Title:      The Lust of Hate
Author:     Guy Boothby
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Edition:    1
Language:   English
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Date first posted:          June 2006
Date most recently updated: June 2006

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The Lust of Hate
Guy Boothby


INTRODUCTION. MY CHANCE IN LIFE.
CHAPTER I. ENGLAND ONCE MORE.
CHAPTER II. A GRUESOME TALE.
CHAPTER III. THE LUST OF HATE.
CHAPTER IV. A STRANGE COINCIDENCE.
CHAPTER V. THE WRECK OF THE "FIJI PRINCESS"
CHAPTER VI. THE SALVAGES.
CHAPTER VII. A BITTER DISAPPOINTMENT.
CHAPTER VIII. WE ARE SAVED!
CHAPTER IX. SOUTH AFRICA.
CHAPTER X. I TELL MY STORY.
CHAPTER XI. A TERRIBLE SURPRISE.
CHAPTER XII. THE END.



INTRODUCTION. MY CHANCE IN LIFE.

Let me begin by explaining that I have set myself the task of
telling this story for two sufficient reasons. The first, because I
consider that it presents as good a warning to a young fellow as he
could anywhere find, against allowing himself to be deluded by a
false hatred into committing a sin that at any other time he would
consider in every way contemptible and cowardly; and the second,
because I think it just possible that it may serve to set others on
their guard against one of the most unscrupulous men, if man he
is--of which I begin to have my doubts--who ever wore shoe leather.
If the first should prove of no avail, I can console myself with the
reflection that I have at least done my best, and, at any rate, can
have wrought no harm; if the second is not required, well, in that
case, I think I shall have satisfactorily proved to my reader,
whoever he may be, what a truly lucky man he may consider himself
never to have fallen into Dr. Nikola's clutches. What stroke of ill
fortune brought me into this fiend's power I suppose I shall never be
able to discover. One thing, however, is very certain, that is that I
have no sort of desire ever to see or hear of him again. Sometimes
when I lie in bed at night, and my dear wife--the truest and
noblest woman, I verily believe, who ever came into this world for a
man's comfort and consolation--is sleeping by my side, I think of all
the curious adventures I have passed through in the last two years,
and then fall to wondering how on earth I managed to come out of them
alive, to say nothing of doing so with so much happiness as is now my
portion. This sort of moralising, however, is not telling my tale; so
if you will excuse me, kind reader, I will bring myself to my
bearings and plunge into my narrative forthwith.

By way of commencement I must tell you something of myself and my
antecedents. My name is Gilbert Pennethorne; my mother was a
Tregenna. and if you remember the old adage--"By Tre--, Pol-- and
Pen-- You may know the Cornishmen," you will see that I may claim to
be Cornish to the backbone.

My father, as far back as I can recollect him, was a highly
respectable, but decidedly choleric, gentleman of the old school, who
clung to his black silk stock and high-rolled collar long after both
had ceased to be the fashion, and for a like reason had for modern
innovations much the same hatred as the stagecoachman was supposed
to entertain for railway engines. Many were the absurd situations
this animosity led him into. Of his six children--two boys and four
girls--I was perhaps the least fortunate in his favour. For some
reason or another--perhaps because I was the youngest, and my advent
into the world had cost my mother her life--he could scarcely bring
himself at any time to treat me with ordinary civility. In
consequence I never ventured near him unless I was absolutely
compelled to do so. I went my way, he went his--and as a result we
knew but little of each other, and liked what we saw still less.
Looking back upon it now, I can see that mine must have been an
extraordinary childhood.

To outsiders my disposition was friendly almost to the borders of
demonstrativeness; in my own home, where an equivalent temperament
might surely have been looked for, I was morose, quick to take
offence, and at times sullen even to brutishness. This my father, to
whom opposition of any kind was as hateful as the Reform Bill, met
with an equal spirit. Ridicule and carping criticism, for which he
had an extraordinary aptitude, became my daily portion, and when
these failed to effect their purpose, corporal punishment followed
sure and sharp. As a result I detested my home as cordially as I
loathed my parent, and was never so happy as when at school--an
unnatural feeling, as you will admit, in one so young. From Eton I
went up to Oxford, where my former ill luck pursued me. Owing to a
misunderstanding I had the misfortune to incur the enmity of my
college authorities during my first term, and, in company with two
others, was ignominiously "sent down" at the outset of my second
year. This was the opportunity my family had been looking for from
the moment I was breeched, and they were quick to take advantage of
it. My debts were heavy, for I had never felt the obligation to stint
myself, and in consequence my father's anger rose in proportion to
the swiftness with which the bills arrived. As the result of half an
hour's one-sided conversation in the library, with a thunder-shower
pattering a melancholy accompaniment upon the window panes, I
received a cheque for five thousand pounds with which to meet my
University liabilities, an uncomplimentary review of my life, past
and present, and a curt announcement that I need never trouble the
parental roof with my society in the future. I took him at his word,
pocketed the cheque, expressed a hypocritical regret that I had
caused him so much anxiety; went up to my room and collected my
belongings; then, having bidden my sisters farewell in icy state in
the drawing-room, took my seat in the dog-cart, and was driven to the
station to catch the express to town. A month later I was on my way
to Australia with a draft for two thousand pounds in my pocket, and
the smallest possible notion of what I was going to do with myself
when I reached the Antipodes.

In its customary fashion ill luck pursued me from the very moment
I set foot on Australian soil. I landed in Melbourne at a
particularly unfortunate time, and within a month had lost half my
capital in a plausible, but ultimately unprofitable, mining venture.
The balance I took with me into the bush, only to lose it there as
easily as I had done the first in town. The aspect of affairs then
changed completely. The so-called friends I had hitherto made
deserted me with but one exception. That one, however, curiously
enough the least respectable of the lot, exerted himself on my behalf
to such good purpose that he obtained for me the position of
storekeeper on a Murrumbidgee sheep station. I embraced the
opportunity with alacrity, and for eighteen months continued in the
same employment, working with a certain amount of pleasure to myself,
and, I believe, some satisfaction to my employers. How long I should
have remained there I cannot say, but when the Banyah Creek gold-field
was proclaimed, I caught the fever, abandoned my employment,
and started off, with my swag upon my back, to try my fortune. This
turned out so poorly that less than seven weeks found me desperate,
my savings departed, and my claim,--which I must in honesty confess
showed but small prospects of success--seized for a debt by a
rascally Jew storekeeper upon the Field. A month later a new rush
swept away the inhabitants, and Banyah Creek was deserted. Not
wishing to be left behind I followed the general inclination, and in
something under a fortnight was prostrated at death's door by an
attack of fever, to which I should probably have succumbed had it not
been for the kindness of a misanthrope of the field, an old miner,
Ben Garman by name. This extraordinary individual, who had tried his
luck on every gold-field of importance in the five colonies and was
as yet as far off making his fortune as when he had first taken a
shovel in his hand, found me lying unconscious alongside the creek.
He carried me to his tent, and, neglecting his claim, set to work to
nurse me back to life again. It was not until I had turned the corner
and was convalescent that I discovered the curiosity my benefactor
really was. His personal appearance was as peculiar as his mode of
life. He was very short, very broad, very red faced, wore a long grey
beard, had bristling, white eye-brows, enormous ears, and the largest
hands and feet I have ever seen on a human being. Where he had
hailed from originally he was unable himself to say. His earliest
recollection was playing with another small boy upon the beach of one
of the innumerable bays of Sydney harbour; but how he had got there,
whether his parents had just emigrated, or whether they had been out
long enough for him to have been born in the colony were points of
which he pronounced himself entirely ignorant. He detested women,
though he could not explain the reason of his antipathy, and there
were not two other men upon the field with whom he was on even the
barest speaking terms. How it came about that he took such a fancy to
me puzzled me then and has continued to do so ever since, for, as far
as I could see, save a certain leaning towards the solitary in life,
we had not a single bond in common. As it was, however, we were
friends without being intimate, and companions by day and night
without knowing more than the merest outside rind of each other's
lives.

As soon as I was able to get about again I began to wonder what on
earth I should do with myself next. I had not a halfpenny in the
world, and even on a gold-field it is necessary to eat if one desires
to live, and to have the wherewithal to pay if one desires to eat. I
therefore placed the matter before my companion and ask his advice.
He gave it with his usual candour, and in doing so solved my
difficulty for me once and for all.

"Stay with me, lad," he said, "and help me to work the claim. What
with the rheumatiz and the lumbago I'm none so spry as I used to be,
and there's gold enough in the old shaft yonder to make the fortunes
of both of us when once we can get at it."

Naturally I lost no time in closing with his offer, and the
following morning found me in the bowels of the earth as hard at work
with pick and shovel as my weakness would permit. Unfortunately,
however, for our dream of wealth, the mine did not prove as brilliant
an investment as its owner had predicted for it, and six week's
labour showed us the futility of proceeding further. Accordingly we
abandoned it, packed our swags, and set off for a mountain range away
to the southward, on prospecting thoughts intent. Finding nothing to
suit us there, we migrated into the west, where we tried our hands at
a variety of employments for another eighteen months or thereabouts.
At length, on the Diamintina River, in Western Queensland, we parted
company, myself to take a position of storekeeper on Markapurlie
station in the same neighbourhood, and Ben to try his luck on a new
field that had just come into existence near the New South Wales
border.

For something like three years we neither saw nor heard anything
of each other. Whether Ben had succeeded on the field to which he had
proceeded when he had said "good-bye" to me, or whether, as usual, he
had been left stranded, I could only guess. My own life, on the other
hand, was uneventful in the extreme.

From morning till night I kept the station books, served out
rations to boundary riders and other station hands, and, in the
intervals, thought of my old life, and wondered whether it would ever
be my lot to set foot in England again. So far I had been one of
Fate's failures, but though I did not know it, I was nearer fortune's
money bag then than I had ever been in my life before.

The manager of Markapurlie was a man named Bartrand, an upstart
and a bully of the first water. He had never taken kindly to me nor I
to him. Every possible means that fell in his way of annoying me he
employed; and, if the truth must be told, I paid his tyranny back
with interest. He seldom spoke save to find fault; I never addressed
him except in a tone of contempt which must have been infinitely
galling to a man of his suspicious antecedents. That he was only
waiting his chance to rid himself of me was as plain as the nose upon
his face, and for this very reason I took especial care so to arrange
my work that it should always fail to give him the opportunity he
desired. The crash, however, was not to be averted, and it came even
sooner than I expected.

One hot day, towards the end of summer, I had been out to one of
the boundary rider's huts with the month's supply of rations, and,
for the reason that I had a long distance to travel, did not reach
the station till late in the afternoon. As I drove up to the little
cluster of buildings beside the lagoon I noticed a small crowd
collected round the store door. Among those present I could
distinguish the manager, one of the overseers (a man of Bartrand's
own kidney, and therefore his especial crony), two or three of the
hands, and as the reason of their presence there, what looked like
the body of a man lying upon the ground at their feet. Having handed
my horses over to the black boy at the stockyard, I strode across to
see what might be going forward. Something in my heart told me I was
vitally concerned in it, and bade me be prepared for any
emergency.

Reaching the group I glanced at the man upon the ground, and then
almost shouted my surprise aloud. He was none other then Ben Garman,
but oh, how changed! His once stalwart frame shrunk to half its
former size, his face was pinched and haggard to a degree that
frightened me, and, as I looked, I knew there could be no doubt about
one thing, the man was as ill as a man could well be and yet be
called alive.

Pushing the crowd unceremoniously aside, I knelt down and spoke to
him. He was mumbling something to himself and evidently did not
recognise me.

"Ben," I cried, "Ben, old man, don't you remember Gilbert
Pennethorne? Tell me what's wrong with you, old fellow."

But he only rolled his head and muttered something about "five
hundred paces north-west from the creek and just in a line with the
blasted gum."

Realizing that it was quite useless talking to him, and that if I
wished to prolong his life I must get him to bed as soon as possible,
I requested one of the men standing by to lend a hand and help me to
carry him into my hut. This was evidently the chance Bartrand
wanted.

"To the devil with such foolery," he cried. "You, Johnstone, stand
back and let the man alone. I'll not have him malingering here, I
tell you. I know his little game, and yours too, Pennethorne, and I
warn you, if you take him into your hut I'll give you the sack that
instant, and so you remember what I say."

"But you surely don't want the man to die?" I cried, astonished
almost beyond the reach of words at his barbarity. "Can't you see how
ill he is? Examine him for yourself. He is delirious now, and if he's
not looked to he'll be dead in a few hours."

"And a good job too," said the manager brutally. "For my part, I
believe he's only shamming. Any way I'm not going to have him
doctored here. If he's as ill as you say I'll send him up to the Mail
Change, and they can doctor him there. He looks as if he had enough
money about him to pay Gibbs his footing."

As Garman was in rags and his condition evidenced the keenest
poverty, this sally was treated as a fine joke by the overseer and
the understrappers, who roared with laughter, and swore that they had
never heard anything better in their lives. It roused my blood,
however, to boiling pitch, and I resolved that, come what might, I
would not desert my friend.

