CHAPTER V

AN INSTRUCTION TO COMMIT BURGLARY
That the man in the bed was the one whom, to ray cost, I had suffered myself to stumble on the night before, there could, of course, not be the faintest doubt. And yet, directly I saw him, I recognised that some astonishing alteration had taken place in his appearance. To begin with, he seemed younger, — the decrepitude of age had given place to something very like the fire of youth. His features had undergone some subtle change. His nose, for instance, was, not by any means so grotesque; its beak-like quality was less conspicuous. The most part of his wrinkles had disappeared, as if by magic. And, though his skin was still as yellow as saffron, his contours had rounded, — he had even come into possession of a modest allowance of chin. But the most astounding novelty was that about the face there was something which was essentiauy feminine ; so feminine, indeed, that I wondered if I could by any possibility have blundered, and mistaken a woman for a man ; some ghoulish example of her sex, who had so yielded to her depraved instincts as to have become nothing but a ghastly reminiscence of womanhood.
The effect of the changes which had come about in his ap- pearance— for, after all, I told myself that it was impossible that I could have been such a simpleton as to have been mis- taken on such a question as'gender — was heightened by the self evident fact that, very recently, he had been engaged in some pitched battle ; some hand to hand, and, probably, discreditable
Jneituciion to commif (guygfatg §^
encounter, from which he had borne away uncomfortable proofs of his opponent's prowess. His antagonist could hardly have been a chivalrous fighter, for his countenance was marked by a dozen different scratches which seemed to suggest that the weapons used had been someone's finger-nails. It was, per- haps, because the heat of the battle was still in his veins that he was in such a state of excitement. He seemed to be almost overwhelmed by the strength of his own feelings. His eyes seemed literally to flame with fire. The muscles of his face were working as if they ,were wholly beyond his own control. When he spoke his accent was markedly foreign ; the words rushed from his lips in an inarticulate torrent ; he kept repeat- ing the same thing over and over again in a fashion which was not a little suggestive of insanity.
• So you're not dead ! — you're not dead : — you're alive ! — ybu're alive! Well, — how does it feel to be dead? I ask you ! — Is it not good to be dead ? To keep dead is better, — it is the best of all ! To have made an end of all things, to cease to strive and to cease to weep, to cease to want and to cease to have, to cease, to annoy and to cease to long, to no more care, — no ! — not for anything, to put from you the curse of life, — forever ! — is that not the best ? Oh yes ! — I tell you I — do I not know ? But for you such 'knowledge is not yet. For you there is the return to life, the coming out of death, — you shall live on ! — for me ! — Live on ! '
He made a movement with his hand, and, directly he did so, it happened as on the previous evening, that a meta- morphosis took place in the very abysses of my being. I woke from my torpor, as he put it, I came out of death, and was aUve again. I was far, yet, from being ray own man ; I realised that he exercised on me a degree of mesmeric force which I had never dreamed that one cres^.ure could exercise on another ; but, at least, I was no longer in doubt as to whether I was or was not dead. I knew I was alive.
He lay, watching me, as if he was reading the thoughts which occupied my brain, — and, for all I know, he was.
• Robert Holt, you are a thief.'
• I ftm not'
My own voice, as I heard it, startled me, — it was so long
since it had sounded in my ears.
• You are a thief ! Only thieves come through windows, — did you not come through the window?' I was still, — what would my contradiction have availed me ? ' But it is well that you came through the window, — well you are a thief, — well for me ! for me ! It is you that I am wanting, — at the happy moment you have dropped yourself into my hands, — in the nick of time. For you are my slave, — at my beck and call, — my familiar spirit, to do with as I will, — you know this, — eh ? '
I did know it, and the knowledge of my impotence was terrible. I felt that if I could only get away from him ; only release myself from the bonds with which he had b^nd me about ; only remove myself from the horrible glamour of his near neighbourhood ; only get one or two square meals and have an opportunity of recovering from the enervating stress of mental and bodily fatigue ; — I felt that then I might be something like his match, and that, a second time, he would endeavour in vain to bring me within the compass of his magic. But, as it was, I was conscious that I was helpless, and the consciousness was agony. He persisted in reiterating his former falsehood.
