“And we are on their track,” added Strossmayer. “They are a good way ahead still; but Noble is going to catch them up and pass them presently!”
“I make no such promise,” answered the other; “though I believe and, indeed, am sure, that we are upon their track, because there is only one track. They are chemists, for what they have learned could only come by that road. And they are at this moment far the greatest chemists in the world, by virtue of their achievement. Great chemists, but not great men.”
“Why do you say that?” asked Paul Strossmayer.
“Because the first impulse of a true follower of Science is to enrich the world with his knowledge. These people are not in the great tradition, otherwise their secret had before now became common property. But I condemn them for more than that. They have given very stupid signs of a reactionary spirit — I speak of their murders — and how can we believe that those who have already done what they have done are in any sense worthy of the power that they control?”
Jacobs agreed with the visitor.
“One can only read them in the light of their demonstrations,” he declared. “Their ultimate purpose is still hidden.”
After further conversation, Bishop Blore asked pointedly whether Noble had any inkling of those responsible for the recent catastrophes.
“You are informed, no doubt, of the best that is being done in your own line of inquiry,” he said, “for, as you truly tell us, Science keeps no secrets, but is only concerned to publish what may add to the sum of human knowledge. Do you, therefore, suspect any school of workers, or any nation known to be busy with radio-activity? Can you point to a possible starting place for these things?”
“Emphatically no,” answered our guest. “Neither I, nor any of my acquaintance and coworkers, has so much as a theory of the puzzle, let alone a clue. It beats us, both here and in Germany and in America. And we are chiefly beaten by the phenomena themselves. They may not be called irrational; but they are vague, if not contradictory. They indicate no point of view that we should expect to find displayed by any enlightened people.”
“What, then, of the theory that unconscious forces are responsible?” I asked. “How should you answer the supposition that there are two energies at work?”
“I have proved that there is but one,” answered Strossmayer. “My theory has been accepted so far.”
“Undoubtedly there is but one energy,” admitted Ian Noble.
“Then what of ‘the Bat’?” inquired Bishop Blore.
But the visitor declared absolute unbelief upon this point.
“I am among those who decline to accept your Bat, Bishop,” he replied, little guessing the experience that awaited him in the future. “I judge ‘the Bat’ to belong to the region of psycho-analysis, suggestion and mental obscurity. ‘The Bat’ was handed on from policeman to policeman. You must look for that animal where you look for the Russians who crossed England to get to the front in France, or the angels reported from Mons.”
“Strange that one accustomed, no doubt, to examine evidence so closely as yourself should reject such evidence as can be furnished for the flying monster, Mr. Noble,” ventured Bishop Blore; but the young man was positive upon this point and declined to accept such proof as had been forthcoming for a living animal. Indeed he spoke with emphatic assurance, the greater by contrast with his usual guarded conversation.
And three days after his visit to us, it seemed for a season that his convictions were justified, for an amazing triple murder of a character purely political was reported from Rome. In broad day three men were suddenly destroyed, and while no doubt existed that they had perished by the same means as those recorded in connection with the alleged apparition of a strange, winged animal, on this occasion ‘the Bat’ had not been seen at all.
CHAPTER VIII
GRIMWOOD
THREE unfortunate men, a Russian Jew, a Savoyard and an Italian, had almost simultaneously succumbed to the unknown power now so actively intervening in human affairs.
The Fourth Internationale was sitting at Rome, and the trio now snatched from the councils of extreme socialism had stood among its most prominent leaders. They sought with demoniac energy to destroy the existing order of society; they employed their oratory to inspire the people with their convictions, and plunge Europe into the melting pot of a ruthless revolution, that civilization might reappear, purged of every ideal and interest save those for which they stood.
Ivan Bronstein, Gerard Clos and Vergilio Paravicini were returning side by side from a morning session through the Piazza di Spagna, and had apparently turned to ascend the great flight of steps ascending behind the fountain. It was after noon, at a moment when the piazza happened to be thinly peopled; but not a few had followed the famous men, and many independent witnesses recorded the circumstance of their destruction in bright sunshine and without visible means.