"If you send him away to the Mail Change," I cried, looking
Bartrand square in the eye, "where you hope they won't take him
in--and, even if they do, you know they'll not take the trouble to
nurse him--you'll be as much a murderer as the man who stabs another
to the heart, and so I tell you to your face."

Bartrand came a step closer to me, with his fists clenched and his
face showing as white with passion as his tanned skin would
permit.

"You call me a murderer, you dog?" he hissed. "Then, by God, I'll
act up to what I've been threatening to do these months past and
clear you off the place at once. Pack up your traps and make yourself
scarce within an hour, or, by the Lord Harry, I'll forget myself and
take my boot to you. I've had enough of your fine gentleman airs, my
dandy, and I tell you the place will smell sweeter when you're out of
it."

I saw his dodge, and understood why he had behaved towards Ben in
such a scurvy fashion. But not wanting to let him see that I was
upset by his behaviour, I looked him straight in the face as coolly
as I knew how and said--

"So you're going to get rid of me because I'm man enough to want
to save the life of an old friend, Mr. Bartrand, are you? Well, then,
let me tell you that you're a meaner hound than even I took you for,
and that is saying a great deal. However, since you wish me to be off
I'll go."

"If you don't want to be pitched into the creek yonder you'll go
without giving me any more of your lip," he answered. "I tell you I'm
standing just about all I can carry now. If we weren't in Australia,
but across the water in some countries I've known, you'd have been
dangling from that gum tree over yonder by this time."

I paid no attention to this threat, but, still keeping as calm as
I possibly could, requested him to inform me if I was to consider
myself discharged.

"You bet you are," said he, "and I'll not be happy till I've seen
your back on the sand ridge yonder."

"Then," said I, "I'll go without more words. But I'll trouble you
for my cheque before I do so. Also for a month's wages in lieu of
notice."

Without answering he stepped over Ben's prostrate form and
proceeded into the store. I went to my hut and rolled up my swag.
This done, I returned to the office, to find them hoisting Ben into
the tray buggy which was to take him to the Mail Change, twenty miles
distant. The manager stood in the verandah with a cheque in his hand.
When I approached he handed it to me with an ill-concealed grin
of satisfaction on his face.

"There is your money, and I'll have your receipt," he said. Then,
pointing to a heap of harness beyond the verandah rails, he
continued, "Your riding saddle is yonder, and also your pack saddles
and bridles. I've sent a black boy down for your horses. When they
come up you can clear out as fast as you please. If I catch you on
the run again look out, that's all."

"I'll not trouble you, never fear," I answered. "I have no desire
to see you or Markapurlie again as long as I live. But before I go
I've got something to say to you, and I want these men to hear it. I
want them to know that I consider you a mean, lying, contemptible
murderer. And, what's more, I'm going to let them see me cowhide you
within an inch of your rascally life."

I held a long green-hide quirt in my hand, and as I spoke I
advanced upon him, making it whistle in the air. But surprised as he
was at my audacity he was sufficiently quick to frustrate my
intention. Rushing in at me he attempted to seize the hand that held
the whip, but he did not affect his purpose until I had given him a
smart cut with it across the face. Then, seeing that he meant
fighting, for I will do him the justice to say that he was no coward,
I threw the thong away and gave him battle with my fists. He was not
the sort of foe to be taken lightly. The man had a peculiar knack of
his own, and, what was more, he was as hard as whalebone and almost
as pliable. However he had not the advantage of the training I had
had, nor was he as powerful a man. I let him have it straight from
the shoulder as often and as hard as he would take it, and three
times he measured his full length in the dust. Each time he came up
with a fresh mark upon his face, and I can tell you the sight did me
good. My blood was thoroughly afire by this time, and the only thing
that could cool it was the touch of his face against my fist. At last
I caught him on the point of the jaw and he went down all of a heap
and lay like a log, just as he had fallen, breathing heavily. The
overseer went across to him, and kneeling by his side, lifted his
head.

"I believe you've killed him," said he, turning to me with an evil
look upon his face.

"Don't you believe it," I answered. "It would have saved the
hangman a job if I had, for, you take my word for it, he'll live to
be hung yet."

I was right in my first assertion, for in a few moments the
manager opened his eyes and looked about him in a dazed fashion.
Seeing this I went off to the stock yard and saddled my horses, then,
with a last look at the station and my late antagonist, who at that
moment was being escorted by the overseer to his own residence, I
climbed into my saddle, and, taking the leading rein of the pack
horse from the black boy's hand, set off over the sand hills in the
direction taken by the cart containing poor Ben.

Reaching the Mail Change--a miserable iron building of four rooms,
standing in the centre of a stretch of the dreariest plain a man
could well imagine--I interviewed the proprietor and engaged a room
in which to nurse my sick friend back to life. Having done this I put
Ben to bed and endeavoured to discover what on earth was the matter
with him. At that moment I verily believe I would have given anything
I possessed, or should have been likely to possess, for five minutes'
conversation with a doctor. I had never seen a case of the kind
before, and was hopelessly fogged as to what course I should pursue
in treating it. To my thinking it looked like typhoid, and having
heard that in such cases milk should be the only diet, I bespoke a
goat from the landlord's herd and relegated her to Ben's exclusive
use.

My chief prayer for the next month was that it might never be
necessary for me to pass through such an awful time again. For three
weeks I fought with the disease night and day, one moment cheered by
a gleam of hope, the next despairing entirely of success. All the
time I was quite aware that I was being spied upon, and that all my
sayings and doings were reported to the manager by my landlord when
he took over the weekly mail bag. But as I had no desire to hide
anything, and nothing, save Ben's progress, to tell, this gave me but
the smallest concern. Being no longer in his employ, Bartrand could
do me no further mischief, and so long as I paid the extortionate
charge demanded by the proprietor of the shanty for board and
residence, I knew he would have no fault to find with my presence
there.

Somewhere or another I remembered to have read that, in the malady
from which I believed my old friend was suffering, on or about the
twenty-first day the crisis is reached, and afterwards a change
should be observable. My suspicions proved correct, for on that very
day Ben became conscious, and after that his condition began
perceptibly to improve. For nearly a week, though still as feeble as
a month-old child, he mended rapidly. Then, for some mysterious
reason he suffered a relapse, lost ground as fast as he had gained
it, and on the twelfth day, counting from the one mentioned above, I
saw that his case was hopeless, and realised that all my endeavours
had been in vain.

How well I remember that miserable afternoon! It had been
scorchingly hot ever since sunrise, and the little room in which I
watched beside the sick man's bed was like a furnace. From my window
I could see the stretch of sunbaked plain rising and falling away
towards the horizon in endless monotony. In the adjoining bar I could
hear the voices of the landlord and three bushmen who, according to
custom, had come over to drink themselves into delirium on their
hard-earned savings, and were facilitating the business with all
possible despatch. On the bed poor Ben tumbled and tossed, talking
wildly to himself and repeating over and over again the same words I
had heard him utter that afternoon at Markapurlie--"five hundred
paces north-west from the creek, and just in a line with the blasted
gum." What he meant by it was more than I could tell, but I was
soon to discover, and that discovery was destined to bring me as near
the pit of damnation as it is possible for a man to get without
actually falling into it.

A little before sundown I left the bedroom and went out into the
verandah. The heat and the closeness of the sick room had not had a
good effect upon me, and I felt wretchedly sick and ill. I sat down
on a bench and took in the hopeless view. A quarter of a mile away
across the plain a couple of wild turkeys were feeding, at the same
time keeping a sharp look-out about them, and on the very edge of the
north-eastern horizon a small cloud of dust proclaimed the coming of
the mail coach, which I knew had been expected since sunrise that
morning. I watched it as it loomed larger and larger, and did not
return to my patient until the clumsy, lumbering concern, drawn by
five panting horses, had pulled up before the hostelry. It was the
driver's custom to pass the night at the Change, and to go on again
at daylight the following morning.

When I had seen the horses unharnessed and had spoken to the
driver, who was an old friend, I made my way back to Ben's room. To
my delight I found him conscious once more. I sat down beside the bed
and told him how glad I was to see that his senses had returned to
him.

"Ay, old lad," he answered feebly, "I know ye. But I shan't do so
for long. I'm done for now, and I know it. This time to-morrow old
Ben will know for hisself what truth there is in the yarns the
sky-pilots spin us about heaven and hell."

"Don't you believe it, Ben," I answered, feeling that although I
agreed with him it was my duty to endeavour to cheer him up. "You're
worth a good many dead men yet. You're not going out this trip by a
great deal. We shall have you packing your swag for a new rush before
you can look round. I'll be helping sink a good shaft inside a
month."

"Never again," he answered; "the only shaft I shall ever have
anything to do with now will be six by two, and when I'm once down in
it I'll never see daylight again."

"Well you're not going to talk any more now. Try and have a nap if
you can. Sleep's what you want to bring your strength back."

"I shall have enough and to spare of that directly," he answered.
"No, lad, I want to talk to you. I've got something on my mind that I
must say while I've the strength to do it."

But I wouldn't hear him.

"If you don't try to get to sleep," I said, "I shall clear out and
leave you. I'll hear what you've got to say later on. There will be
plenty of time for that by and bye."

"As you please," he replied resignedly. "It's for you to choose.
If you'd only listen, I could tell you what will make you the richest
man on earth. If I die without telling you, you'll only have yourself
to thank for it. Now do you want me to go to sleep?"

"Yes, I do!" I said, thinking the poor fellow was growing
delirious again. "I want you to try more than ever. When you wake up
again I'll promise to listen as long as you like."

He did not argue the point any further, but laid his head down on
his pillow again, and in a few moments was dozing quietly.

When he woke again the lamp on the ricketty deal table near the
bed had been lit some time. I had been reading a Sydney paper which I
had picked up in the bar, and was quite unprepared for the choking
cry with which he attracted my attention. Throwing down the paper I
went across to the bed and asked him how he felt.

"Mortal bad," was his answer. "It won't be long now afore I'm
gone. Laddie, I must say what I've got to say quickly, and you must
listen with all your ears."

"I'll listen, never fear," I replied, hoping that my acquiescence
might soothe him. "What is it you have upon your mind? You know I'll
do anything I can to help you."

"I know that, laddie. You've been a good friend to me, an' now,
please God, I'm going to do a good stroke for you. Help me to sit up
a bit."

I lifted him up by placing my arm under his shoulders, and, when I
had propped the pillows behind him, took my seat again.

"You remember the time I left you to go and try my luck on that
new field down south, don't you?"

I nodded.

"Well, I went down there and worked like a galley slave for three
months, only to come off the field a poorer man than I went on to it.
It was never any good, and the whole rush was a fraud. Having found
this out I set off by myself from Kalaman Township into the west,
thinking I would prospect round a bit before I tackled another place.
Leaving the Darling behind me I struck out for the Boolga Ranges,
always having had a sort of notion that there was gold in that part
of the country if only folk could get at it."

He panted, and for a few moments I thought he would be unable to
finish his story. Large beads of perspiration stood upon his
forehead, and he gasped for breath, as a fish does when first taken
from the water. Then he pulled himself together and continued:

"Well, for three months I lived among those lonely hills, for all
the world like a black fellow, never seeing a soul for the whole of
that time. You must remember that for what's to come. Gully after
gully, and hill after hill I tried, but all in vain. In some places
there were prospects, but when I worked at them they never came to
anything. But one day, just as I was thinking of turning back, just
by chance I struck the right spot. When I sampled it I could hardly
believe my eyes. I tell you this, laddie," here his voice sunk to a
whisper as he said impressively, "there's gold enough there to set us
both up as millionaires a dozen times over."

I looked at him in amazement. Was this delirium? or had he really
found what he had averred? I was going to question him, but he held
up his hand to me to be silent.

"Don't talk," he said; "I haven't much time left. See that there's
nobody at the door."

I crossed and opened the door leading into the main passage of the
dwelling. Was it only fancy, or did I really hear someone tip-toeing
away? At any rate whether anybody had been eavesdropping or not, the
passage was empty enough when I looked into it. Having taken my seat
at the bedside again, Ben placed his clammy hand upon my arm and
said--

"As soon as I found what I'd got, I covered up all traces of my
work and cut across country to find you. I sent you a letter from
Thargomindah telling you to chuck up your billet and meet me on the
road, but I suppose you never received it?"

I shook my head. If only I had done so what a vast difference it
might have made in both our lives.

"Well," continued Ben, with increased difficulty, "as no letter
came I made my way west as best I could, to find you. On Cooper's
Creek I was taken ill, and a precious hard time I had of it. Every
day I was getting worse, and by the time I reached Markapurlie I was
done for, as you know."

"But what did you want with me?" I asked, surprised that he
should have taken so much trouble to find me when Fortune was staring
him in the face.

"I wanted you to stand in with me, lad. I wanted a little capital
to start work on, and I reckoned as you'd been so long in one place,
you'd probably have saved a bit. Now it's all done for as far as I'm
concerned. It seems a bit rough, don't it, that after hunting for the
right spot all my life long, I should have found it just when it's no
use to me? Howsoever, it's there for you, laddie, and I don't know
but what you'll make better use of it than I should have done. Now
listen here."