* I say you are a thief ! — a thief, Robert Holt, a thief ! You came through a window for your own pleasure, now you will go through a window for mine, — not this window, but another.' Where the jest lay I did not perceive ; but it tickled him, for a grating sound came from his throat which was meant for laughter. ' This time it is as a thief that you will go, — oh yes, be sure.*
He paused, as it seemed, to transfix me with his gaze. His unblinking eyes never for an instant quitted my face. With what a frightful fascination they constrained me, — and how I loathed them !
W^hen he spoke again there was a new intonation in his speech, — something bitter, cruel, unrelenting.
* Do you know Paul Lessingham ? '
He pronounced the name as if he hated it, — and yet as if he loved to have it on his tongue,
• What Pau) Lessingham ? '
(^n 3ncftucf
* There is only one Paul Lessingham ! The Paul Lessing- ham, — the great Paul Lessingham ! '
He shrieked, rather than said this, with an outburst of rage so frenzied that I thought, for the momeiu, that he was going to spring on me and rend me. I shook all over. . I do not doubt that, as I replied, my voice was sufficiently tremulous.
* All the world knows Paul Lessingham, — the politician, — the statesman.'
As he glared at me his eyes dilated. I still stood in expectation of a physical assault. But, for the present, he contented himself with words.
^ To-night you are going through his window like a thief ! '
I had no inkling of his meaning, — and, apparently, judging from his next words, I looked something of the bewilderment I felt
* You do not understand ? — no ! — it is simple ! — what could be simpler? I say that to-night — to-night : — you are going through his window like a thief. You came through my window, — why not through the window of Paul Lessingham, the poHtician— the statesman.'
He repeated my words as if in mockery. I am — I make it my boast ! — of that great multitude which regards Paul Lessing- ham as the greatest living force in practical politics ; and which looks to him, with confidence, to carry through that great work of constitutional and social reform which he has set himself to do. I daresay that my tone, iu speaking of him, savoured of laudation, — which, plainly, the man in the bed resented. What he meant by his wild words about my going through Paul Lessingham's window like a thief, I still had not the faintest notion. They sounded like the ravings of a madman.
As I continued silent, and he yet stared, there came into his tone another note, — a note of tenderness, — note of which I had not deemed him capable.
* He is good to look at, Paul Lessingham, — is he not good to look at ? '
I was aware that, physically, Mr Lessingham was a fine specimen of manhood, but I was not prepared for the asser- tion of the fact in sudi a quarter, — nor for tiie manner in whicb
the temporary master of my fate continued to harp an^ enlarge upon the theme.
* He is straight, — straight as the mast of a ship, — he is Ull,— * his skin is white j he is strong — do I not know that he is strong — how strong ! — oh yes ! Is there a better thing than to be his wife? his well-beloved ? the light of his eyes ? Is there for a woman a happier chance ? Oh no, not one ! His wife ! — Paul Lessingham ! '
As, with soft cadences, he gave vent to these unlooked-for . sentiments, the fashion of his countenance was changed. A look of longing came into his face — of savage, frantic longing — which, unalluring though it was, for the moment trans- figured him. But the mood was transient.
' To be his wife, — oh yes ! — the wife of his scorn ! the depised and rejected ! '
The return to the venom of his former bitterness was rapid, — I could not but feel that this was the natural man. Though why a creature such as he was should go out of his way to apostrophise, in such a manner, a publicist of Mr Lessingham's eminence, surpassed my comprehension. Yet he stuck to his subject hke a leech, — as if it had been one in which he had an engrossing personal interest.
*He is a devil, — hard as the granite rock, — cold as the snows of Ararat. In him there is none of life's warm blood, — he is accursed ! He is false, — ay, false'lis the fables of those who he for love of lies, — he is all treachery. Her whom he has taken to his bosom he would put away from him as if she had never been, — he would steal from her like a thief in the night, — he would forget she ever was ! But the avenger follows after, lurkipg in the shadows,' hiding among the rocks, waiting, watching, till his time shall come. And it shall come! — the day of the avenger ! — ay, the day ! '
Raising himself to a sitting posture, he threw his arms above his head, and shrieked' with a demoniac fury. Presently he became a trifle calmer. Reverting to his recumbent position, resting his head upon his hand, he eyed me steadily ; then asked me a question which struck me as being, under the circumstances, more than a little singular.