Suddenly, with his foot on the first step of the great flight, Bronstein was seen to fling up his arms and sprawl forward upon his face. His companions, suspecting the excitement of the conference had proved too great — for Ivan Bronstein was an old man — bent to succor him, probably fearing no more than a fainting fit. But, as they did so, first Paravicini and then Clos leapt to his feet, only to fall — one upon the other beside their prostrate companion. Thus, in a moment, all three had been swept from life by an invisible hand.
Spectators of the tragedy hastened forward and the victims were quickly attended; but all had perished and, to the amazement of Italy and discomfiture of their party, it became swiftly apparent that all had died by the stroke responsible in the case of other eminent men. No visible event of any kind had explained the sudden collapse; no witness of the event had heard the least explosion, or seen the anarchists accosted. They were, indeed, marked men and familiar heroes to the Roman proletariat; a thousand would have willingly died to protect them; but they were gone; the unseen power had overwhelmed them in furtherance of a steadfast policy which now began clearly to emerge.
As though by a flash of lightning, the three great extremists were banished from the earth; but no lightning was responsible for their extinction. Post-mortem examinations revealed that all had fallen by the means formerly reported. A radio-active agent had entered Bronstein through his back, Clos upon the left side of his head, Paravicini at his stomach; in death they furnished the same phenomena as those who had passed before them. A red pin-prick was all that could externally be detected; the disintegration and something akin to transmutation of their elements occurred within.
The three were cremated and interred with imposing ceremonial, and Demos throughout Europe and America began to be seriously disturbed concerning the tremendous weapon now directed so methodically and remorselessly against it. Much passion was aroused and immense unrest. Class war entered the sphere of practical politics, and those best able to judge of the trend now given to a secret and subterranean movement, apprehended that any future demonstration along the lines of this triple assassination would precipitate the struggle and let loose revolution upon a weary earth striving to regain stability and equilibrium.
Danger threatened on every hand, and Labor, together with various anarchic forces that masquerade in its name, began to shout through many mouthpieces that their traditionary foes had ‘cornered’ some terrific new power and designed its ruthless application against the people.
An opinion so grotesque needed only publication to meet the ridicule of all reasonable men; but the alarm took wing from a thousand angry tongues and in a hundred journals; it was not adequately refuted or denied and, as usual, erroneous impressions on fiery and eloquent lips seduced innumerable listeners, who found reason in temperate mouths a tame substitute for the more forcible and trenchant utterances of their own leaders.
Revolution, then, spread dark wings in the upper air, and already shadowed mankind. Incidentally the international detective forces, employed by night and day upon the problem, were for a time relieved of the phanto
m of ‘the Bat’; and yet it was not a month after these events that the mystery again appeared.
For the first time the United States of America became a theater for its activities, and thence it was reported in connection with incidents of the most amazing character.
In their order, however, I must first relate occurrences of a nature personal to the Club of Friends, for it is not without good reason that I have undertaken this record and written it, so to speak, from our club window. A time swiftly approached when our modest coterie was destined to figure largely in the world’s interest and suffer a flood of light focalized upon its little company. Thus the conventional and commonplace may often emerge into a blaze of passing publicity, in virtue of extrinsic interests for which, in itself, it is not responsible.