He drew me still closer to him and whispered in my ear--

"As soon as I'm gone make tracks for the Booiga Ranges. Don't waste
a minute. You ought to do it in three weeks, travelling across
country with good horses. Find the head of the creek, and follow it
down till you reach the point where it branches off to the east and
leaves the hills. There are three big rocks at the bend, and half a
mile or so due south from them there's a big dead gum, struck by
lightning, maybe. Step five hundred paces from the rocks up the
hillside fair north-west, and that should bring you level with the
blasted gum. Here's a bit of paper with it all planned out so that
you can't make a mistake."

He pulled out half a sheet of greasy note-paper from his bosom and
gave it to me.

"It don't look much there; but you mark my words, it will prove to
be the biggest gold mine on earth, and that's saying a deal! Peg out
your claim as soon as you get there, and then apply to Government in
the usual way for the Discoverer's Eight. And may you make your
fortune out of it for your kindness to a poor old man."

He laid his head back, exhausted with so much talking, and closed
his eyes. Nearly half-an-hour went by before he spoke again. Then he
said wearily,--

"Laddie, I won't be sorry when it's all over. But still I can't
help thinking I would like to have seen that mine."

He died almost on the stroke of midnight, and we buried him next
day on the little sandhill at the back of the grog shanty. That I was
much affected by the poor old man's decease it would be idle to deny,
even if I desired to do so. The old fellow had been a good mate to
me, and, as far as I knew, I was the only friend he had in the world.
In leaving me his secret, I inherited all he died possessed of. But
if that turned out as he had led me to expect it would do, I
should, indeed, be a made man. In order, however, to prevent a
disappointment that would be too crushing, I determined to place no
faith in it. My luck had hitherto been so bad that it seemed
impossible it could ever change. To tell the truth, I was feeling far
too ill by this time to think much about anything outside myself.
During the last few days my appetite had completely vanished, my head
ached almost to distraction, and my condition generally betokened the
approach of a high fever.

As we left the grave and prepared to return to the house, I
reeled. Gibbs, the landlord, put his arm round me to steady me.

"Come, hold up," he said, not unkindly. "Bite on the bullet, my
lad. We shall have to doctor you next if this is the way you are
going on."

I felt too ill to reply, so I held my tongue and concentrated all
my energies on the difficult task of walking home. When I reached the
house I was put to bed, and Gibbs and his slatternly wife took it in
turns to wait upon me. That night I lost consciousness, and remember
nothing further of what happened until I came to my senses, in the
same room and bed which had been occupied by Ben, some three weeks
later. I was so weak then that I felt more of a desire to die and be
done with it, than to continue the fight for existence. But my
constitution was an extraordinary one, I suppose, for little by
little I regained my strength, until, at the end of six weeks, I was
able to leave my bed and hobble into the verandah. All this time the
story of Ben's mine had been simmering in my brain. The chart he had
given me lay where I had placed it before I was taken ill, namely, in
my shirt pocket, and one morning I took it out and studied it
carefully. What was it worth? Millions or nothing? But that was a
question for the future to decide.

Before putting it back into its hiding place I turned it over and
glanced at the back. To my surprise there was a large blot there that
I felt prepared to swear had not been upon it when Ben had given it
to me. The idea disquieted me exceedingly. I cudgelled my brains to
find some explanation for it, but in vain. One thought made me gasp
with fright. Had it been abstracted from my pocket during my illness?
If this were so I might be forestalled. I consoled myself, however,
with the reflection that, even if it had been examined by strangers,
no harm would be done, for beyond the bare points of the compass it
contained no description of the place, or where it was situated; only
the plan of a creek, a dotted line running five hundred paces
north-west and a black spot indicating a blasted gum tree. As Ben had
given me my directions in a whisper, I was convinced in my own mind
that it was quite impossible for anyone else to share my secret.

A week later I settled my account with Gibbs, and having purchased
sufficient stores from him to carry me on my way, saddled my horses
and set off across country for the Boolga Ranges. I was still weak,
but my strength was daily coming back to me. By the time I reached my
destination I felt I should be fit for anything. It was a long and
wearisome journey, and it was not until I had been a month on the
road that I sighted the range some fifty miles or so ahead of me. The
day following I camped about ten miles due north of it, and had the
satisfaction of knowing that next morning, all being well, I should
be at my destination. By this time the idea of the mine, and the
possibility of the riches that awaited me, had grown upon me to such
an extent that I could think of nothing else. It occupied my waking
thoughts, and was the continual subject of my dreams by night. A
thousand times or more, as I made my way south, I planned what I
would do with my vast wealth when I should have obtained it, and to
such a pitch did this notion at last bring me that the vaguest
thought that my journey might after all be fruitless hurt me like
positive pain.

That night's camp, so short a distance from my Eldorado, was an
extraordinary one. My anxiety was so great that I could not sleep,
but spent the greater part of the night tramping about near my fire,
watching the eastern heavens and wishing for day. As soon as the
first sign of light was in the sky I ran up my horses, saddled them,
and without waiting to cook a breakfast, set off for the hills which
I could see rising like a faint blue cloud above the tree tops to the
south. Little more than half-an-hour's ride from my camp brought me
to the creek, which I followed to the spot indicated on the chart. My
horses would not travel fast enough to keep pace with my impatience.
My heart beat so furiously that I felt as if I should choke, and when
I found the course of the stream trending off in a south-easterly
direction, I felt as if another hour's suspense must inevitably
terminate my existence.

Ahead of me I could see the top of the range rising quite
distinctly above the timber, and every moment I expected to burst
upon the plain which Ben had described to me. When I did, I almost
fell from my saddle in sheer terror. The plain was certainly there,
the trend of the river, the rocks and the hillside were just as they
had been described to me, but there was one vital difference--the
whole place was covered with tents, and alive with men. The field
had been discovered, and now, in all human probability, my claim was
gone. The very thought shook me like the ague. Like a madman I
pressed my heels into my horse's sides, crossed the creek and began
to climb the hill. Pegged-out claims and a thousand miners, busy as
ants in an ant heap, surrounded me on every side. I estimated my five
hundred paces from the rocks on the creek bank, and pushed on until I
had the blasted gum, mentioned on the chart, bearing due south.
Hereabouts, to my despair, the claims were even thicker than
before--not an inch of ground was left unoccupied.

Suddenly, straight before me, from a shaft head on the exact spot
described by Ben, appeared the face of a man I should have known
anywhere in the world--it was the face of my old enemy Bartrand.
Directly I saw it the whole miserable truth dawned upon me, and I
understood as clearly as daylight how I had been duped.

Springing from my saddle and leaving my animals to stray where
they would, I dashed across the intervening space and caught him just
as he emerged from the shaft. He recognised me instantly, and turned
as pale as death. In my rage I could have strangled him where he
stood, as easily as I would have done a chicken.

"Thief and murderer," I cried, beside myself with rage and not
heeding who might be standing by. "Give up the mine you have stolen
from me. Give up the mine, or, as I live, I'll kill you."

He could not answer, for the reason that my grip upon his throat
was throttling him. But the noise he made brought his men to his
assistance. By main force they dragged me off, almost foaming at the
mouth. For the time being I was a maniac, unconscious of everything
save that I wanted to kill the man who had stolen from me the one
great chance of my life.

"Come, come, young fellow, easy does it," cried an old miner, who
had come up with, the crowd to enquire the reason of the excitement.
"What's all this about? What has he done to you?"

Without a second's thought I sprang upon a barrel and addressed
them. Speaking with all the eloquence at my command, I first asked
them if there was anyone present who remembered me. There was a dead
silence for nearly a minute, then a burly miner standing at the back
of the crowd shouted that he did. He had worked a claim next door to
mine at Banyan Creek, he said, and was prepared to swear to my
identity whenever I might wish him to do so. I asked him if he could
tell me the name of my partner on that field, and he instantly
answered "Old Ben Garman." My identity and my friendship with Ben
having been thus established, I described Ben's arrival at
Markapurlie, and Bartrand's treatment of us both. I went on to tell
them how I had nursed the old man until he died, and how on his
deathbed he had told me of the rich find he had made in the Boolga
Ranges. I gave the exact distances, and flourished the chart before
their faces so that all might see it. I next described Gibbs as one
of Bartrand's tools, and commented upon the ink-stain, on the back of
the plan which had aroused my curiosity after my illness. This done,
I openly taxed Bartrand with having stolen my secret, and dared him
to deny it. As if in confirmation of my accusation, it was then
remembered by those present that he had been the first man upon the
field, and, moreover, that he had settled on the exact spot marked
upon my plan. After this, the crowd began to imagine that there might
really be something in the charge I had brought against the fellow.
Bartrand, I discovered later, had followed his old Queensland
tactics, and by his bullying had made himself objectionable upon the
field. For this reason the miners were not prejudiced in his
favour.

In the middle of our dispute, and just at the moment when ominous
cries of "Lynch him" were beginning to go up, there was a commotion
behind us, and presently the Commissioner, accompanied by an escort
of troopers, put in an appearance, and enquired the reason of the
crowd. Having been informed, the great man beckoned me to him and led
me down the hill to the tent, which at that time was used as a Court
House. Here I was confronted with Bartrand, and ordered to tell my
tale. I did so, making the most I could of the facts at my disposal.
The Commissioner listened attentively, and when I had finished turned
to Bartrand.

"Where did you receive the information which led you to make your
way to this particular spot?" he asked.

"From the same person who gave this man his," coolly replied
Bartrand. "If Mr. Pennethorne had given me an opportunity, I would
willingly have made this explanation earlier. But on the hill yonder
he did all the talking, and I was permitted no chance to get in a
word."

"You mean to say then," said the Commissioner in his grave,
matter-of-fact way, "that this Ben Garman supplied you with the
information that led you to this spot--prior to seeing Mr.
Pennethorne."

"That is exactly what I do mean," replied Bartrand quickly.
"Mr. Pennethorne, who at that time was in my employment as
storekeeper upon Markapurlie Station, was out at one of the boundary
riders' huts distributing rations when Garman arrived. The latter was
feeling very ill, and not knowing how long he might be able to get
about, was most anxious to find sufficient capital to test this mine
without delay. After enquiry I agreed to invest the money he
required, and we had just settled the matter in amicable fashion when
he fell upon the ground in a dead faint. Almost at the same instant
Mr. Pennethorne put in an appearance and behaved in a most unseemly
manner. Unless his motives are revenge, I cannot conceive, your
worship, why I should have been set upon in this fashion."

The Commissioner turned to me.

"What have you to say to this?" he asked.

"Only that he lies," I answered furiously. "He lies in every
particular. He has been my enemy from the very first moment I set
eyes upon him, and I feel as certain as that I am standing before you
now, that Ben Garman did not reveal to him his secret. I nursed the
old man on his deathbed, and if he had confided his secret to any one
he would have been certain to tell me. But he impressed upon me the
fact that he had not done so. When he was dead I became seriously ill
in my turn, and the information that led to this man's taking up the
claim was stolen from me, I feel convinced, while I was in my
delirium. The man is a bully and a liar, and not satisfied with that
record, he has made himself a thief."

"Hush, hush, my man," said the Commissioner, soothingly. "You must
not talk in that way here. Now be off, both of you, let me hear of no
quarrelling, and to-morrow I will give my decision."

We bowed and left him, each hating the other like poison, as you
may be sure.

Next morning a trooper discovered me camped by the creek, and
conducted me to the Commissioner's presence. I found him alone, and
when I was ushered in he asked me to sit down.

"Mr. Pennethorne," said he, when the trooper had departed, "I have
sent for you to talk to you about the charge you have brought against
the proprietor of the 'Wheel of Fortune' mine on the hillside
yonder. After mature consideration, I'm afraid I cannot further
consider your case. You must see for yourself that you have nothing
at all to substantiate the charge you make beyond your own bald
assertion. If, as you say, you have been swindled, yours is indeed a
stroke of bad luck, for the mine is a magnificent property; but if,
on the other hand--as I must perforce believe, since he was first
upon the field--Bartrand's statement is a true one, then I can only
think you have acted most unwisely in behaving as you have done. If
you will be guided by me, you will let the matter drop. Personally I
do not see that you can do anything else. Bartrand evidently received
the news before you did, and, as I said just now, in proof of
that we have the fact that he was first on the field. There is no
gainsaying that."

"But I was ill and could not come," I burst out. "I tell you he
stole from me the information that enabled him to get here at
all."

"Pardon me, I do not know that. And now it only remains for me to
ask you to remember that we can have no disturbance here."

"I will make no disturbance," I answered. "You need have no fear
of that. If I cannot get possession of my property by fair means I
shall try elsewhere."

"That does not concern me," he replied. "Only, I think on the
evidence you have at present in your possession you'll be wasting
your time and your money. By the way, your name is Gilbert
Pennethorne, is it not?"

"Yes," I said, without much interest, "and much good it has ever
done me."

