CHAPTER XXIX
THE HOUSE ON THE ROAD FROM THE WORKHOUSE
Mr Holt looked as if he was in somebody else's garments. He was sothin, and worn, and wasted, that the suit of clothes which one of themen had lent him hung upon him as on a scarecrow. I was almost ashamedof myself for having incurred a share of the responsibility of takinghim out of bed. He seemed so weak and bloodless that I should not havebeen surprised if he had fainted on the road. I had taken care that heshould eat as much as he could eat before we started--the suggestion ofstarvation which he had conveyed to one's mind was dreadful!--and I hadbrought a flask of brandy in case of accidents, but, in spite ofeverything, I could not conceal from myself that he would be more athome in a sick-bed than in a jolting cab.
It was not a cheerful drive. There was in Sydney's manner towards me anair of protection which I instinctively resented,--he appeared to beregarding me as a careful, and anxious, nurse might regard awrong-headed and disobedient child. Conversation distinctly languished.Since Sydney seemed disposed to patronise me, I was bent on snubbinghim. The result was, that the majority of the remarks which wereuttered were addressed to Mr Holt.
The cab stopped,--after what had appeared to me to be an interminablejourney. I was rejoiced at the prospect of its being at an end. Sydneyput his head out of the window. A short parley with the driver ensued.
'This is 'Ammersmith Workhouse, it's a large place, sir,--which part ofit might you be wanting?'
Sydney appealed to Mr Holt. He put his head out of the window in histurn,--he did not seem to recognise our surroundings at all.
'We have come a different way,--this is not the way I went; I wentthrough Hammersmith,--and to the casual ward; I don't see that here.'
Sydney spoke to the cabman.
'Driver, where's the casual ward?'
'That's the other end, sir.'
'Then take us there.'
He took us there. Then Sydney appealed again to Mr Holt.
'Shall I dismiss the cabman,--or don't you feel equal to walking?'
'Thank you, I feel quite equal to walking,--I think the exercise willdo me good.'
So the cabman was dismissed,--a step which we--and I, inparticular--had subsequent cause to regret. Mr Holt took his bearings.He pointed to a door which was just in front of us.
'That's the entrance to the casual ward, and that, over it, is thewindow through which the other man threw a stone. I went to theright,--back the way I had come.' We went to the right. 'I reached thiscorner.' We had reached a corner. Mr Holt looked about him,endeavouring to recall the way he had gone. A good many roads appearedto converge at that point, so that he might have wandered in either ofseveral directions.
Presently he arrived at something like a decision.
'I think this is the way I went,--I am nearly sure it is.'
He led the way, with something of an air of dubitation, and wefollowed. The road he had chosen seemed to lead to nothing and nowhere.We had not gone many yards from the workhouse gates before we wereconfronted by something like chaos. In front and on either side of uswere large spaces of waste land. At some more or less remote periodattempts appeared to have been made at brick-making,--there were untidystacks of bilious-looking bricks in evidence. Here and there enormousweather-stained boards announced that 'This Desirable Land was to beLet for Building Purposes.' The road itself was unfinished. There wasno pavement, and we had the bare uneven ground for sidewalk. It seemed,so far as I could judge, to lose itself in space, and to be swallowedup by the wilderness of 'Desirable Land' which lay beyond. In the neardistance there were houses enough, and to spare--of a kind. But theywere in other roads. In the one in which we actually were, on theright, at the end, there was a row of unfurnished carcases, but onlytwo buildings which were in anything like a fit state for occupation.One stood on either side, not facing each other,--there was a distancebetween them of perhaps fifty yards. The sight of them had a moreexciting effect on Mr Holt than it had on me. He moved rapidlyforward,--coming to a standstill in front of the one upon our left,which was the nearer of the pair.
'This is the house!' he exclaimed.
