Number 87

by Harrington Hext

  “It is true they might strip the face off the earth, as we peel the rind of an orange,” he answered; “but when you say you hope the unknown have hearts, I echo your aspiration. Indeed I firmly believe it is so. If I did not, I should share the general dismay and gathering fear — the herd instinct that is bringing vast numbers of the people to kneel in supplication to their Maker, who holds this energy and all energies in the hollow of His hand. I argue from what is done to what may be done, and entertain no apprehension that any diabolic, anti-human turn will be given to affairs.”

  He talked in this strange strain and exhibited a sort of fitful cheerfulness between his more gloomy predictions. He entirely dismissed the paramount mystery from his conversation and proceeded upon social questions, linking them in most cases with the organizations, or societies, which stood for them in the world. He returned to ‘the Bat’ again before we retired, and was later to bed on this occasion than ever I remembered him. He drank more stimulant than usual and to some extent came out of his shell, giving me a glimpse of a man who seemed younger in his opinions and more generous in his criticisms than the Sir Bruce I knew.

  I reflected before I slept and strove in vain to traverse once more the immense extent of the ground which had occupied his thoughts during the time between dinner and his retirement; but I could not gather up half the threads, or retrace a quarter of the arguments. I concentrated upon the subject that had interested me most, and it was then, to the sound of pattering rain upon the casement and at the first light of a gray dawn, there shot into my head a disquieting and almost horrible suspicion. Was it within the bounds of possibility that this little, highly strung man, his back bent by a lifetime of study and his forehead furrowed with mental labors, could know more of the mystery than he pretended — more than anybody knew? Tonight he had spoken with far greater conviction, far less reserve, than was his custom. He had almost suggested one who stood within the councils of the unknown, for he had scoffed at the predictions of the newspaper writers and laughed at their prophecies; he had declared his shame and despair for humanity before the theories of spiritualistic interference; he had alleged that this and that would most certainly happen and suggested the possibility that other extraordinary events might presently occur. My memory was not good, but I recollected a few of these suggestions and determined to set them down next morning for future reference.

  And then, really worn out, I found a laugh awaiting me on the edge of sleep and the absurdity of these musings became suddenly apparent. That Sir Bruce, of all people, should be in ‘the Bat’s’ secrets suddenly presented itself as a proposition so ridiculous that I laughed aloud. I decided that the little man was possessed, as so many people now admitted themselves to be, by this engrossing and disquieting subject. I explained the situation to myself, and as I did so, my smiles swiftly faded, for if this fear happened to be correct, then my friend might too speedily sink from his old, high plane of intelligence and drift into something akin to monomania. I remembered the effect of the air raids upon peoples’ nerves during the war, and guessed, fairly enough, at what far more dangerous influences might be brought to bear on weak humanity, under conditions equally horrible, but worse, by reason of their unexplained nature and purpose.

  Sir Bruce had said many astounding things of late, from the moment that he solemnly affirmed ‘the Bat’ had appeared to him above Grimwood. After that assertion he had proceeded to others even more improbable. Was he already a prey to hallucinations that might increase and confound his intellect? I began to be seriously agitated and once more determined to write to his brother on my approaching departure.

  I had, until now, rather prided myself upon a certain influence, that in my judgment was responsible for an improvement of Sir Bruce’s health and spirits. Twice, indeed, he assured me that this was the case and acknowledged handsomely my anodyne qualities — in reality the commonplace and moderate opinions of an everyday man. But tonight I feared and my satisfaction diminished.

  With the morning, however, I found him in splendid spirits and good heart. He spent my last two days at Grimwood much in my company, deliberately banished from our topics of conversation all unpleasant subjects, dropped the present and dwelt rather on the humorous and social life of his past in India. I had never seen him more cheerful or self-possessed, and my fears receded and actually vanished by the night before my departure and return home.

  But then a terrible incident came under my own observation, and it is to be feared that the line I took in connection with it was not that of a wise or courageous man.

  I am, however, in no concern to intrude any apologies for my character upon this narrative. The matter is far too tremendous to awaken temptation in that respect, and I claim no credit for anything but honesty.

  Sir Bruce devoted the last day of my visit to pleasure and took me, in a little Ford motor car, to the town of Salcombe by the sea. The excursion led into many beautiful hamlets and over rivers, through a fertile region rich in promise of harvest and golden with ripening corn. We inspected the charms of the little township, walked over silvery sands uncovered by the tide, sailed out to the harbor mouth for an hour, then returning ashore, climbed to the summit of a lofty hill, and enjoyed a vision of the South Hams undulating for radiant miles northward and only ended by the gray border heights and saliencies of Dartmoor.