"I ask the question because there's an advertisement in the
Sydney Morning Herald which seems to be addressed to you. Here
it is!"

He took up a paper and pointed to a few lines in the "agony"
column. When he handed it to me I read the following:--

"If Gilbert Pennethorne, third son of the late Sir Anthony William
Pennethorne, Bart., of Polton-Penna, in the County of Cornwall,
England, at present believed to be resident in Australia, will apply
at the office of Messrs. Grey and Dawkett, solicitors, Maoquarie
Street, Sydney, he will hear of something to his advantage."

I looked at the paper in a dazed sort of fashion, and then, having
thanked the Commissioner for his kindness, withdrew. In less than two
hours I was on my way to Sydney to interview Messrs. Grey and
Dawkett. On arriving I discovered their office, and when I had
established my identity, learned from them that my father had died
suddenly while out hunting, six months before, and that by his will I
had benefited to the extent of five thousand pounds sterling.

Three days later the excitement and bitter disappointment through
which I had lately passed brought on a relapse of my old illness, and
for nearly a fortnight I hovered between life and death in the Sydney
Hospital. When I left that charitable institution it was to learn
that Bartrand was the sole possessor of what was considered the
richest gold mine in the world, and that he, after putting it into
the hands of reliable officers, had left Australia for London.

As soon as I was quite strong again I packed up my traps, and,
with the lust of murder in my heart, booked a passage in a P. and O.
liner, and followed him.



CHAPTER I. ENGLAND ONCE MORE.

WHEN I reached England, the icy hand of winter was upon the land.
The streets were banked feet high with snow, and the Thames at London
Bridge was nothing but a mass of floating ice upon which an active
man could have passed from shore to shore. Poor homeless wretches
were to be seen sheltering themselves in every nook and cranny, and
the morning papers teemed with gruesome descriptions of dead bodies
found in drifts, of damage done to property, and of trains delayed
and snowed up in every conceivable part of the country. Such a winter
had not been experienced for years, and when I arrived and realised
what it meant for myself, I could not but comment on my madness in
having left an Australian summer to participate in such a direful
state of things.

Immediately on arrival I made my way to Blankerton's Hotel, off
the Strand, and installed myself there. It was a nice, quiet place,
and suited me admirably. The voyage home from Australia had done me a
world of good--that is to say as far as my bodily health was
concerned--but it was doubtful whether it had relieved my brain of
any of the pressure recent events in Australia had placed upon it.
Though nearly three months had elapsed since my terrible
disappointment in the Boolga Ranges, I had not been able to reconcile
myself to it; and as the monotonous existence on board ship allowed
me more leisure, it probably induced me to brood upon it more than I
should otherwise have done. At any rate, my first thought on reaching
London was that I was in the same city with my enemy, and my second
to wonder how I could best get even with him. All day and all night
this idea held possession of my brain. I could think of nothing but
my hatred of the man, and as often as I saw his name mentioned in the
columns of the Press, the more vehement my desire to punish him
became. Looking back on it now it seems to me that I could not
have been quite right in my head at that time, though to all intents
and purposes I was as rational a being as ever stepped in shoe
leather. In proof of what I mean, I can remember, times out of
number, talking sensibly and calmly enough in the smoking room, and
then going upstairs to my bedroom and leaning out of my window, from
which a glimpse of the Strand was obtainable, to watch the constant
stream of passers by and to wonder if Bartrand were among the number.
I would imagine myself meeting him and enticing him into one of those
dark passages leading from the gas-lit thoroughfare, and then, when I
had revealed my identity, drawing a knife from my sleeve and stabbing
him to his treacherous heart. On another occasion I spent hours
concocting a most ingenious plan for luring him on to the Embankment
late at night, and arranging that my steps to my hotel, feeling about
as miserable as it would be possible for a man to be. What did life
contain for me now? I asked myself this question for the hundredth
time, as I walked up the sombre street; and the answer was,
Nothing--absolutely nothing. By judiciously investing the
amount I had inherited under my father's will I had secured to myself
an income approaching two hundred pounds a year, but beyond that I
had not a penny in the world. I had been sick to death of Australia
for some years before I had thought of leaving it, and my last great
disappointment had not furnished me with any desire to return to it.
On the other hand I had seen too much of the world to be able to
settle down to an office life in England, and my enfeebled
constitution, even had I desired to do so, would have effectively
debarred me from enlisting in the Army. What, therefore, was to
become of me--for I could not entertain the prospect of settling down
to a sort of vegetable existence on my small income--I could not see.
"Oh, if only I had not been taken ill after Ben's death," I said to
myself again and again; "what might I not then have done?" As it was,
that scoundrel Bartrand had made millions out of what was really my
property, and as a result I was a genteel pauper without a hope of
any sort in the world. As the recollection of my disappointment came
into my mind, I ground my teeth and cursed him; and for the rest of
my walk occupied myself thinking of the different ways in which I
might compass his destruction, and at the same time hating myself for
lacking the necessary pluck to put any one of them into
execution.

As I reached the entrance to my hotel a paper boy came round the
corner crying his wares.

'"Ere yer are, sir; 'orrible murder in the West End," he said,
running to meet me; and, wanting something to occupy me until
breakfast should be ready, I bought a copy and went in and seated
myself by the hall fire to read it. On the second page was a column
with the following headline, in large type:--

"SHOCKING TRAGEDY IN THE WEST END." Feeling in the humour for this
sort of literature, I began to read. The details were as
follows:--

"It is our unfortunate duty to convey to the world this morning
the details of a ghastly tragedy which occurred last night in the
West End. The victim was Major-General Charles Brackington, the
well-known M.P. for Pollingworth, whose speech on the Short Service
Extension Bill only last week created such a sensation among military
men. So far the whole affair is shrouded in mystery, but, it is
believed, the police are in possession of a clue which will
ultimately assist them in their identification of the assassin. From
inquiries made we learn that Major-General Brackington last night
visited the Royal Shakespeare Theatre in company with his wife and
daughter, and having escorted them to Chester Square, where his
residence is situated, drove back to the Veteran Club, of which he is
one of the oldest and most distinguished members. There he remained
in conversation with some brother officers until a quarter past
twelve o'clock, when he hailed a passing hansom and bade the man
drive him home. This order was given in the hearing of one of the
Club servants, whose evidence should prove of importance later on.
From the time he left the Club until half-past one o'clock nothing
more was seen of the unfortunate gentleman. Then Police-Sergeant
Maccinochie, while passing along Piccadilly, discovered a man lying
in the centre of the road almost opposite the gates of the Royal
Academy. Calling the constable on the beat to his assistance, he
carried the body to the nearest gas lamp and examined it. To his
horror he recognised Major-General Brackington, with whose features
he was well acquainted. Life, however, was extinct. Though convinced
of this fact, he nevertheless obtained a cab and drove straightway to
Charing Cross Hospital, where his suspicions were confirmed. One
singular circumstance was then discovered--with the exception of the
left eyebrow, which had been cut completely away, evidently with some
exceedingly sharp instrument, there was not a wound of any sort or
description upon the body. Death, so the medical authorities
asserted, had been caused by an overdose of some anaesthetic, though
how administered it was impossible to say. The police are now engaged
endeavouring to discover the cabman, whom it is stated, the Club
servant feels sure he can identify."

With a feeling of interest, for which I could not at all account,
seeing that both the victim and the cabman, whom the police seemed
determined to associate with the crime, were quite unknown to me, I
re-read the paragraph, and then went in to breakfast. While I was
eating I turned the page of the paper, and propping it against the
cruet stand, scanned the fashionable intelligence. Sandwiched in
between the news of the betrothal of the eldest son of a duke, and
the demise of a well-known actress, was a paragraph which stirred me
to the depths of my being. It ran as follows:--

"It is stated on reliable authority that Mr. Richard Bartrand, the
well-known Australian millionaire, has purchased from the executors
of the late Earl of Mount Chennington the magnificent property known
as Chennington Castle in Shropshire, including several farms, with
excellent fishing and shooting."

* * * *  *

I crushed the paper up and threw it angrily away from me. So he
was going to pose as a county magnate, was he--this swindler and
liar!--and upon the wealth he has filched from me? If he had been
before me then, I think I could have found it in my heart to kill him
where he stood, regardless of the consequences.

After breakfast I went for another walk, this time in a westerly
direction. As I passed along the crowded pavements I thought of the
bad luck which had attended me all my life. From the moment I entered
the world nothing seemed to have prospered that I had taken in hand.
As a boy I was notorious for my ill-luck at games; as a man good
fortune was always conspicuously absent from my business ventures;
and when at last a chance for making up for it did come in my way,
success was stolen from me just as I was about to grasp it.

Turning into Pall Mall, I made my way in the direction of St.
James's Street, intending to turn thence into Piccadilly. As I passed
the Minerva Club the door swung open, and to my astonishment my
eldest brother, who had succeeded to the baronetcy and estates on my
father's death, came down the steps. That he recognised me there
could be no doubt. He could not have helped seeing me even if he had
wished to do so, and for a moment, I felt certain, he did not know
what to do. He and I had never been on good terms, and when I
realised that, in spite of my many years' absence from home, he was
not inclined to offer me a welcome, I made as if I would pass on. He,
however, hastened after me, and caught me before I could turn the
corner.

"Gilbert," he said, holding out his hand, but speaking without
either emotion or surprise, "this is very unexpected. I had no notion
you were in England. How long is it since you arrived?"

"I reached London yesterday," I answered, with a corresponding
coolness, as I took his hand. For, as I have said, there was that in
his face which betrayed no pleasure at seeing me.

He was silent for half a minute or so, and I could see that he was
wondering how he could best get rid of me.

"You have heard of our father's death, I suppose?" he said at
last.

"I learnt the news in Sydney," I replied. "I have also received
the five thousand pounds he left me."

He made no comment upon the smallness of the amount in proportion
to the large sums received by himself and the rest of the family, nor
did he refer in any other way to our parent's decease. Any one
watching us might have been excused had they taken us for casual
acquaintances, so cool and distant were we with one another.
Presently I enquired, for politeness sake, after his wife, who was
the daughter of the Marquis of Belgravia, and whom I had, so far,
never seen.

"Ethelberta unfortunately is not very well at present," he
answered. "Sir James Peckleton has ordered her complete rest and
quiet, and I regret, for that reason, I shall not be able to see as
much of you as I otherwise should have hoped to do. Is it your
intention to remain very long in England?"

"I have no notion," I replied, truthfully. "I maybe here a week--a
year--or for the rest of my life. But you need not be afraid, I shall
not force my society upon you. From your cordial welcome home, I
gather that the less you see of me the more you will appreciate the
relationship we bear to one another. Good morning."

Without more words I turned upon my heel and strolled on down the
street, leaving him looking very uncomfortable upon the pavement.
There and then I registered a vow that, come what might, I would have
no more to do with my own family.

Leaving Pall Mall behind me, I turned up St. James's Street and
made my way into Piccadilly. In spite of the slippery roads, the
streets were well filled with carriages, and almost opposite
Burlington House I noticed a stylish brougham drawn up beside the
footpath. Just as I reached it the owner left the shop before which
it was standing, and crossed the pavement towards it. Notwithstanding
the expensive fur coat he wore, the highly polished top hat, and his
stylish appearance generally, I knew him at once for Bartrand, my
greatest enemy on earth. He did not see me, for which I could not
help feeling thankful; but I had seen him, and the remembrance of his
face haunted me for the rest of my walk. The brougham, the horses,
even the obsequious servants, should have been mine. I was the just,
lawful owner of them all.

After dinner that evening I was sitting in the smoking room
looking into the fire and, as usual, brooding over my unfortunate
career, when an elderly gentleman, seated in an armchair opposite me,
laid his paper on his knee and addressed me.

"It's a very strange thing about these murders," he said, shaking
his head. "I don't understand it at all. Major-General Brackington
last night, and now Lord Beryworth this morning."

"Do you mean to say there has been another murder of the same kind
to-day?" I enquired, with a little shudder as I thought how nearly
his subject coincided with the idea in my own head.

"I do," he answered. "The facts of the case are as follows:--At
eleven o'clock this morning the peer in question, who, you must
remember, was for many years Governor of one of our Australian
capitals, walked down the Strand in company with the Duke of Garth
and Sir Charles Mandervan. Reaching Norfolk Street he bade his
friends 'good-bye,' and left them. From that time until a quarter
past one o'clock, when some children went in to play in Dahlia Court,
Camden Town, and found the body of an elderly gentleman lying upon
the ground in a peculiar position, he was not seen again. Frightened
at their discovery, the youngsters ran out and informed the policeman
on the beat, who returned with them to the spot indicated. When he
got there he discovered that life had been extinct for some
time."

"But what reason have the authorities for connecting this case
with that of Major-General Brackington?"

"Well, in the first place, on account of the similarity in the
victims' ranks; and in the second, because the same extraordinary
anaesthetic seems to have been the agent in both cases; and thirdly,
for the reason that the same peculiar mutilation was practised. When
Lord Beryworth was found, his left eyebrow had been cut completely
away. Strange, is it not?"