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* You know his house, — the house of the great Paul Lessing- ^ ham, — the politician,' — the statesman ? '
* I do not.'
' You lie ! — you do ! *
The words came from him with a sort of snarl, — as if he would have lashed me across the face with them.
' I do not. Men in my position are not acquainted with the residences of men in his. I may, at some time, have seen his address in print ; but, if so, I have forgotten it.*
He looked at me intently, for some moments, as if to learn if I spoke the truth ; and apparently, at last, was satisfied that I did.
* You do not know it ? — Well 1 — I will show it you, — I will "show the house of the great Paul Lessingham.*
What he meant I did not know ; but I was soon to learn, — an astounding revelation it proved to be. There was about his manner something hardly human ; something which, for want of a better phrase, I would call vulpine. In his tone there was a mixture of mockery and bitterness, as if he wished his words to have the effect of corrosive sublimate, and to sear me as he uttered them.
' Listen with all your ears. Give me your whole attention. Hearken to my bidding, so that you may do as I bid you. Not that I fear your obedience, — oh no !*
He paused, — as if to enable me to fully realise the picture of my helplessness conjured up by his jibes.
' You came through my window, like a thief. You will go through my window, like a fool. You will go to the house of the great Paul Lessingliam. You say you do not know it ? Well, I will show it you. I will be your guide. Unseen, in the darkness and the night, I will stalk beside you, and will lead you to where I would have you go. — You will go just as you are, with bare feet, and head uncovered, and with but a single garment to hide your nakedness. You will be cold, your feet will be cut and bleeding,— but what better does a thief deserve ? If any see you, at the least they will take you for a madman ; there will be trouble. But have no fear ; b^ a. bold heart. None shall see you while I stalk ^at yoiir
t^t (gteitt
tide, I will cover you with the cloak of invisibility, — so that you may come in safety to the house of the great Paul Lessingham.'
He paused again. What he said, wild and wanton though it was, was beginning to fill me with a sense of the most extreme discomfort. His sentences, in some strange, inde- scribable way, seemed, as they came from his lips, to warp my limbs ; to enwrap themselves about me ; to confine me, tighter and tighter, within, as it were, swaddling clothes ; to make me more and more helpless. I was' already conscious that what- ever mad freak he chose to set me on, I should have no option but to carry it through.
* When you come to the house, you will stand, and look, and seek for a window convenient for entry. It may be that you will find one open, as you did mine ; if not, you will open one. How, — that is your ^/fair, not mine. You will practise the arts of a thief to steal into his house.'
The monstrosity of his suggestion fought against the spell which he again was casting upon me, and forced me into speech, — endowed me with the power to show that there still was in me something of a man ; though every second the «trands of my manhood, as it seemed, were slipping faster through the fingers which were strained to clutch them.
* I will not.'
He was silent. He looked at me. The pupils of his eyes dilated, — until they seemed all pupil.
* You will. — Do you hear ? — I say you will.'
* I am not a thief, I am an honest man, — why should I do this thing ? '
' Because I bid you.* ' Have mercy ! '
* On whom — on you, or on Paul Lessingham ? — Who, at any time, has shown mercy unto me, that I should show mercy unto any?'
He stopped, and then again went on, — reiterating his former incredible suggestion with an emphasis which seemed to eat its way into my brain.
* you will practise the arts of a thief to steal into bis hpusp ;
® J?^ ^ w c Hon io commit (gurgfarg
and, being in, will listen. If all be still, you will make your way to the room he calls his study.*
* ^iotv shall I find it ? I know nothing of his house.'
The question was wrung from me ; I felt that the sweat ' was standing in great drops upoa my brow.
* I will show it you.'
• Shall you go with me ? '
' Ay, — I shall go with you. All the time I shall be with you. You will not see me, but I shall be there. Be not afraid.*
His claim to supernatural powers, for what he said amounted to nothing less, was, on the face of it, preposterous, but, then, I was in no condition to even hint at its absurdity. He con- tinued.
