good hearing. Of all diseases insanity is the most to bedreaded.--Well, Atherton, I'm keeping you. The truth is that, insane ornot, I am very far from well. I think I must give myself a holiday.'
He moved towards his hat and umbrella.
'There is something else which you must do.'
'What is that?'
'You must resign your pretensions to Miss Lindon's hand.
'My dear Atherton, if my health is really failing me, I shall resigneverything,--everything!'
He repeated his own word with a little movement of his hands which waspathetic.
'Understand me, Lessingham. What else you do is no affair of mine. I amconcerned only with Miss Lindon. You must give me your definitepromise, before you leave this room, to terminate your engagement withher before to-night.'
His back was towards me.
'There will come a time when your conscience will prick you because ofyour treatment of me; when you will realise that I am the mostunfortunate of men.'
'I realise that now. It is because I realise it that I am so desirousthat the shadow of your evil fortune shall not fall upon an innocentgirl.'
He turned.
'Atherton, what is your actual position with reference to MarjorieLindon?'
'She regards me as a brother.'
'And do you regard her as a sister? Are your sentiments towards herpurely fraternal?'
'You know that I love her.'
'And do you suppose that my removal will clear the path for you?'
'I suppose nothing of the kind. You may believe me or not, but my onedesire is for her happiness, and surely, if you love her, that is yourdesire too.'
'That is so.' He paused. An expression of sadness stole over his faceof which I had not thought it capable. 'That is so to an extent ofwhich you do not dream. No man likes to have his hand forced,especially by one whom he regards--may I say it?--as a possible rival.But I will tell you this much. If the blight which has fallen on mylife is likely to continue, I would not wish,--God forbid that I shouldwish to join her fate with mine,--not for all that the world couldoffer me.'
He stopped. And I was still. Presently he continued.
'When I was younger I was subject to a--similar delusion. But itvanished,--I saw no trace of it for years,--I thought that I had donewith it for good. Recently, however, it has returned,--as you havewitnessed. I shall institute inquiries into the cause of itsreappearance; if it seems likely to be irremovable, or even if it bidsfair to be prolonged, I shall not only, as you phrase it, withdraw mypretensions to Miss Linden's hand, but to all my other ambitions. Inthe interim, as regards Miss Lindon I shall be careful to hold myselfon the footing of a mere acquaintance.'
'You promise me?'
'I do.--And on your side, Atherton, in the meantime, deal with me moregently. Judgment in my case has still to be given. You will find that Iam not the guilty wretch you apparently imagine. And there are fewthings more disagreeable to one's self-esteem than to learn, too late,that one has persisted in judging another man too harshly. Think of allthat the world has, at this moment, to offer me, and what it will meanif I have to turn my back on it,--owing to a mischievous twist offortune's wheel.'
He turned, is if to go. Then stopped, and looked round, in an attitudeof listening.
'What's that?'
There was a sound of droning,--I recalled what Marjorie had said of herexperiences of the night before, it was like the droning of a beetle.The instant the Apostle heard it, the fashion of his countenance beganto change,--it was pitiable to witness. I rushed to him.
'Lessingham!--don't be a fool!--play the man!'
He gripped my left arm with his right hand till it felt as if it werebeing compressed in a vice.
'Then--I shall have to have some more brandy.'
Fortunately the bottle was within reach from where I stood, otherwise Idoubt if he would have released my arm to let me get at it. I gave himthe decanter and the glass. He helped himself to a copious libation. Bythe time that he had swallowed it the droning sound had gone. He putdown the empty tumbler.
'When a man has to resort to alcohol to keep his nerves up to concertpitch, things are in a bad way with him, you may be sure of that,--butthen you have never known what it is to stand in momentary expectationof a tete-a-tete with the devil.'
Again he turned to leave the room,--and this time he actually went. Ilet him go alone. I heard his footsteps passing along the passage, andthe hall-door close. Then I sat in an arm-chair, stretched my legs outin front of me, thrust my hands in my trouser pockets, and--I wondered.
I had been there, perhaps, four or five minutes, when there was aslight noise at my side. Glancing round, I saw a sheet of paper comefluttering through the open window. It fell almost at my feet. I pickedit up. It was a picture of a beetle,--a facsimile of the one which hadhad such an extraordinary effect on Mr Lessingham the day before.
&n
bsp; 'If this was intended for St Paul, it's a trifle late;--unless--'
I could hear that someone was approaching along the corridor. I lookedup, expecting to see the Apostle reappear;--in which expectation I wasagreeably disappointed. The newcomer was feminine. It was MissGrayling. As she stood in the open doorway, I saw that her cheeks werered as roses.
'I hope I am not interrupting you again, but--I left my purse here.'She stopped; then added, as if it were an afterthought, 'And--I wantyou to come and lunch with me.'
I locked the picture of the beetle in the drawer,--and I lunched withDora Grayling.
BOOK III
The Terror by Night and the Terror by Day
Miss Marjorie Lindon tells the Tale