"Horrible, I call it," I answered with a shudder. "It is to be
hoped the police will soon run the murderer to earth."

If I had only known what I do now I wonder if I should have
uttered that sentiment with so much fervour? I very much doubt
it.

The following evening, for some reason or another, certainly not
any desire for enjoyment, I visited a theatre. The name or nature of
the piece performed I cannot now remember. I only know that I sat in
the pit, in the front row, somewhere about the middle, and that I was
so hemmed in by the time the curtain went up, that I could not move
hand or foot. After the little introductory piece was finished the
more expensive parts of the house began to fill, and I watched with a
bitter sort of envy the gaiety and enjoyment of those before me. My
own life seemed one perpetually unpleasant dream, in which I had to
watch the happiness of the world and yet take no share in it myself.
But unhappy as I thought myself then, my cup of sorrow was as yet far
from being full. Fate had arranged that it should be filled to
overflowing, and that I should drink it to the very dregs.

Five minutes before the curtain rose on the play of the evening,
there was a stir in one of the principal boxes on the prompt side of
the side of the house, and a moment later two ladies and three
gentlemen entered. Who the ladies, and two of the gentlemen were I
had no notion; the third man, however, I had no difficulty in
recognising, he was Bartrand. As I saw him a tremour ran through me,
and every inch of my body quivered under the intensity of my emotion.
For the rest of the evening I paid no attention to the play, but sat
watching my enemy, and writhing with fury every time he stooped to
speak to those with whom he sat, or to glance superciliously round
the house. On his shirt front he wore an enormous diamond, which
sparkled and glittered like an evil eye. So much did it fascinate me
that I could not withdraw my eyes from it, and as I watched I felt my
hands twitching to be about its owner's throat.

When the play came to an end, and the audience began to file out
of the theatre into the street, I hastened to the front to see my
enemy emerge. He was standing on the steps, with his friends, putting
on his gloves, while he waited for his carriage to come up. I
remained in the crowd, and watched him as a cat watches a bird.
Presently a magnificent landau, drawn by the same beautiful pair of
thoroughbred horses I had seen in the morning, drew up before the
portico. The footman opened the door, and the man I hated with such a
deadly fervour escorted his friends across the pavement and, having
placed them inside, got in himself. As the vehicle rolled away the
bitterest curse my brain could frame followed it. Oh, if only I could
have found some way of revenging myself upon him, how gladly I would
have seized upon it.

Leaving the theatre I strolled down the street, not caring very
much where I went. A little snow was falling, and the air was
bitterly cold. I passed along the Strand, and not feeling at all like
bed, turned off to my left hand, and made my way towards Oxford
Street. I was still thinking of Bartrand, and it seemed to me that,
as I thought, my hatred became more and more intense. The very idea
of living in the same city with him, of breathing the same air, of
seeing the same sights and meeting the same people was hideously
repulsive to me. I wanted him out of the world, but I wanted
to do the deed myself, to punish him with my own hand; I wanted to
see him lying before me with his sightless eyes turned up to the
skies, and his blood crimsoning the snow, and to be able to assure
myself that at last he was dead, and that I, the man he had wronged,
had killed him. What would it matter? Supposing I were hung for his
murder! To have punished him would surely have been worth that. At
any rate I should have been content.

When I reached Oxford Street I again turned to my left hand, and
walked along the pavement as far as the Tottenham Court Road, thence
down the Charing Cross Road into Shaftesbury Avenue. By this time the
snow was falling thick and fast. Poor homeless wretches were crouched
in every sheltered corner, and once a tall man, thin and ragged as a
scarecrow, rose from a doorway, where he had been huddled up beside a
woman, and hurried after me.

"Kind gentleman," he said in a voice that at any other time could
not have failed to touch my heart, "for the love of God, I implore
you to help me. I am starving, and so is my wife in the doorway
yonder. We are dying of cold and hunger. We have not touched bite or
sup for nearly forty-eight hours, and unless you can spare us the
price of a night's lodging and a little food I assure you she will
not see morning."

I stopped and faced him.

"What will you do for it?" I asked, with a note in my voice that
frightened even myself. "I must have a bargain. If I give you money,
what will you do for it?"

"Anything," the poor wretch replied. "Give me money, and I swear I
will do anything you may like to ask me."

"Anything?" I cried. "That is a large word. Will you commit
murder?"

I looked fixedly at him, and under the intensity of my gaze he
half shrunk away from me.

"Murder?" he echoed faintly.

"Murder? Yes, murder," I cried, hysterically. "I want murder done.
Nothing else will satisfy me. Kill me the man I'll show you, and you
shall have all you want. Are you prepared to do so much to save your
life?"

He wrung his hands and moaned. Then he pulled himself
together.

"Yes, I'll do anything," he answered hoarsely. "Give
me the money; let me have food first."

As he spoke his wife rose from the doorstep, and came swiftly
across the snow towards us. She must have been a fine-looking woman
in her day; now her face, with its ghastly, lead-coloured complexion
and dark, staring eyes was indescribably horrible. On her head she
wore the ruins of a fashionable bonnet.

"Come away!" she cried, seizing the man fiercely by the arm.
"Can't you see that you are talking to the Devil, and that he's
luring your soul to hell? Come away, my husband, I say, and leave
him! If we are to die, let us do it here in the clean snow like
honest folk, not on the scaffold with ropes round our necks. There is
your answer, Devil!"

As she said this she raised her right hand and struck me a blow
full and fair upon the mouth. I felt the blood trickle down my
lip.


"Take that, Devil," she shouted; "and now take your temptations
elsewhere, for you've met your match here."

As if I were really the person she alluded to, I picked up my
heels and ran down the street as hard as I could go, not heeding
where I went, but only conscious that at last I had spoken my evil
thoughts aloud. Was I awake, or was I dreaming? It all seemed like
some horrible nightmare, and yet I could feel the hard pavement under
my feet, and my face was cold as ice under the cutting wind.

Just as I reached Piccadilly Circus a clock somewhere in the
neighbourhood struck one. Then it dawned upon me that I had
been walking for two hours. I stood for a moment by the big fountain,
and then crossed the road, and was about to make my way down the
continuation of Regent Street into Waterloo Place, when I heard the
shrill sound of a policeman's whistle. Almost immediately I saw an
officer on the other side of the road dash down the pavement. I
followed him, intent upon finding out what had occasioned the call
for assistance. Bound into Jermyn Street sped the man ahead of me,
and close at his heels I followed. For something like three minutes
we continued our headlong career, and it was not until we had reached
Bury Street that we sounded a halt. Here we discovered a group of men
standing on the pavement watching another man, who was kneeling
beside a body upon the ground. He was examining it with the
assistance of his lantern.

"What's the matter, mate?" inquired the officer whom I had
followed from Piccadilly. "What have you got there?"

"A chap I found lying in the road yonder," replied the policeman
upon his knees. "Have a look at him, and then be off for a stretcher.
I fancy he's dead; but, anyway, we'd best get him to the hospital as
soon as maybe."

My guide knelt down, and turned his light full upon the victim's
face. I peered over his shoulder in company with the other
bystanders. The face we saw before us was the countenance of a
gentleman, and also of a well-to-do member of society. He was clothed
in evening dress, over which he wore a heavy and expensive fur coat.
An opera hat lay in the gutter, where it had probably been blown by
the wind, and an umbrella marked the spot where the body had been
found in the centre of the street. As far as could be gathered
without examining it, there was no sign of blood about the corpse;
one thing, however, was painfully evident--the left eyebrow had
been severed from the face in toto. From the cleanness of the cut
the operation must have been performed with an exceedingly sharp
instrument.

A more weird and ghastly sight than that snow-covered pavement,
with the flakes falling thick and fast upon it, the greasy road, the
oilskinned policemen, the curious bystanders, and the silent figure
on the ground, could scarcely be imagined. I watched until the man I
had followed returned with an ambulance stretcher, and then
accompanied the mournful cortege a hundred yards or so on its
way to the hospital. Then, being tired of the matter, I branched off
the track, and prepared to make my way back to my hotel as fast as my
legs would take me.

My thoughts were oppressed with what I had seen. There was a grim
fascination about the recollection of the incident that haunted me
continually, and which I could not dispel, try how I would. I
pictured Bartrand lying in the snow exactly as I had seen the other,
and fancied myself coming up and finding him. At that moment I was
passing Charing Cross Railway Station. With the exception of a
policeman sauntering slowly along on the other side of the street, a
drunken man staggering in the road, and a hansom cab approaching us
from Trafalgar Square, I had the street to myself. London slept while
the snow fell, and murder was being done in her public thoroughfares.
The hansom came closer, and for some inscrutable reason I found
myself beginning to take a personal interest in it. This interest
became even greater when, with a spluttering and sliding of feet, the
horse came to a sudden standstill alongside the footpath where I
stood. Next moment a man attired in a thick cloak threw open the
apron and sprang out.

"Mr. Pennethorne, I believe?" he said, stopping me, and at the
same time raising his hat.

"That is my name," I answered shortly, wondering how he knew me
and what on earth he wanted. "What can I do for you?"

He signed to his driver to go, and then, turning to me, said, at
the same time placing his gloved hand upon my arm in a confidential
way:

"I am charmed to make your acquaintance. May I have the pleasure
of walking a little way with you? I should be glad of your society,
and I can then tell you my business."

His voice was soft and musical, and he spoke with a peculiar
languor that was not without its charm. But as I could not understand
what he wanted with me, I put the question to him as plainly as I
could without being absolutely rude, and awaited his answer. He gave
utterance to a queer little laugh before he replied:

"I want the pleasure of your company at supper for one thing," he
said. "And I want to be allowed to help you in a certain matter in
which you are vitally interested, for another. The two taken together
should, I think, induce you to give me your attention."

"But I don't know you," I blurted out. "To the best of my belief I
have never set eyes on you before. What business, therefore, can you
have with me?"

"You shall know all in good time," he answered. "In the meantime
let me introduce myself. My name is Nikola. I am a doctor by
profession, a scientist by choice. I have few friends in London, but
those I have are the best that a man could desire. I spend my life in
the way that pleases me most; that is to say, in the study of human
nature. I have been watching you since you arrived in England, and
have come to the conclusion that you are a man after my own heart. If
you will sup with me as I propose, I don't doubt but that we shall
agree admirably, and what is more to the point, perhaps, we shall be
able to do each other services of inestimable value. I may say
candidly that it lies in your power to furnish me with something I am
in search of. I, on my part, will, in all probability, be able to put
in your way what you most desire in the world."

I stopped in my walk and faced him. Owing to the broad brim of his
hat, and the high collar of his cape, I could scarcely see his face.
But his eyes rivetted my attention at once.

"And that is?" I said.

"Revenge," he answered, simply. "Believe me, my dear Mr.
Pennethorne, I am perfectly acquainted with your story. You have been
wronged; you desire to avenge yourself upon your enemy. It is a very
natural wish, and if you will sup with me as I propose, I don't doubt
but that I can put the power you seek into your hands. Do you
agree?"

All my scruples vanished before that magic word revenge,
and, strange as it my seem, without more ado I consented to his
proposal. He walked into the road and, taking a whistle from his
pocket, blew three staccato notes upon it. A moment later the
hansom from which he had jumped to accost me appeared round a corner
and came rapidly towards us. When it pulled up at the kerb, and the
apron had been opened, this peculiar individual invited me to take my
place in it, which I immediately did. He followed my example, and sat
down beside me, and then, without any direction to the driver, we set
off up the street.

For upwards of half-an-hour we drove on without stopping, but in
which direction we were proceeding I could not for the life of me
discover. The wheels were rubber-tyred and made no noise upon the
snow-strewn road; my companion scarcely spoke, and the only sound to
be heard was the peculiar bumping noise made by the springs, the soft
pad-pad of the horse's hoofs, and an occasional grunt of
encouragement from the driver. At last it became evident that we were
approaching our destination. The horse's pace slackened; I detected
the sharp ring of his shoes on a paved crossing, and presently we
passed under an archway and came to a standstill.

"Here we are at last, Mr. Pennethorne," said my mysterious
conductor. "Allow me to lift the glass and open the apron."

He did so, and then we alighted. To my surprise we stood in a
square courtyard, surrounded on all sides by lofty buildings. Behind
the cab was a large archway, and at the further end of it the gate
through which we had evidently entered. The houses were in total
darkness, but the light of the cab lamps was sufficient to show me a
door standing open on my left hand.

"I'm afraid you must be very cold, Mr. Pennethorne," said Nikola,
for by that name I shall henceforth call him, as he alighted, "but if
you will follow me I think I can promise that you shall soon be as
warm as toast."

As he spoke he led the way across the courtyard towards the door I
have just mentioned. When he reached it he struck a match and
advanced into the building. The passage was a narrow one, and from
its appearance, and that of the place generally, I surmised that the
building had once been used as a factory of some kind. Half-way down
the passage a narrow wooden staircase led up to the second floor, and
in Indian file we ascended it. On reaching the first landing my guide
opened a door which stood opposite him, and immediately a bright
light illumined the passage.