• When you have gained the study, you will go to a certain drawer, which is in a certain bureau, in a corner of the room — I see it now ; when you are there you shall see it too — and you will open it.*
' Should it be locked ? ' ' You still will open it.' ' But how shall I open it if it is locked ? '
• By those arts in which a thief is skilled. I say to you again that that is your affair, not mine.'
I made no attempt to answer him. Even supposing that he forced me, by the wicked, and unconscionable exercise of what, I presumed, were the hypnotic powers with which nature had to such a dangerous degree endowed him, to carry the adventure to a certain stage, since he could hardly, at an instant's notice, endow m,e with the knack of picking locks, should the drawer he alluded to be locked — which might Providence permit !; — nothing serious might issue from it after all. He read my thoughts.
* You will open it, — though it be doubly and trebly locked, I say that you will open it. — In it you will find — ' he hesitated, as if to reflect — * some letters ; it may be two or three, — I know not just how many, — they are bound alpout by a silken ribbon. You will take them out of the drawer, and, having taken them, you will make the best, of your way out of the house, and beai thepi back to me.*
^ t^e ©eeffe
* And should anyone come upon me while engaged in these nefarious proceedings, — for instance, should I encounter Mr Lessingham himself, what then ? '
* Paul Lessingham ? — You need have no fear if you en- counter him.'
' I need have no fear ! — If he finds me, in his own house, at dead of night, committing burglary ! ' ' You need have no fear of him.'
'On your account, or. on my own? — At least he will have me haled to gaol.'
* I say you need have no fear of him. I say what I mean.'
* How, then, shall I escape his righteous vengeance ? He is not the man to suffer a midnight robber to escape him scatheless, — shall I have to kill him ? '
*You will not touch him with a finger,— nor will he touch you.'
' By what spell shall I prevent him ? *
* By the spell of two words.' ' What words are they ? '
'Should Paul Lessingham chance to come upon you, and find you in his house, a thief, and should seek to stay you from whatever it is you may be at, you will not flinch nor flee from him, but you will stand still, and you will say — '
Something in the crescendo accents of his voice, something weird and ominous, caused my heart to press against my ribs, so that when he stopped, in my eagerness I cried out, ' 'What?^
' THE BEETLE ! '
As the words came from him in a kind of screech, the lamp went out, and the place was all in darkness, and I knew, so that the knowledge filled me with a sense of loathing, that with me, in the room, was the evil presence of the night before. Two bright specks gleamed in front of me ; something flopped from off the bed on to the ground; the thing was coming towards me across the floor. It came slowly on, and on, and on. I stood still, speechless in the sipkness of my horror. Until, on my bare feet, it touched me with sHmy feelers, and
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(gn Jnsftuciion io commit (ffuygfarg ^
my terror lest it should creep up my naked body lent me voice,' and I fell shrieking like a soul in agony.
It may be that my shrieking drove it from me. At least, it went. I knew it went. And all was still. Until, on a sudden, the lamp flamed out again, and there, lying, as before, in bed, glaring at me with his baleful eyes, was the being whom, in my folly, or in my wisdom, — whichever it was ! — I was be- ginning to credit with the possession of unhallowed, unlawful powers.
' You will say that to him ; those two words ; they only ; no more. And you will see what you will see. But Paul Lessingham is a man of resolution. Should he still persist in interference, or seek to hinder you, you will say those two words again. You need do no more. Twice will suffice, I promise you. — Now go. — Drav/ up the blind ; open the window ; climb through it. Hasten to do what I have bidden you. I wait here for your return, — and all the way I shall be with you.'
CHAPTEk VI
' A SINGULAR FELONY
I WENT to the window ; I drew up the blind, unlatching the sash, I threw it open ; and clad, or, rather, unclad as I was, 1 clambered through it into the open air. I was not only in- capable of resistance, I was incapable of distinctly formulating the desire to offer resistance. Some compelling influence moved me hither and hither, with completest disregard of whether I would or would not.