He seemed almost exhilarated,--I confess that I was depressed. A moredismal-looking habitation one could hardly imagine. It was one of thosedreadful jerry-built houses which, while they are still new, look old.It had quite possibly only been built a year or two, and yet, owing toneglect, or to poverty of construction, or to a combination of the two,it was already threatening to tumble down. It was a small place, acouple of storeys high, and would have been dear--I should think!--atthirty pounds a year. The windows had surely never been washed sincethe house was built,--those on the upper floor seemed all eithercracked or broken. The only sign of occupancy consisted in the factthat a blind was down behind the window of the room on the groundfloor. Curtains there were none. A low wall ran in front, which hadapparently at one time been surmounted by something in the shape of aniron railing,--a rusty piece of metal still remained on one end; but,since there was only about a foot between it and the building, whichwas practically built upon the road,--whether the wall was intended toensure privacy, or was merely for ornament, was not clear.
'This is the house!' repeated Mr Holt, showing more signs of life thanI had hitherto seen in him.
Sydney looked it up and down,--it apparently appealed to his aestheticsense as little as it did to mine.
'Are you sure?'
'I am certain.'
'It seems empty.'
'It seemed empty to me that night,--that is why I got into it in searchof shelter.'
'Which is the window which served you as a door?'
'This one.' Mr Holt pointed to the window on the ground floor,--the onewhich was screened by a blind. 'There was no sign of a blind when Ifirst saw it, and the sash was up,--it was that which caught my eye.'
Once more Sydney surveyed the place, in comprehensive fashion, fromroof to basement,--then he scrutinisingly regarded Mr Holt.
'You are quite sure this is the house? It might be awkward if youproved mistaken. I am going to knock at the door, and if it turns outthat that mysterious acquaintance of yours does not, and never haslived here, we might find an explanation difficult.'
'I am sure it is the house,--certain! I know it,--I feel it here,--andhere.'
Mr Holt touched his breast, and his forehead. His manner was distinctlyodd. He was trembling, and a fevered expression had come into his eyes.Sydney glanced at him, for a moment, in silence. Then he bestowed hisattention upon me.
'May I ask if I may rely upon your preserving your presence of mind?'
The mere question ruffled my plumes.
'What do you mean?'
'What I say. I am going to knock at that door, and I am going to getthrough it, somehow. It is quite within the range of possibility that,when I am through, there will be some strange happenings,--as you haveheard from Mr Holt. The house is commonplace enough without; you maynot find it so commonplace within. You may find yourself in a positionin which it will be in the highest degree essential that you shouldkeep your wits about you.'
'I am not likely to let them stray.'
'Then that's all right.--Do I understand that you propose to come inwith me?'
'Of course I do,--what do you suppose I've come for? What nonsense youare talking.
'I hope that you will still continue to consider it nonsense by thetime this little adventure's done.'
That I resented his impertinence goes without saying--to be talked toin such a strain by Sydney Atherton, whom I had kept in subjection eversince he was in knickerbockers, was a little trying,--but I am forcedto admit that I was more impressed by his manner, or his words, or byMr Holt's manner, or something, than I should have cared to own. I hadnot the least notion what was going to happen, or what horrors thatwoebegone-looking dwelling contained. But Mr Holt's story had been ofthe most astonishing sort, my experiences of the previous night werestill fresh, and, altogether, now that I was in such closeneighbourhood with the U
nknown--with a capital U!--although it wasbroad daylight, it loomed before me in a shape for which,--candidly!--Iwas not prepared.
A more disreputable-looking front door I have not seen,--it was inperfect harmony with the remainder of the establishment. The paint wasoff; the woodwork was scratched and dented; the knocker was red withrust. When Sydney took it in his hand I was conscious of quite a littlethrill. As he brought it down with a sharp rat-tat, I half expected tosee the door fly open, and disclose some gruesome object glaring out atus. Nothing of the kind took place; the door did not budge,--nothinghappened. Sydney waited a second or two, then knocked again; anothersecond or two, then another knock. There was still no sign of anynotice being taken of our presence. Sydney turned to Mr Holt.
'Seems as if the place was empty.'
Mr Holt was in the most singular condition of agitation,--it made meuncomfortable to look at him.