"Enter, Mr. Pennethorne, and let me make you welcome to my poor
abode," said Nikola, placing his hand upon my shoulder and gently
pushing me before him.

I complied with his request, half expecting to find the room
poorly furnished. To my surprise, however, it was as luxuriously
appointed as any I had ever seen. At least a dozen valuable
pictures--I presume they must have been valuable, though personally I
know but little about such things--decorated the walls; a large and
quaintly-carved cabinet stood in one corner and held a multitude of
china vases, bowls, plates, and other knick-knacks; a massive oak
sideboard occupied a space along one wall and supported a quantity of
silver plate; while the corresponding space upon the opposite wall
was filled by a bookcase reaching to within a few inches of the
ceiling, and crammed with works of every sort and description. A
heavy pile carpet, so soft that our movements made no sound upon it,
covered the floor; luxurious chairs and couches were scattered about
here and there, while in an alcove at the farther end was an
ingenious apparatus for conducting chemical researches. Supper was
laid on the table in the centre, and when we had warmed ourselves at
the fire that glowed in the grate, we sat down to it. As if to add
still further to my surprise, when the silver covers of the dishes
were lifted, everything was found to be smoking hot. How this had
been managed I could not tell, for our arrival at that particular
moment could not have been foretold with any chance of certainty, and
I had seen no servant enter the room. But I was very hungry,
and as the supper before me was the best I had sat down to for
years, you may suppose I was but little inclined to waste time on a
matter of such trivial importance.

When we had finished and I had imbibed the better part of two
bottles of Heidseck, which my host had assiduously pressed upon me,
we left the table and ensconced ourselves in chairs on either side of
the hearth. Then, for the first time, I was able to take thorough
stock of my companion. He was a man of perhaps a little above middle
height, broad shouldered, but slimly built. His elegant proportions,
however, gave but a small idea of the enormous strength I afterwards
discovered him to possess. His hair and eyes were black as night, his
complexion was a dark olive hue, confirming that suspicion of foreign
extraction which his name suggested, but of which his speech afforded
no trace. He was attired in faultless evening dress, the dark colour
of which heightened the extraordinary pallor of his complexion.

"You have a queer home here, Dr. Nikola!" I said, as I accepted
the cheroot he offered me.

"Perhaps it is a little out of the common," he answered, with one
of his queer smiles; "but then that is easily accounted for. Unlike
the general run of human beings, I am not gregarious. In other words,
I am very much averse to what is called the society of my fellow man;
I prefer, under most circumstances, to live alone. At times, of
course, that is not possible. But the idea of living in a flat, shall
we say, with perhaps a couple of families above me, as many on either
side, and the same number below; or in an hotel or a boarding-house,
in which I am compelled to eat my meals in company with
half-a-hundred total strangers, is absolutely repulsive to me. I
cannot bear it, and therefore I choose my abode elsewhere. A private
dwelling-house I might, of course, take, but that would necessitate
servants and other incumbrances; this building suits my purposes
admirably. As you may have noticed, it was once a boot and shoe
factory; but after the proprietor committed suicide by cutting his
throat--which, by the way, he did in this very room--the business
failed; and until I fell across it, it was supposed to be haunted,
and, in consequence, has remained untenanted."

"But do you mean to say you live here alone?" I enquired,
surprised at the queerness of the idea.

"In a certain sense, yes--in another, no. That is, I have a deaf
and dumb Chinese servant who attends to my simple wants, and a cat
who for years has never left me."

"You surprise me more and more!"

"And why? Considering that I know China better than you know that
part of London situated, shall we say, between Blackfriars Bridge and
Charing Cross, and have spent many years of my life here, the first
should not astonish you. And as I am warmly attached to my cat, who
has accompanied me in all my wanderings about the globe, I cannot see
that you should be surprised at the other. Perhaps you would like to
see both?"

As may be supposed, I jumped eagerly at the opportunity; and upon
my saying so, Nikola pressed a knob in the wall at his side. He had
hardly taken his finger away before my ear detected the shuffling of
feet in the passage outside. Next moment the door opened, and in
walked the most hideous man I have ever yet beheld in my life. In
Australia I had met many queer specimens of the Chinese race, but
never one whose countenance approached in repulsiveness that of the
man Nikola employed as his servant. In stature he was taller than his
master, possibly a couple or three inches above six feet, and broad
in proportion. His eyes squinted inwardly, his face was wrinkled and
seamed in every direction, his nose had plainly been slit at some
time or another, and I noticed that his left ear was missing from his
head. He was dressed in his native costume, but when he turned round
I noticed that his pigtail had been shorn off at the roots.

"You are evidently puzzled about something," said Nikola, who had
been watching my face.

"I must confess I am," I answered. "It is this. If he is deaf and
dumb, as you say, how did he hear the bell you rang, and also how do
you communicate your orders to him?"

"This knob," replied Nikola, placing his finger on the bell-push,
"releases a smaller shutter and reveals a disc that signifies that I
desire his services. When I wish to give him instructions I speak to
him in his own language, and he answers it. It is very simple."

"But you said just now that he is deaf and dumb," I cried,
thinking I had caught him in an equivocation. "If so, how can he hear
or speak?"

"So he is," replied my host, looking at me as he spoke, with an
amused smile upon his face. "Quite deaf and dumb."

"Then how can you make him hear. And how does he reply?"

"As I say, by word of mouth. Allow me to explain. You argue that
because the poor fellow has no tongue wherewith to speak, and his
ears are incapable of hearing what you say to him, that it is
impossible for him to carry on a conversation. So far as your meaning
goes, you are right. But you must remember that, while no sound can
come from his lips, it is still possible for the words to be framed.
In that case our eyes take the place of our ears, and thus the
difficulty is solved. The principle is a simple one, and a visit to
any modern deaf and dumb school in London will show you its efficacy.
Surely you are not going to ask me to believe you have not heard of
the system before?"

"Of course I have heard of it," I answered, "but in this case the
circumstances are so different."

"Simply because the man is a Chinaman--that is all. If his skin
were white instead of yellow, and he wore English dress and parted
his hair in the middle, you would find nothing extraordinary in it.
At any rate, perpetual silence on the part of a servant and physical
inability to tittle-tattle of the affairs one would wish kept a
secret, is a luxury few men can boast."

"I agree with you; but how did the poor fellow come to lose his
faculties?"

"To let you into that secret would necessitate the narration of a
long and, I fear to you, uninteresting story. Suffice that he was the
confidential servant of the Viceroy of Kweichow until he was detected
in an amiable plot to assassinate his master with poisoned rice. He
was at once condemned to die by ling-chi or the death of a
thousand cuts, but by the exercise of a little influence which,
fortunately for him, I was able to bring to bear, I managed to get
him off."

"I wonder you care to have a man capable of concocting such a plot
about you," I said.

"And why? Because the poor devil desired to kill the man he hated,
is it certain that he should wish to terminate the existence of his
benefactor, for whom he has a great affection? Moreover, he is a
really good cook, understands my likes and dislikes, never grumbles,
and is quite conscious that if he left me he would never get another
situation in the world. In the nineteenth century, when good servants
are so difficult to procure, the man is worth a gold mine--a Wheel
of Fortune, if you like."

"You would argue, then," I said, disregarding the latter part of
his speech, "that if a man hates another he is justified in
endeavouring to rid the world of him?"

"Necessarily it must depend entirely on the circumstances of the
case," replied Nikola, leaning back in his chair and steadfastly
regarding me. "When a man attempts to do, or succeeds in doing, me an
injury, I invariably repay him in his own coin. Presume, for
instance, that a man were to rob you of what you loved best, and
considered most worth having, in the world--the affection of your
wife, shall we say?--in that case, if you were a man of spirit you
would feel justified in meting out to him the punishment he deserved,
either in the shape of a duel, or severe personal chastisement. If he
shot at you in any country but England, you would shoot at him. Eye
for eye, and tooth for tooth, was the old Hebrew law, and whatever
may be said against it, fundamentally it was a just one."

I thought of Bartrand, and wished I could apply the principle to
him.

"I fear, however," continued Nikola, after a moment's pause, "that
in personal matters the men of the present day are not so brave as
they once were. They shelter themselves too much behind the law of
the land. A man slanders you; instead of thrashing him you bring an
action against him for libel, and claim damages in money. A man runs
away with your wife; you proclaim your shame in open court, and take
gold from your enemy for the affront he has put upon your honour. If
a man thrashes you in a public place, you don't strike him back; on
the contrary, you consult your solicitor, and take your case before a
magistrate, who binds him over to keep the peace. If, after all is
said and done, you look closely into the matter, what is crime? A
very pliable term, I fancy. For instance, a duke may commit an
offence, and escape scot free, when, for the same thing, only under a
different name, a costermonger would be sent to gaol for five years.
And vice versa. A subaltern in a crack regiment may run up
tailors' bills--or any others, for that matter--for several thousands
of pounds and decamp without paying a halfpenny of the money, never
having intended to do so from the very beginning, while if a chimney
sweep were to purloin a bunch of radishes from a tray outside a
greengrocer's window, he would probably be sent to gaol for three
months. And yet both are stealing, though I must confess society
regards them with very different eyes. Let clergymen and other
righteous men say what they will, the world in its heart rather
admires the man who has the pluck to swindle, but he must do so on a
big scale, and he must do so successfully, or he must pay the penalty
of failure. Your own case, with which, as I said earlier, I am quite
familiar, is one in point. Everyone who has heard of it, and who
knows anything of the man, feels certain that Bartrand stole from you
the information which has made him the millionaire he is. But does it
make any difference in the world's treatment of him? None whatever.
And why? Because he swindled successfully. In the same way they
regard you as a very poor sort of fellow for submitting to his
injustice."

"Curse him!"

"Exactly. But, you see, the fact remains. Bartrand has a house in
Park Lane and a castle in Shropshire. The Duke of Glendower dined
with him the night before last, and one of the members of the Cabinet
will do so on Saturday next. Yesterday he purchased a racing stable
and a stud, for which he paid twenty thousand pounds cash; while I am
told that next year he intends building a yacht that shall be the
finest craft of her class in British waters. It is settled that he is
to be presented at the next levee, and already he is in the first
swim of the fashionable world. If he can only win the Derby this
year, there is nothing he might not aspire to. In ten years, if his
money lasts and he is still alive, he will be a peer of the realm and
founding a new family."

"He must not live as long. Oh, if I could only meet him
face to face and repay him for his treachery!"

"And why not? What is there to prevent you? You can walk to his
house any morning and ask to see him. If you give the butler a
fictitious name and a tip he will admit you. Then, when you get into
the library, you can state your grievance and, having done so, shoot
him dead."

I uttered a little involuntary cry of anger. Deeply as I hated the
man, it was not possible for me seriously to contemplate murdering
him in cold blood. Besides--no, no; such a scheme could not be
thought of for a moment.

"You don't like the idea?" said Nikola, with that easy
nonchalance which characterised him. "Well, I don't wonder at
it; it's bizarre, to say the least of it. You would probably
be caught and hanged, and hanging is an inartistic termination to the
career of even an unsuccessful man. Besides, in that case, you
would have lost your money and your life; he only his life, so that
the balance would still be in his favour. No; what you want is
something a little more subtle, a little more artistic. You want a
scheme that will enable you to put him out of the way, and, at the
same time, one that will place you in possession of the money that is
really yours. Therefore it must be done without any esclandre.
Now I don't doubt you would be surprised if I were to tell you that
in the event of his death you would find yourself his sole heir."

"His sole heir?" I cried. "You must be mad to say such a
thing."

"With due respect, no more mad than you are," said this
extraordinary man. I have seen the will for myself--never mind how I
managed it--and I know that what I say is correct. After all, it is
very feasible. The man, for the reason that he has wronged you, hates
you like poison, and while he lives you may be sure you will never
see a penny of his fortune. But he is also superstitious, and
believing, as he does, that he stands a chance of eternal punishment
for swindling you as he did, he is going to endeavour to obtain a
mitigation of his sentence by leaving you at his death what he has
not been able to spend during his lifetime. If you die first, so much
the worse for him; but I imagine he is willing to risk that."

I rose from my chair, this time thoroughly angered.

"Dr. Nikola," I said, "this is a subject upon which I feel very
deeply. I have no desire to jest about it."

"I am not jesting, my friend, I assure you," returned Nikola, and,
as he said so, he went to an escritoire in the corner. "In proof that
what I say is the truth, here is a rough draft of his will, made
yesterday. You are at liberty to peruse it if you care to do so, and
as you are familiar with his writing, you can judge for yourself of
its worth."

I took the paper from his hand and sat down with it in my chair
again. It certainly was what he had described, and in it I was named
as sole and undivided heir to all his vast wealth. As I read, my
anger rose higher and higher. From this paper it was evident that the
man knew he had swindled me, and it was also apparent that he was
resolved to enjoy the fruits of his villainy throughout his life, and
to leave me what he could not use when he died, and when I would, in
all human probability, be too old to enjoy it. I glanced at the paper
again, and then handed it back to Nikola, and waited for him to
speak. He watched me attentively for a few seconds, and then said in
a voice so soft and low that I could scarcely hear it--

"You see, if Bartrand were to be removed after he had signed that
you would benefit at once."