And yet, when I found myself without, I was "^conscious of a sense of exultation at having escaped from the miasmic atmosphere of that room of unholy memories. And a faint hope began to dawn within my bosom that, as I increased the distance between myself and it, I might shake off something of the nightmare helplessness which numbed and tortured me. I lingered for a moment by the window ; then stepped over the short dividing wall into the street ; and then again I lingered.
My condition was one of dual personality, — while, physically, I was bound, mentally, to a considerable extent, I was free. But this measure of freedom on my mental side made my plight no better. For, among other things, I realised what a ridiculous figure I must be cutting, barefooted and bare- headed, abroad, at such an hour of the night, in such a boisterous breeze, — for I quickly discovered that the wind amounted to something like a gale. Apart from all other considerations, the notion of parading the streets in such a condition filled me with profound disgust. And I do believe that if my tyrannical oppressor had only permitted me to attire myself in. my own
38
garments, I should have started with a comparatively light heart on the felonious mission on which he apparently was sending me. I believe, too, that the consciousness of the in- congruity of my attire increased my sense of helplessness, and that, had I been dressed as Englishmen are wont to be, who take their walks abroad, he would not have found in me, on that occasion, the facile instrument which, in fact, he did.
There was a moment, in which the gravelled pathway first made itself known to my naked feet, and the cutting wind to my naked flesh, when I think it possible that, had I gritted my teeth, and strained my every nerve, I might have shaken myself free from the bonds which shackled me, and bade defiance to the ancient sinner who, for all I knew, was peeping at me through the window. But so depressed was I by the know- ledge of the ridiculous appearance I presented that, before I could take advantage of it the moment passed, — not to return again that night.
I did catch, as it were, at its fringe, as it was flying past me, making a hurried movement to one side, — the first I had made, of my own initiative, for hours. But it was too late. My tor- mentor,— as if, though unseen, he saw — tightened his grip, I was whirled round, and sped hastily onwards in a direction in which I certainly had no desire of travelling.
All the way I never met a soul. I have since wondered whether in that respect my experience was not a normal one ; whether it might not have happened to any. If so, there are streets in London, long lines of streets, which, at a certain period of the night, in a certain sort of weather — probably the weather had something to do with it — are clean deserted ; in which there is neither foot-passenger nor vehicle, — not even a policeman. The greater part of the route along which I was driven — I know no juster word— was one with which I had some sort of acquaintance. It^ led, at first, through what, I take it, was some part of Walham Green; then along the Lillie Road, through Brompton, across the Fulham Road, through the network of streets leading to Sloane Street, across Sloane Street into Lowndes Square. Who goes that way goes some distance, and goes through some important thoroug]»
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fares ; yet not a creatui^ did I see, nor, I imagine, was there a creature who saw me. As I crossed Sloane Street, I fancied that I heard the distant rumbling of a vehicle along the Knights- bridge Road, but that was the only sound I heard.
It is painful even to recollect the plight in which I was when I was stopped,— for stopped I was, as shortly and as sharply, as the beast of burden, with a bridle in its mouth, whose driver puts ^ period to his career. I was wet, — intermittent gusts of rain were borne on the scurrying wind ; in spite of the pace at which I had been brought, I was chilled to the bone ; and — worst of all ! — my mud-stained feet, all cut and bleeding, were so painful — for, unfortunately, I was still susceptible enough to pain — that it was agony to have them come into contact with the cold and the slime of the hard, unyielding pavement.
I had been stopped on the opposite side of the square, — that nearest to the hospital ; in front of a house which struck me as being somewhat smaller than the rest. It was a house with a por- tico ; about the pillars of this portico was trelliswork, and on the trelliswork was trained some climbing plant. As I stood, shiver- ing, wondering what would happen next, some strange impulse mastered me, and, immediately, to my own unbounded amaze- ment, I found myself scrambling up the trellis towards the verandah above. I am no gymnast, either by nature or by education ; I doubt whether, previously, I had ever attempted to climb anything more difficult than a step ladder. The result was, that, though the impulse might be given me, the skill could not, and I had only ascended a yard or so when, losing my footing, I came slithering down upon my back. Bruised and shaken though I was, I was not allowed to inquire into my injuries. In a moment I was on my feet again, and again I was impelled to climb, — only, however, again to come to grief. This time the demon, or whatever it was, that had entered into me, seeming to appreciate the impossibility of getting me to the top of that verandah, directed me to try another way. I mounted the steps leading to the front dOor, got on to the low parapet which was at one side, thence on to the sill of the adjacent window, — had I slipped then I should ijave fiiUca a sheer descent of at least twenty feet to the
4«>
bottom of the deep area down below. But tfle sill was broad, and — if it is proper to use such language in connection with a transaction of the . sort in which I was engaged — fortune favoured me. I did not fall. In my clenched fist I had a stone. With this I struck the pane of glass, as with a hammer. Through the hole which resulted, I could just insert my hand, and reach the latch within. In another minute the sash was raised, and I was in the house, — I had committed burglary.