'You do not know,--you cannot tell; there may be someone there whohears and pays no heed.'
'I'll give them another chance.'
Sydney brought down the knocker with thundering reverberations. The dinmust have been audible half a mile away. But from within the housethere was still no sign that any heard. Sydney came down the step.
'I'll try another way,--I may have better fortune at the back.'
He led the way round to the rear, Mr Holt and I following in singlefile. There the place seemed in worse case even than in the front.There were two empty rooms on the ground floor at the back,--there wasno mistake about their being empty, without the slightest difficulty wecould see right into them. One was apparently intended for a kitchenand wash-house combined, the other for a sitting-room. There was not astick of furniture in either, nor the slightest sign of humanhabitation. Sydney commented on the fact.
'Not only is it plain that no one lives in these charming apartments,but it looks to me uncommonly as if no one ever had lived in them.'
To my thinking Mr Holt's agitation was increasing every moment. Forsome reason of his own, Sydney took no notice of it whatever,--possiblybecause he judged that to do so would only tend to make it worse. Anodd change had even taken place in Mr Holt's voice,--he spoke in a sortof tremulous falsetto.
'It was only the front room which I saw.'
'Very good; then, before very long, you shall see that front roomagain.'
Sydney rapped with his knuckles on the glass panels of the back door.He tried the handle; when it refused to yield he gave it a vigorousshaking. He saluted the dirty windows,--so far as succeeding inattracting attention was concerned, entirely in vain. Then he turnedagain to Mr Holt,--half mockingly.
'I call you to witness that I have used every lawful means to gain thefavourable notice of your mysterious friend. I must therefore beg tostand excused if I try something slightly unlawful for a change. It istrue that you found the window already open; but, in my case, it soonwill be.'
He took a knife out of his pocket, and, with the open blade, forcedback the catch,--as I am told that burglars do. Then he lifted the sash.
'Behold!' he exclaimed. 'What did I tell you?--Now, my dear Marjorie,if I get in first and Mr Holt gets in after me, we shall be in aposition to open the door for you.'
I immediately saw through his design.
'No, Mr Atherton; you will get in first, and I will get in after you,through the window,--before Mr Holt. I don't intend to wait for you toopen the door.'
Sydney raised his hands and opened his eyes, as if grieved at my wantof confidence. But I did not mean to be left in the lurch, to waittheir pleasure, while on pretence of opening the door, they searchedthe house. So Sydney climbed in first, and I second,--it was not adifficult operation, since the window-sill was under three feet fromthe ground--and Mr Holt last. Directly we were in, Sydney put his handup to his mouth, and shouted.
'Is there anybody in this house? If so, will he kindly step this way,as there is someone wishes to see him.'
His words went echoing through the empty rooms in a way which wasalmost uncanny. I suddenly realised that if, after all, there didhappen to be somebody in the house, and he was at all disagreeable, ourpresence on his premises might prove rather difficult to explain.However, no one answered. While I was waiting for Sydney to make thenext move, he diverted my attention to Mr Holt.
'Hollo, Holt, what's the matter with you? Man, don't play the fool likethat!'
Something was the matter with Mr Holt. He was trembling all over as ifattacked by a shaking palsy. Every muscle in his body seemed twitchingat once. A strained look had come on his face, which was not nice tosee. He spoke as with an effort.
'I'm all right.--It's nothing.'
'Oh, is it nothing? Then perhaps you'll drop it. Where's that brandy?'I handed Sydney the flask. 'Here, swallow this.'
Mr Holt swallowed the cupful of neat spirit which Sydney offeredwithout an attempt at parley. Beyond bringing some remnants of colourto his ashen cheeks it seemed to have no effect on him whatever. Sydneyeyed him with a meaning in his glance which I was at a loss tounderstand.
'Listen to me, my lad. Don't think you can deceive me by playing any ofyour fool tricks, and don't delude yourself into supposing that I shalltreat you as anything but dangerous if you do. I've got this.' Heshowed the revolver of papa's which I had lent him. 'Don't imagine thatMiss Lindon's presence will deter me from using it.'