I did not answer. Nikola waited for a few moments and then
continued in the same low tone--

"You hate the man. He has wronged you deeply. He stole your secret
while you were not in a position to defend yourself, and I think he
would have killed you had he dared to do so. Now he is enjoying the
fortune which should be yours. He is one of the richest men in the
world--with your money. He has made himself a name in England, even
in this short space of time--with your money. He is already a patron
of sport, of the drama, and of art of every sort--with your money. If
you attempt to dispute his possession, he will crush you like a worm.
Now the question for your consideration is: Do you hate him
sufficiently to take advantage of an opportunity to kill him if one
should come in your way?"

He had roused my hate to such a pitch that before I could control
myself I had hissed out "Yes!" He heard it, and when I was about to
protest that I did not mean it, held up his hand to me to be
silent.

"Listen to me," he said. "I tell you candidly that it is in my
power to help you. If you really wish to rid yourself of this man, I
can arrange it for you in such a way that it will be impossible for
any one to suspect you. The chance of detection is absolutely
nil. You will be as safe from the law as you are at this
minute. And remember this, when you have rid yourself of him, his
wealth will be yours to enjoy just as you please. Think of his money
--think of the power it gives, think of the delight of knowing that
you have punished the man who has wronged you so shamefully. Are you
prepared to risk so much?"

My God! I can remember the horror of that moment even now. As I
write these words I seem to feel again the throbbing of the pulses in
my temples, the wild turmoil in my brain, the whirling mist before my
eyes. In extenuation, I can only hope that I was, for the time being,
insane. Shameful as it may be to say so, I know that while Nikola was
speaking, I hungered for that man's death as a starving cur craves
for food.

"I don't want his money," I cried, as if in some small
extenuation of the unutterable shame of my decision. "I only want to
punish him--to be revenged upon him."

"You consent, then?" he said quietly, pulling his chair a little
closer, and looking at me in a strange fashion.

As his eyes met mine all my own will seemed to leave me. I was
powerless to say anything but "Yes, I consent."

Nikola rose to his feet instantly, and with an alertness that
surprised me after his previous langour.

"Very good," he said; "now that that is settled, we can get to
business. If you will listen attentively, I will explain exactly how
it is to be done."



CHAPTER II. A GRUESOME TALE.

"THERE are three things to be borne in mind," said Nikola, when
I had recovered myself a little: "the first is the dependent
point, namely, that the man has to be, well, shall we call it,
relieved of the responsibility of his existence! Secondly, the deed
must be done at once; and, thirdly, it must be accomplished in such a
manner that no suspicion is aroused against you. Now, to you who know
the world, and England in particular, I need scarcely explain
that there are very few ways in which this can be done. If you
desire to follow the melodramatic course, you will decoy your enemy
to an empty house and stab him there; in that case, however, there
will, in all probability, be a tramp taking refuge in the coal cellar
who will overhear you, the marks of blood on the floor will give
evidence against you, and--what will be worse than all--there will be
the body to dispose of. It that procedure does not meet with
your approval, you might follow him about night after night until you
find an opportunity of effecting your purpose in some deserted
thoroughfare; but then you must take into consideration the fact that
there will always be the chance of his calling out, or in other ways
attracting the attention of the neighbourhood, or of someone coming
round the corner before you have quite finished. A railway train has
been tried repeatedly, but never with success; for there is an
increased difficulty in getting rid of the body, while porters and
ticket collectors have a peculiar memory for faces, and history shows
that whatever care you may take you are bound to be discovered sooner
or later. In his own house the man is as secure, or more so, than he
would be in the Tower of London; and even if you did manage to reach
him there, the betting would be something like a million to one that
you would be detected. No; none of these things are worthy of our
consideration. I came to this conclusion in another and similar case
in which my assistance was invoked three months ago. If one wants to
succeed in murder, as in anything else, one must endeavour to be
original."

"For heaven's sake, man, choose your words less carefully!" I
cried, with a sudden fierceness for which I could not afterwards
account. "You talk as if we were discussing an ordinary business
transaction."

"And are we not?" he replied calmly, paying no attention to my
outburst of temper. "I am inclined to think we are. You desire to
revenge yourself upon a man who has wronged you. For a consideration
I find you the means of doing it. You want--I supply. Surely supply
and demand constitute the component parts of an ordinary business
transaction?"

"You said nothing just now about a consideration. What is it to
be?"

"We will discuss that directly."

"No, not directly. Now! I must know everything before I hear more
of your plans."

"By all means let us discuss it then. Properly speaking, I suppose
I should demand your soul as my price, and write the bond with a pen
dipped in your blood. But, though you may doubt it, I am not
Mephistopheles. My terms are fifty thousand pounds, to be paid down
within six months of your coming in to your money. I think you will
admit that that is a small enough sum to charge for helping a man to
obtain possession of nearly two millions. I don't doubt our friend
Bartrand would pay three times as much to be allowed to remain on in
Park Lane. What do you think?"

The mere mention of Bartrand's name roused me again to fury.

"You shall have the money," I cried. "And much good may it do you.
Come what may, I will not touch a penny of it myself. I want to
punish him, not to get his fortune. Now what is your scheme?"

"Pardon me, one thing at a time if you please."

He crossed to the escritoire standing in the corner of the room,
and from a drawer took a sheet of paper. Having glanced at it he
brought it to me with a pen and ink.

"Read it, and when you have done so, sign. We will then proceed to
business."

I glanced at it, and discovered that it was a legally drawn up
promise to pay Dr. Antonio Nikola fifty thousand pounds within six
months of my succeeding to the property of Richard Bartrand, of Park
Lane, London, and Chennington Castle, Shropshire, should such an
event ever occur. Dipping the pen into the ink I signed what he had
written, and then waited for him to continue. He folded up the paper
with great deliberation, returned it to its place in the escritoire,
and then seated himself opposite me again.

"Now I am with you hand and glove," he said with a faint smile
upon his sallow face. "Listen to my arrangement. In considering the
question of murder I have thought of houses, trains, street
stabbings, poisonings, burnings, drowning, shipwreck, dynamite, and
even electricity; and from practical experience I have arrived at the
conclusion that the only sure way in which you can rid yourself of an
enemy is to do the deed in a hansom cab."

"A hansom cab?" I cried. "You must be mad. How can that be safe at
all?"

"Believe me, it is not only the safest, but has been proved to be
the most successful. I will explain more fully, then you will be able
to judge of the beautiful simplicity of my plan for yourself. The cab
I have constructed myself after weeks of labour, in this very house;
it is downstairs now; if you will accompany me we will go and see
it."

He rose from his chair, took up the lamp that stood upon the
table, and signed to me to follow him. I did so, down the stairs by
which he had ascended, and along the passage to a large room at the
rear of the building. Folding doors opened from it into the yard,
and, standing in the centre of this barn-like apartment, its shafts
resting on an iron trestle, was, a hansom cab of the latest pattern,
fitted with all the most up-to-date improvements.

"Examine it," said Nikola, "and I think you will be compelled to
admit that it is as beautiful a vehicle as any man could wish to ride
in; get inside and try it for yourself."

While he held the lamp aloft I climbed in and seated myself upon
the soft cushions. The inside was lined with Russia leather, and was
in every way exquisitely fitted. A curious electric lamp of rather a
cumbersome pattern, I thought, was fixed on the back in such a
position as to be well above the rider's head. A match-box furnished
the bottom of one window, and a cigar-cutter the other; the panels on
either side of the apron were decorated with mirrors; the wheels were
rubber tyred, and each of the windows had small blinds of heavy
stamped leather. Altogether it was most comfortable and complete.

"What do you think of it?" said Nikola, when I had finished my
scrutiny.

"It's exactly like any other hansom," I answered. "Except that it
is finished in a more expensive style than the average cab, I don't
see any difference at all."

"There you refer to its chief charm," replied Nikola, with a grim
chuckle. "If it were different in any way to the ordinary
hansom, detection would be easy. As it is I am prepared to defy even
an expert to discover the mechanism without pulling it to
pieces."

"What is the mechanism, then, and what purpose does it serve?"

"I will explain."

He placed the lamp he held in his hand upon a bracket on the wall,
and then approached the vehicle.

"In the first place examine these cushions," he said, pointing to
the interior. "You have doubtless remarked their softness. If you
study them closely you will observe that they are pneumatic. The only
difference is that the air used is the strongest anaesthetic known to
science. The glass in front, as you will observe now that I have
lowered it, fits into a slot in the apron when the latter is closed,
and thus, by a simple process, the interior becomes air-tight. When
this has been done the driver has but to press this knob, which at
first sight would appear to be part of the nickel rein-support, and a
valve opens on either side of the interior--in the match-box in the
right window, in the cigar-cutter in the left; the gas escapes, fills
the cab, and the result is--well, I will leave you to imagine the
result for yourself."

"And then?" I muttered hoarsely, scarcely able to speak
distinctly, so overcome was I by the horrible exactness and ingenuity
of this murderous affair.

"Then the driver places his foot upon this treadle, which, you
see, is made to look as if it works the iron support that upholds the
vehicle when resting, the seat immediately revolves and the bottom
turns over, thus allowing the body to drop through on to the road.
Its very simplicity is its charm. Having carried out your plan you
have but to find a deserted street, drive along it, depress the
lever, and be rid of your fare when and where you please. By that
time he will be far past calling out, and you can drive quietly home,
conscious that your work is accomplished. Now what do you think of my
invention?"

For a few moments I did not answer, but sat upon an upturned box
close by, my head buried in my hands.

The agony of that minute no man will ever understand. Shame for
myself for listening, loathing of my demoniacal companion for
tempting me, hatred of Bartrand, and desire for revenge, all
struggled within me for the mastery. I could scarcely breathe; the
air of that hateful room seemed to suffocate me. At last I rose to my
feet, and as I did so another burst of fury seized me.

"Monster! Murderer!" I cried, turning like a madman on Nikola, who
was testing the appliances of his awful invention with a smile of
quiet satisfaction on his face. "Let me go, I will not succumb to
your temptations. Show me the way out of this house, or I will kill
you."

Sobs shook my being to its very core. A violent fit of hysteria
had seized me, and under its influence I was not responsible for what
I said or did.

Nikola turned from the cab as calmly as if it had been an ordinary
hansom which he was examining with a view to purchase, and,
concentrating his gaze upon me as he spoke, said quietly:

"My dear Pennethorne, you are exciting yourself. Pray endeavour to
be calm. Believe me, there is nothing to be gained by talking in that
eccentric fashion. Sit down again and pull yourself together."

As I looked into his face all my strength seemed to go from me.
Without a second's hesitation I sat down as he commanded me, and
stared in a stupid, dazed fashion at the floor. I no longer had any
will of my own. Of course I can see now that he had hypnotised me;
but his methods must have been more deadly than I have ever seen
exercised before, for he did not insist upon my looking into his eyes
for any length of time, nor did he make any passes before my face as
I had seen professional mesmerists do. He simply glanced at
me--perhaps a little more fixedly than usual--and all my will was
immediately taken from me. When I was calm he spoke again.

"You are better now," he said, "so we can talk. You must pay
particular attention to what I am going to say, and what I tell you
to do you will do to the letter. To begin with, you will now go back
to your hotel, and, as soon as you reach it, go to bed. You will
sleep without waking till four o'clock this afternoon; then you will
dress and go for a walk. During that walk you will think of the man
who has wronged you, and the more you think of him the fiercer your
hatred for him will become. At six o'clock you will return to your
hotel and dine, going to sleep again in the smoking-room till ten.
When the clock has struck you will wake, take a hansom, and drive to
23, Great Gunter Street, Soho. Arriving at the house, you will ask
for Levi Solomon, to whom you will be at once conducted. He will look
after you until I can communicate with you again. That is your
programme for the day. I order you not to fail in any single
particular of it. Now you had better be off. It is nearly six
o'clock."

I rose from my seat and followed him out into the passage like a
dog; thence we made our way into the yard. To my surprise a cab was
standing waiting for us, the lamps glaring like fierce eyes into the
dark archway which led into the street.

"Get in," said Nikola, opening the apron. "My man will drive you
to your hotel. On no account give him a gratuity, for I do not
countenance it, and he knows my principle. Good night."

I obeyed him mechanically, still without emotion, and when I was
seated the cab drove out into the street.

Throughout the journey back to the hotel I sat in the corner
trying to think, and not succeeding. I was only conscious that,
whatever happened, I must obey Nikola in all he had told me to do.
Nothing else seemed of any importance.

On approaching my residence, I wondered how I should obtain
admittance; but, as it turned out, that proved an easy matter, for
when I arrived the servants were already up and about, and the front
door stood open. Disregarding the stare of astonishment with which I
was greeted, I went upstairs to my room, and in less than ten minutes
was in bed and fast asleep.