As I look back and reflect upon the audacity of the whole proceeding, even now I tremble. Hapless slave of another's will although in very truth I was, I cannot repeat too often that I realised to the full just what it was that I was being compelled to do — a fact which was very far from rendering my situation less distressful ! — and every detail of my involun- tary actions was projected upon my brain in a series of pictures, whose clear-cut outlines, so long as memory endures, will never fade. Certainly no professional burglar, nor, indeed, any creature in his senses, would have ventured to emulate my surprising rashness. The process of smashing the pane of glass — it was plate glass — was anything but a noiseless one. There was, first, the blow itself, then the shivering of the glass, then the clattering of fragments into the area beneath. One would have thought that the whole thing would have made din enough to have roused the Seven Sleepers. But, here, again the weather was on my side. About that time the wind was howling wildly, — it came shrieking across the square. It is possible that the tumult which it made deadened all other sounds. '
Anyhow, as I stood within the room which I had violated, listening for signs of someone being on the alert, I could hear nothing. Within the house there seemed to be the silence of ; the grave. I drew down the window, and made for the door.
It proved by no means easy to find. The windows were obscured by heavy curtains, so that the room inside was dark as pitch. It appeared to be unusually full of furniture, — an appearance due, perhaps, to my being a stranger in the midst of such Cimmerian blackness. I had to feel my way, very gingerly indeed, among the various impedimenta. As it was
41
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I seemed to come into contact with most of the obstacles there were to come into contact with, _^ stumbling more than once over footstools, and over what seemed to be dwarf chairs It was a miracle that my movements still continued to be anheard, — but I believe that the explanation was, that the house was well built ; that the servants were the only persons in it at the time; that their bedrooms were on. the top floor; that they were fast asleep ; and that they were little likely to be disturbed by anything that might occur in the room which I had entered.
Reaching the door at last, I opened it, — listening for any promise of being interrupted — and — to adapt a hackneyed phrase — directed by the power which shaped my end, I went across the hall and up the stairs. I passed up the first land- ing, and, on the second, moved to a door upon the right. I turned the handle, it yielded, the door openQ^j I entered, closing it behind me. I went to the wall just inside the door, found a handle, jerked it, and switched on the electric light, — doing, I make no doubt, all these things, from a spectator's point of view, so naturally, that a judge and jury would have been with difficulty persuaded that they were not the product of my own volition.
In the brilliant glow of the electric light I took a leisurely survey of the contents of the room. It was, as the man in the bed had said it would be, a study, — a fine, spacious apartment, evidently intended rather for work than for show. There were three separate writing-tables, one very large and two smaller ones, all covered with an orderly* array of manuscripts and papers. A typewriter stood at the side of one. On the floor, under and about them, were piles of books, portfolios, and official-looking documents. Every available foot of wall space on three sides of the room was lined with shelves, full as they could hold with books. On the fourth side, facing the door, was a large lock-up oak bookcase, and, in the farther corner, a quaint old bureau. So soon as I saw this bureau I went for it, straight as an arrow from a bow, — indeed, it would be no abuse of metaphor to say that I was propelled towards it like ^ axf uw from a bow,
4»
It had drawers below, glass doors above, and between the drawers and the doors was a flap to let down. It was to this flap my attention was directed. I put out my hand to open it ; it was locked at the top. I pulled at it with both hands ; it refused to budge.