Why he addressed Mr Holt in such a strain surpassed my comprehension.Mr Holt, however, evinced not the faintest symptoms of resentment,--hehad become, on a sudden, more like an automaton than a man. Sydneycontinued to gaze at him as if he would have liked his glance topenetrate to his inmost soul.
'Keep in front of me, if you please, Mr Holt, and lead the way to thismysterious apartment in which you claim to have had such a remarkableexperience.'
Of me he asked in a whisper,
'Did you bring a revolver?'
I was startled.
'A revolver?--The idea!--How absurd you are!'
Sydney said something which was so rude--and so uncalled for!--that itwas worthy of papa in his most violent moments.
'I'd sooner be absurd than a fool in petticoats.' I was so angry that Idid not know what to say,--and before I could say it he went on. 'Keepyour eyes and ears well open; be surprised at nothing you see or hear.Stick close to me. And for goodness sake remain mistress of as many ofyour senses as you conveniently can.'
I had not the least idea what was the meaning of it all. To me thereseemed nothing to make such a pother about. And yet I was conscious ofa fluttering of the heart as if there soon might be something, I knewSydney sufficiently well to be aware that he was one of the last men inthe world to make a fuss without reason,--and that he was as littlelikely to suppose that there was a reason when as a matter of factthere was none.
Mr Holt led the way, as Sydney desired--or, rather, commanded, to thedoor of the room which was in front of the house. The door was closed.Sydney tapped on a panel. All was silence. He tapped again.
'Anyone in there?' he demanded.
As there was still no answer, he tried the handle. The door was locked.
'The first sign of the presence of a human being we have had,--doorsdon't lock themselves. It's just possible that there may have beensomeone or something about the place, at some time or other, after all.'
Grasping the handle firmly, he shook it with all his might,--as he haddone with the door at the back. So flimsily was the place constructedthat he made even the walls to tremble.
'Within there!--if anyone is in there!--if you don't open this door, Ishall.'
There was no response.
So be it!--I'm going to pursue my wild career of defiance ofestablished law and order, and gain admission in one way, if I can't inanother.'
Putting his right shoulder against the door, he pushed with his wholeforce. Sydney is a big man, and very strong, and the door was weak.Shortly, the lock yielded before the continuous pressure, and the doorflew open. Sydney whistled.
'So!--It begins to occur to
me, Mr Holt, that that story of yours maynot have been such pure romance as it seemed.'
It was plain enough that, at any rate, this room had been occupied, andthat recently,--and, if his taste in furniture could be taken as atest, by an eccentric occupant to boot. My own first impression wasthat there was someone, or something, living in it still,--anuncomfortable odour greeted our nostrils, which was suggestive of someevil-smelling animal. Sydney seemed to share my thought.
'A pretty perfume, on my word! Let's shed a little more light on thesubject, and see what causes it. Marjorie, stop where you are until Itell you.'
I had noticed nothing, from without, peculiar about the appearance ofthe blind which screened the window, but it must have been made of someunusually thick material, for, within, the room was strangely dark.Sydney entered, with the intention of drawing up the blind, but he hadscarcely taken a couple of steps when he stopped.
'What's that?'
'It's it,' said Mr Holt, in a voice which was so unlike his own that itwas scarcely recognisable.
'It?--What do you mean by it?'
'The Beetle!'
Judging from the sound of his voice Sydney was all at once in a stateof odd excitement.
'Oh, is it!--Then, if this time I don't find out the how and the whyand the wherefore of that charming conjuring trick, I'll give you leaveto write me down an ass,--with a great, big A.'
He rushed farther into the room,--apparently his efforts to lighten itdid not meet with the immediate success which he desired.
'What's the matter with this confounded blind? There's no cord! How doyou pull it up?--What the--'
In the middle of his sentence Sydney ceased speaking. Suddenly Mr Holt,who was standing by my side on the threshold of the door, was seizedwith such a fit of trembling, that, fearing he was going to fall, Icaught him by the arm. A most extraordinary look was on his face. Hiseyes were distended to their fullest width, as if with horror at whatthey saw in front of them. Great beads of perspiration were on hisforehead.