Paul Strossmayer indeed — a passing presence, a bird of passage — was the only man among us who could be magnified into a personality, or described as a man out of the ordinary; and he continued to be a lively object of interest and contention behind his back. His detractors eagerly pointed out that he was absent from Chislehurst on the occasion of the tragedy at Rome; and he had indeed left England; but Leon Jacobs, who enjoyed the foreigner’s friendship, was in a position to tell us that Strossmayer did not visit Italy at this time. He himself had seen the Jugo-Slav off upon his travels; and his destination was America. Before departing, moreover, he had explained to Jacobs that his purpose was but an extension of the quest that had brought him to this country. He had gone to New York, Chicago and San Francisco that he might study the work of the more advanced laboratories and win, if possible, further adherents by the offer of generous inducements. In England he confessed that his search, save for brilliant exceptions, had proved disappointing; but he hoped for valuable rewards in ‘God’s Own Country’ and desired also to learn the opinion of American experts on the subject of the new energy now liberated upon earth.
“The accursed war,” he told Jacobs, “has taken too heavy a toll of your young men of genius, and time must lapse, a new generation rise, before the sort of people we want are to be had for the seeking. Ian Noble is merely a survival. Had he gone to the war, doubtless he would have perished; but it so happened the Government needed him and would not let him volunteer. And now with Noble’s advice and direction, I go to America, where radio-activity is at the forefront of research. He begins to suspect that it is in America that the secret has been, so far, discovered; and he has one personal friend, at Boston, whom I must secure at any cost.”
Paul Strossmayer, then, was in America, or supposed to be, and Jacobs, soon after his departure, prepared for a vacation to the Swiss lakes. For me, holidays were never any great attraction, and though I took the month of August annually, I often regretted that it was not possible to hand the leisure weeks to somebody who stood more in need of change and relaxation. I had almost determined to visit Cumberland and enlarge a very limited acquaintance with my native land, when an alternative was presented and I received a letter from General Fordyce, which, after brief consideration, changed my plans.
He wrote from Grimwood, South Brent, South Devon, his brother’s place.
Grimwood, as I already knew, had descended to the general at his father’s death, but he was a poor man and did not appreciate the country, save for a few months of shooting in the autumn. Sir Bruce, however, for sentimental reasons, connected with his dead mother and sister, chose to preserve his old home in the family, though there was none to follow him there, and he had told me, when speaking of it, that his means did not permit of keeping up Grimwood in a manner worthy of so fine an estate. I found afterwards that he made no attempt whatever to sustain the vanished splendors of his ancestral halls, and was apparently content to let the mansion go to ruin, while he occupied but half a dozen chambers in it, and that only during the summer months.
And now General Hugh invited me to join his brother rather than himself. Indeed he made a great favor of such a visit; reminded me that I was accustomed to regard my annual holiday as a nuisance rather than a pleasure, and promised me some beautiful scenery at the foothills of Dartmoor and pleasant bicycle or motor excursions to the sea and surrounding scenes of historical interest.
Thus he wrote:
“MY DEAR GRANGER: I know that holidays are no more than a necessary hiatus in your orderly existence, and since the fatal month of August is now again threatening you with enforced idleness, I am going to suggest that you kill two birds with one stone — take your change and do me a good turn by taking it here.
“Sir Bruce is fond of you: you see eye to eye with him in many directions and he appreciates your restful company and capacity for quiet. If you could put in even a couple of weeks with him, it would give him real pleasure and reconcile him to my departure; for I am engaged to friends in Scotland and a shooting part later on at the Derbyshire Peak.
“Between ourselves, however, I shall have to deny myself these amusements if you cannot come to Grimwood, for my brother is not in his best form. It seems absurd to suggest that a man of such iron constitution, vigor and mental and physical activity is weakening, and I do not think that his indisposition can be more than transitory; but you know what a soft heart he has got and how he hardly endures the woe of the world. Disasters weigh heavily upon his shoulders; he feels many things acutely and takes a gloomy rather than a sanguine view of the future. He was always a pessimist by temperament, and life, though it has brought him well-deserved recognition and distinction, has also inflicted upon him his share of private sorrows. He cannot change his outlook now, and my cheerful habit of saying ‘yea’ to life and trusting a future generation to make a better business of civilization than we have gives him no satisfaction. Indeed there is not much to be cheerful about, I grant; but, as I tell Bruce, the individual can only do his duty and leave the fate of mankind in the Hands of Him who made them.