So this was the lock I was, if necessary, to practise the arts of a thief to open. I was no picklock ; I had flattered myself that nothing, and no one, could make me such a thing. Yet now that I found myself confronted by that unyielding flap, I found that pressure, irresistible pressure, was being put upon me to gain, by any and every means, access to its interior. I had no option but to yield. I looked about me in search of some convenient tool with which to ply the felon's trade. I found it close beside me. Leaning against the wall, within a yard of where I stood, were examples of various kinds of weapons, — among them, spear-heads. Taking one of these spear-heads, with much difficulty I forced the point between ^the flap and the bureau. Using the leverage thus bbtained, I attempted to prise it open. The flap held fast ; the spear- head snapped in two. I tried another, with the same result ; a third, to fail again. There were no more. The most con- venient thing remaining was a queer, heavy-headed, sharp-edged hatchet. This I took, brought the sharp edge down with all my force upon the refractory flap. The hatchet went through, — before I had done with it, it was open with a vengeance.
But I was destined on the occasion of my first — and, I trust, last — experience of the burglar's calling, to carry the part completely through. I had gained access to the flap itself only to find that at the back were several small drawers, on one of which m.y observation was brought to bear in a fashion which it was quite impossible to disregard. As a matter of course it was locked, and, once more, I had to search for something which would serve as a rough-and-ready substitute for the missing key.
There was nothing at all suitable among the weapons, — I could hardly for such a purpose use the hatchet ; the drawer in question was such a little one that to have done so would tSLve been to shiver it to splinters. On the manielshclf, in au
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open leather case, ^*ere a pair of revolvers. Statesmen, nowadays, sometimes stand in actual peril of their lives. It is possible that Mr Lessingham, conscious of continually threatened danger, carried them about with him as ? necessary protection. They were serviceable weapons, largq and somewhat weighty, — of the type with which, I believe, upon occasion the police are armed. Not only were all the barrels loaded, but, in the case itself there was a supply of cartridges more than sufficient to charge them all again.
I was handling the weapons, wondering — if, in my con- dition, the word was applicable — what use I could make of them to enable me to gain admission to that drawer, when there came,, on a sudden, from the street without, the sound of approaching wheels. There was a whirring within my brain, as if someone was endeavouring to explain to me to what service to apply the revolvers, and I, perforce, strained every nerv-e to grasp the meaning of my invisible mentor. While I did so, the wheels drew rapidly nearer, and, just as I was expecting them to go whirling by, stopped, — in front of the house. My heart leapt in my bosom. In a convulsion of frantic terror, again, during the passage of one frenzied moment, I all but burst the bonds that held me, and fled, haphazard, from the imminent peril. But the bonds were stronger than I, — it was as if I had been rooted to the ground.
A key was inserted in the keyhole of the front door, the Jock was turned, the door thrown open, firm footsteps entered the house. If I could I would not have stood upon the order of my going, but gone at once, anywhere, anyhow; but, at that moment, my comings and goings were not matters in which I was consulted. Panic fear raging within, outwardly I was calm as possible, and stood, turning the revolvers over and over, asking myself what it could be that I was intended to do with them. All at once it came to me in an illumin- ating flash, — I was to fire at the lock of the drawer, and blow it open.
A madder scheme it would have been impossible to hit upon. The servants had slept through a good deal, but they would hardly sleep through the discharge of a revolver in a
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room belotf them, — not to speak of the person who had just entered the premises, and whose footsteps were already audible as he came up the stairs. I struggled to make a dumb protest against the insensate folly which was hurrying me to infallible destruction, without success. For me there was only obedi- ence. With a revolver in either hand I marched towards the bureau as unconcernedly as if I would not have given my life to have escaped the denouement which I needed but a slight modicum of common sense to be aware was close at hand. I placed the muzzle of one of the revolvers against the keyhole of the drawer to which my unseen guide had previously directed me, and pulled the trigger. The lock was shattered, the contents of the drawer were at my mercy. I snatched up a bundle of letters, about which a pink ribbon was wrapj>ed Startled by a noise behind me, immediately following tne report of the pistol, I glanced over my shoulder.
The room door was open, and Mr Lessingham was standing with the handle in his hand.