'It's coming!' he screamed.
Exactly what happened I do not know. But, as he spoke, I heard,proceeding from the room, the sound of the buzzing of wings. Instantlyit recalled my experiences of the night before,--as it did so I wasconscious of a most unpleasant qualm. Sydney swore a great oath, as ifhe were beside himself with rage.
'If you won't go up, you shall come down.'
I suppose, failing to find a cord, he seized the blind from below, anddragged it down,--it came, roller and all, clattering to the floor. Theroom was all in light. I hurried in. Sydney was standing by the window,with a look of perplexity upon his face which, under any othercircumstances, would have been comical. He was holding papa's revolverin his hand, and was glaring round and round the room, as if wholly ata loss to understand how it was he did not see what he was looking for.
'Marjorie!' he exclaimed. 'Did you hear anything?'
'Of course I did. It was that which I heard last night,--which sofrightened me.'
'Oh, was it? Then, by--' in his excitement he must have been completelyoblivious of my presence, for he used the most terrible language, 'whenI find it there'll be a small discussion. It can't have got out of theroom,--I know the creature's here; I not only heard it, I felt it brushagainst my face.--Holt, come inside and shut that door.'
Mr Holt raised his arms, as if he were exerting himself to make aforward movement,--but he remained rooted to the spot on which he stood.
'I can't!' he cried.
'You can't.'--Why?'
'It won't let me.'
'What won't let you?'
'The Beetle!'
Sydney moved till he was close in front of him. He surveyed him witheager eyes. I was just at his back. I heard him murmur,--possibly to me.
'By George!--It's just as I thought!--The beggar's hypnotised!'
Then he said aloud,
'Can you see it now?'
'Yes.'
'Where?'
'Behind you.'
As Mr Holt spoke, I again heard, quite close to me, that buzzing sound.Sydney seemed to hear it too,--it caused him to swing round so quicklythat he all but whirled me off my feet.
'I beg your pardon, Marjorie, but this is of the nature of anunparalleled experience,--didn't you hear something then?'
'I did,--distinctly; it was close to me,--within an inch or two of myface.'
We stared about us, then back at each other,--there was nothing else tobe seen. Sydney laughed, doubtfully.
'It's uncommonly queer. I don't want to suggest that there are visionsabout, or I might suspect myself of softening of the brain. But--it'squeer. There's a trick about it somewhere, I am convinced; and no doubtit's simple enough when you know how it's done,--but the difficulty isto find that out.--Do you think our friend over there is acting?'
'He looks to me as if he were ill.'
'He does look ill. He also looks as if he were hypnotised. If he is, itmust be by suggestion,--and that's what makes me doubtful, because itwill be the first plainly established case of hypnotism by suggestionI've encountered.--Holt!'
'Yes.'
'That,' said Sydney in my ear, 'is the voice and that is the manner ofa hypnotised man, but, on the other hand, a person under influencegenerally responds only to the hypnotist,--which is another featureabout our peculiar friend which arouses my suspicions.' Then, aloud,'Don't stand there like an idiot,--come inside.'
Again Mr Holt made an apparently futile effort to do as he was bid. Itwas painful to look at him,--he was like a feeble, frightened,tottering child, who would come on, but cannot.
'I can't.'
'No nonsense, my man! Do you think that this is a performance in abooth, and that I am to be taken in by all the humbug of theprofessional mesmerist? Do as I tell you,--come into the room.'
There was a repetition, on Mr Holt's part, of his previous pitifulstruggle; this time it was longer sustained than before,--but theresult was the same.
'I can't!' he wailed.
'Then I say you can,--and shall! If I pick you up, and carry you,perhaps you will not find yourself so helpless as you wish me tosuppose.'
Sydney moved forward to put his threat into execution. As he did so, astrange alteration took place in Mr Holt's demeanour.
The Beetle: A Mystery Page 29