Strangely enough, considering the excitement of the previous
twenty-four hours, my sleep was dreamless. It seemed only a few
minutes from the time I closed my eyes till I was awake again, yet
the hands of my watch had stood at half-past six a.m. when I went to
bed, and when I opened my eyes again they chronicled four o'clock
exactly. So far I had fulfilled Nikola's instructions to the letter.
Without hesitation I rose from my bed, dressed myself carefully, and
when I was ready, donned my overcoat and went out for a walk.

The evening was bitterly cold, and heavy snow was falling. To keep
myself warm I hurried along, and as I went I found my thoughts
reverting continually to Bartrand. I remembered my life at
Markapurlie, and the cat-and-dog existence I had passed there with
him. Then the memory of poor old Ben's arrival at the station came
back to me as distinctly as if it had been but yesterday, and with
its coming the manager's brutality roused me afresh. I thought of the
fight we had had, and then of the long weeks of nursing at the
wretched Mail Change on the plains. In my mind's eye I seemed to see
poor old Ben sitting up in bed telling me his secret, and when I was
once more convalescent, went over, day by day, my journey to the
Boolga Ranges, and dreamt again the dreams of wealth that had
occupied my brain then, only to find myself robbed of my fortune at
the end. Now the man who had stolen my chance in life was one of the
richest men in England. He had in his possession all that is
popularly supposed to make life worth the living, and while he
entertained royalty, bought racehorses and yachts, and enjoyed every
advantage in life at my expense, left me to get along as best I
might. I might die of starvation in the gutter for all he would care.
At that moment I was passing a newsagent's stall. On a board before
the door, setting forth the contents of an evening newspaper, was a
line that brought me up all standing with surprise, as the sailors
say. "Bartrand's Generosity.--A Gift to the People," it ran. I
went inside, bought a copy of the paper, and stood in the light of
the doorway to read the paragraph. It was as follows:--

"Mr. Richard Bartrand, the well-known Australian millionaire, has,
so we are informed, written to the London County Council offering to
make a free gift to the city of that large area of ground recently
occupied by Montgomery House, of which he has lately become the
possessor. The donor makes but one stipulation, and that is that it
shall be converted into public gardens, and shall be known in the
future as Bartrand Park. As the ground in question was purchased at
auction by the millionaire last week for the large sum of fifty
thousand pounds, the generosity of this gift cannot be overestimated."

To the surprise of the newsagent I crushed the paper up, threw it
on the ground, and rushed from the shop in a blind rage. What right
had he to pose as a public benefactor, who was only a swindler and a
robber? What right had he to make gifts of fifty thousand pounds to
the people, when it was only by his villainy he had obtained the
money? But ah! I chuckled to myself, before many hours were over I
should be even with him, and then we would see what would happen. A
hatred more intense, more bitter, than I could ever have believed one
man could entertain for another, filled my breast. Under its
influence all my scruples vanished, and I wanted nothing but to cry
quits with my enemy.

For more than half an hour I hurried along, scarcely heeding where
I went, thinking only of my hatred, and gloating over the hideous
revenge I was about to take. That I was doing all this under Nikola's
hypnotic influence I now feel certain; but at the time I seemed to be
acting on my own initiative, and Nikola to be only playing the part
of the deus ex machina.

At last I began to weary of my walk, so, hailing a hansom, I
directed the driver to convey me back to my hotel. As I passed
through the hall the clock over the billiard-room door struck six,
and on hearing it I became aware that in one other particular I had
fulfilled Nikola's orders. After dinner I went into the smoking-room,
and, seating myself in an easy chair before the fire, lit a cigar.
Before I had half smoked it I was fast asleep, dreaming that I was
once more in Australia and tossing on a bed of sickness in the Mail
Change at Markapurlie. A more vivid dream it would be impossible to
imagine. I saw myself, pale and haggard, lying upon the bed,
unconscious of what was passing around me. I saw Bartrand and Gibbs
standing looking down at me. Then the former came closer, and bent
over me. Next moment he had taken a paper from the pocket of my
shirt, and carried it with him into the adjoining bar. A few minutes
Later he returned with it and replaced it in the pocket. As he did so
he turned to the landlord, who stood watching him from the doorway,
and said--"You're sure he's delirious, that he's not shamming?"

"Shamming? Poor beggar," answered Gibbs, who after all was not
such a bad fellow at heart. "Take a good look at him and see for
yourself. I hope I may never be as near gone as he is now."

"So much the better," said Bartrand with a sneer, as he stepped
away from the bed. "We'll save him the trouble of making us his
legatees."

"You don't mean to steal the poor beggar's secret, surely?"
replied Gibbs. "I wouldn't have told you if I'd thought that."

"More fool you then," said Bartrand. "Of course I'm not going to
steal it, only to borrow it. Such chances don't come twice in
a lifetime. But are you sure of your facts? Are you certain the old
fellow said there was gold enough there to make both of them
millionaires half-a-dozen times over?"

"As certain as I'm sitting here," answered Gibbs.

"Very good; then I'm off to-night for the Boolga Ranges. In ten
days I'll have the matter settled, and by the time that dog there
gets on to his feet again we'll both be on the high road to
fortune."

"And I'm only to have a quarter of what you get? It's not fair, Bartrand."

Bartrand stepped up to him with that nasty, bullying look on his
face that I knew so well of old.

"Look here, my friend," he said, "You know Richard Bartrand, don't
you? And you also know what I can tell about you. I offer you a
fourth of the mine for your information, but I don't give it to you
for the reason that I'm afraid of you, for I'm not. Remember I know
enough of your doings in this grog shanty to hang you a dozen times
over; and, by the Lord Harry, if you make yourself a nuisance to me
I'll put those on your track who'll set you swinging. Stand fast by
me and I'll treat you fair and square, but get up to any hanky-panky
and I'll put such a stopper on your mouth that you'll never be able
to open it again."

Gibbs leaned against the door with a face like lead. It was
evident that however much he hated Bartrand he feared him a good deal
more. A prettier pair of rogues it would have been difficult to find
in a long day's march.

"You needn't be afraid, Mr. Bartrand," he said at last, but this
time in no certain voice. "I'll not split on yon as long as you treat
me fairly. You've been a good friend to me in the past, and I know
you mean me well though you speak so plain."

"I know the sort of man with whom I have to deal, you see,"
returned Bartrand with another nasty sneer. "Now I must get my horse
and be off. I've a lot to do if I want to get away to-night."

He went out into the verandah and unhitched his reins from the
nails on which they were hanging.

"Let me have word directly that carrion in there comes to himself
again," he said, as he got into the saddle. "And be sure you never
breathe a word to him that I've been over. I'll let you know all that
goes on as soon as we've got our claim fixed up. In the meantime,
mum's the word. Good-bye."

Gibbs bade him good-bye, and when he had watched him canter off
across the plain returned to the room where I lay. Evidently his
conscience was reproving him, for he stood by my bed for some minutes
looking down at me in silence. Then he heaved a little sigh and said
under his breath, "You miserable beggar, how little you know what is
happening, but I'm bothered if I don't think after all that you're a
dashed sight happier than I am. I'm beginning to wish I'd not given
you away to that devil. The remembrance of it will haunt me all my
life long."

I woke up with his last speech ringing in my ears, and for a
moment could scarcely believe my own eyes. I had imagined myself back
in the bush, and to wake up in the smoking room of a London hotel was
a surprise for which I was not prepared. The clock over the door was
just striking eleven as I rose to my feet and went out into the hall.
Taking my coat down from a peg I put it on, and then, donning my hat
and turning up my collar, went out into the street. Snow was still
falling, and the night was bitterly cold. As I walked I thought again
of the dream from which I had just wakened. It seemed more like a
vision intended for my guidance than the mere imagining of an
over-excited brain. How much would I not have given to know if it was
only imagination, or whether I had been permitted to see a
representation of what had really happened? This question, however, I
could not of course answer.

On reaching the Strand I hailed a hansom and bade the driver
convey me with all speed to 23, Great Gunter Street, Soho.

"Twenty-three, Great Gunter Street?" repeated the man, staring at
me in surprise. "You don't surely mean that, sir?"

"I do," I answered. "If you don't like the job I can easily find
another man."

"Oh, I'll take you there, never fear, sir," replied the man; "but
I didn't know perhaps whether you was aware what sort of a crib it
is. It's not the shop gentlemen goes to as a general rule at night
time, except maybe they're after a dog as has been stole, or the
like."

"So it's that sort of place is it?" I answered. "Well, I don't know
that it matters. I'm able to take care of myself."

As I said this I got into the vehicle, and in half a minute we
were driving down the Strand in the direction of Soho. In something
under a quarter of an hour we had left Leicester Square behind us,
crossed Shaftesbury Avenue, and turned into Great Gunter Street. It
proved to be exactly what the driver had insinuated, neither a
respectable nor a savoury neighbourhood; and when I saw it and its
inhabitants I ceased to wonder at his hesitation. When he had
proceeded half-way down the street he pulled his horse up before the
entrance to what looked like a dark alley leading into a court.
Realising that this must be my destination I opened the apron and
sprang out.

"Number 23 is somewhere hereabouts, sir," said the driver, who
seemed to derive a certain amount of satisfaction from his ignorance
of the locality. "I don't doubt but what one of these boys will be
able to tell you exactly."

I paid him his fare and sixpence over for his civility, and then
turned to question a filthy little gutter urchin, who, with bare feet
and chattering teeth, was standing beside me.

"Where is 23, my lad?" I inquired. "Can you take me to it?"

"Twenty-three, sir?" said the boy. "That's where Crooked Billy
lives, sir. You come along with me and I'll show you the way."

"Go ahead then," I answered, and the boy thereupon bolted into the
darkness of the alley before which we had been standing. I followed
him as quickly as I could, but it was a matter of some difficulty,
for the court was as black as the Pit of Tophet, and seemed to twist
and turn in every conceivable direction. A more unprepossessing place
it would have been difficult to find. Half-way down I heard the boy
cry out 'Hold up, mother!' and before I could stop I found myself
in collision with a woman who, besides being unsteady on her legs,
reeked abominably of gin. Disengaging myself, to the accompaniment of
her curses, I sped after my leader, and a moment later emerged into
the open court itself. The snow had ceased, and the three-quarter
moon, sailing along through swift flying clouds, showed me the
surrounding houses. In one or two windows, lights were burning,
revealing sights which almost made my flesh creep with loathing. In
one I could see a woman sewing as if for her very life by the light
of a solitary candle stuck in a bottle, while two little children lay
asleep, half-clad, on a heap of straw and rags in the corner. On my
right I had a glimpse of another room, where the dead body of a man
was stretched upon a mattress on the floor, with two old hags seated
at a table beside it, drinking gin from a black bottle, turn and turn
about. The wind whistled mournfully among the roof tops; the snow had
been trodden into a disgusting slush everywhere, save close against
the walls, where it still showed white as silver; while the
reflection of the moon gleamed in the icy puddles golden as a spade
guinea.

"This is number 23," said my conductor, pointing to the door
before which he stood.

I rewarded him, and then turned my attention to the door
indicated.

Having rapped with my knuckles upon the panel, I waited for it to
be opened to me. But those inside were in no hurry, and for this
reason some minutes elapsed before I heard anyone moving about; then
there came the sound of shuffling feet, and next moment the door was
opened an inch or two, and a female voice inquired with an
oath--which I will omit--what was wanted and who was wanting it.

To the first query I replied by asking if Levi Solomon lived
there, and, if he did, whether I could see him. The second I shirked
altogether. In answer I was informed that Levi Solomon did reside
there, and that if I was the gentleman who had called to see him
about a hansom cab I was to come in at once.

The door was opened to me, and I immediately stepped into the
grimiest, most evil-smelling passage it has ever been my ill luck to
set foot in. The walls were soiled and stained almost beyond
recognition; the floor was littered with orange peel, paper, cabbage
leaves, and garbage of all sorts and descriptions, while the stench
that greeted me baffles description. I have never smelled anything
like it before, and I hope I may never do so again.

The most I can say for the old lady who admitted me is that she
matched her surroundings. She was short almost to dwarfishness,
well-nigh bald, and had lost her left eye. Her dress consisted of a
ragged skirt, and in place of a body--I believe that is the technical
expression--she wore a man's coat, which gave a finishing touch of
comicality to the peculiar outline of her figure. As soon as she saw
that I had entered, she bade me shut the door behind me and follow
her. This I did by means of a dilapidated staircase, in which almost
every step was taken at the risk of one's life, to the second floor.
Having arrived there, she knocked upon a door facing her; and I
noticed that it was not until she had been ordered to enter that she
ventured to turn the handle.

"The gentleman what has come about the 'ansom keb," she said, as
she ushered me into the room.

The apartment was lit by two candles stuck in their own wax upon a
little deal table, and by their rays I could distinguish the man I
had come in search of standing by the fireplace awaiting me. He did
not greet me until he had made certain, by listening at the keyhole,
that the old woman had gone downstairs. He was a quaint little
fellow, Jewish from the soles of his feet to the top of his head. He
had the nose of his race, little beady eyes as sharp as gimlets, and
a long beard which a little washing might have made white. He was
dressed in a black frock