“Do come if it is within your power; but do not think I design a martyrdom. We lie in the midst of noble scenery, within easy distance of the sea and among scenes and places of historical attraction. You will have ample freedom to enjoy these things; indeed, if you are at home for dinner and a chat with my brother afterwards, that is all I ask. He seldom breakfasts downstairs and is for the most part invisible till after noon. You will, therefore, be free as air to pursue your own amusement.
“But I know this is putting a strain on friendship and I shall perfectly understand if your plans are made and the suggestion should prove impracticable. I hope the ‘Friends’ are well, though doubtless most of our little company is away.
“Always sincerely yours,
“HUGH FORDYCE.”
I was well pleased to oblige the general, and after August Bank Holiday had passed, set off for Devonshire — a county not familiar to me. My host met me at South Brent and we drove under the Southern ranges of the great Devon tableland to Grimwood, distant five miles from the station.
The approach, after traveling through a network of interminable lanes, rendered stuffy and airless by the height of the hedges, proved somewhat imposing. We descended a long avenue of ancient elms, then entered a great cup or ‘coomb’ of beautiful park land, upon the northern side of which, its long front facing south, stood Grimwood.
Forests surrounded the grasslands and rose densely on all sides of the park. They seemed to press forward in great hanging woods on every quarter of the compass, and threaten to flow down with floods of heavy summer green to drown the mansion and the narrow gardens of pleasure that extended before it.
The drive was mossy and neglected, and many trees showed evidence of decay. Here a winter storm had uprooted three together, but still their dead carcasses lay beside the way. As for the house, seen half a mile distant, it was dignified in design, though ruined to an architectural eye by the ivy that had been permitted to mantle its face, climb to the roofs and destroy its outlines; but, at nearer approach, I was startled, for the great front showed many evidences of decay; the battlements were broken, and a portion of the e
astern face already appeared ruinous. General Fordyce observed my surprise, which I fear was not concealed as carefully as manners might have demanded.
“It’s the ivy,” he said. “I’m always at Bruce to strip the place and do something to it, but he is preoccupied and won’t bother. His own wing is all right, though. All this end has been empty for half a century, and our damp climate is responsible for these rather melancholy results.”
But Grimwood was more than melancholy in my eyes. Something brooding belonged to it. I felt a spirit in the air — a spirit of dissolution and decay, not only sorrowful but sinister. Beauty still harbored in the distinguished Elizabethan elevation; but one felt it lingered upon this moss-grown and neglected edifice only as the sunset, and promised soon to vanish.
“It will last my time,” said Sir Bruce, when a week later, at his own invitation, I had expressed my opinion of his home, coupled with a fear that the fabric call for far-reaching attention.
It was a fortified manor house of two stories spreading under a long and battlemented roof — a very lonely habitation, for the nearest of the estate’s five farmhouses stood a mile away, beyond the ring of forest that hemmed it in.
Upon our drive on the evening of my arrival, General Hugh thanked me very heartily for coming, and was evidently glad to be gone himself. The brothers were so different in their outlook upon life that, though close family feeling and natural affection bound them together, no tougher and more vital bonds of conviction and imagination linked their minds.
Sir Bruce welcomed me with genuine pleasure, and finding him in excellent health and spirits, I suspected that his brother’s discovery of threatened illness had in reality been caused by himself. For I have known relations gravely to disturb each other and then, unconscious that the distracting element sprang from themselves, to declare a fear that the object of their solicitation was unwell. At any rate the master of Grimwood greeted me with more than friendship and repeated his satisfaction at my visit. He was glad, or good enough to say he was glad, of my companionship, while at the same time insisting on a large freedom for me. He made me take long excursions upon the moors and beside the sea; and though he often accompanied me to scenes of old-time importance or natural beauty, yet frequently expressed a wish that I should sometimes desert him and amuse myself alone.
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