  After our adventure the master of Grimwood was cheerful and gracious. He dined with good appetite and sat chatting until about eleven o’clock, when he took his leave of me.

  “You will be off before I rise,” he said. “The Ford shall be round in ample time to catch your train at Brent. Thank you heartily for your valued companionship, my dear Granger; it has been a source of the highest satisfaction to me, and I hope, now that you are introduced to Devon, you may be tempted to repeat your visit next year.”

  “You will not be lonely long, I hope, Sir Bruce.”

  “No. My brother returns for our modest shooting about mid-September; and he will certainly find me in better health and spirits than when he left me.”

  My host shook hands heartily, looked forward to our next meeting, when he should return to Chislehurst for the winter, and left me for his own apartments; while I took my cigar and strolled a little while upon the neglected terrace. The night was close and one felt that the brooding cincture of its woods kept the air from Grimwood. But that was the reason for the luxuriant growths and general fertility of forest and all vegetable things within this spacious vale. A summer moon had ascended and hung, as it seemed, moodily above the dense, black regiments of the woods. Cloud drifted up from the south, so tenuous at first that it merely drew a veil over the silver brightness from above; but it seemed that the vapors thickened, and I observed a flicker of summer lightning playing far distant above the confines of the sea. The possibility of a storm attracted me — it would cool the close air; but as yet there was no promise of an immediate change. The moon climbed slowly, pursued by the cloud drift from the south; a heavy silence hung over the earth and the grasslands spread very white to the belt of forest beyond. I felt the grass: there was no dew — another sign of possible change — and then I strolled to the ‘ha-ha’ that separated Grimwood garden from the meadows, descended by half a dozen steps and walked towards the woods. I was in a mind to revisit a little glen, distant half a mile from the house and sequestered within the radius of the trees. It was an exquisite spot — a lake of primroses in spring, so Sir Bruce had told me, and afterwards clad and scented with bluebells. I had only seen it in its high summer splendor of the brake and birches, whose shining stems sprang round about the dingle, where it spread at this season waist-deep in the fern. Hither I had sometimes brought a book and drowsed through a hot afternoon with only rabbits, or a screaming jay for company.

  The clouds still lumbered overhead and at wood edge I heard the gentle sigh of wind. The moonlight, obscured from time to time, broke out again and splashed the woodland way with white light between ebony shadows. I c
rossed the empty hayfield and plunged into the trees by a gamekeeper’s path that led to my destination. Only an owl shouted, and from the distance, his hollow voice dwindled to a murmur, another answered him. A dozen glimmering scuts flickered and vanished as I reached the glade, and I stood for a moment beside a great birch and admired night upon that still and beautiful spot.

  Suddenly the light was darkened, but by no cloud. A black shadow fell and moved upon the moonlit fern, and looking upward I perceived an enormous winged object flying above the tree tops. For a moment it had crossed the disk of the moon and so attracted my eyes. It appeared to be a gigantic bat which wheeled once, then hovered directly over the glade, so steadily that the light from above ran a streak of silver along its ink-black pinions. Now it slowly descended into the dell, not fifty yards from me. I stood beside the birch, saw the monster alight, like a bird with its wings lifted above its head, and then furl them to its sides, bird-fashion. But as it did so, I sank into the fern and crept behind the stem of a tree, lying for some moments silent and in extreme terror. My fear was that the creature might have observed me and had descended for that reason.

  Somebody it had indeed observed, as the future proved, but not myself.

  For a considerable time I lay motionless, then, hearing nothing, rose upon my knees and peeped stealthily from behind the birch.

  Moonlight showed the thing standing where it had settled. I saw its long neck; its low ears set far back upon a snake-shaped head, its large, open eyes of phosphorescent green — the sort of illumination now familiar to me as the light from glowworms. The mass of its body was hidden by the fern and I could only see its head and neck and the hump of its shoulders rising above them. Its head moved and I sank behind my sheltering tree. Then thicker clouds drifted over the moon, and for the space of some minutes everything was dark. I looked again, but could only perceive the light of its eyes fixed and steadfast. Once for a moment they went out, then reappeared. It had shut them and opened them again. It appeared to be larger than any reports of it; but I could not judge, since the lower portions of its body were hidden.

  The clouds thinned once more and, even in that absorbed moment, I was conscious of a whisper from the leaves and a sigh overhead which told that rain had begun to fall. And then, when the moonlight was strong enough, I peeped again and my heart stood still. For the creature’s head was bent, and beside it stood a man.

  I could not recognize him, but perceived the two stood month to mouth, and I strained for any murmur of sound, or any sign that might indicate monster and human being were interchanging thoughts. To my frenzied fancy there once came the tones of a human voice; but it was impossible to be assured of this; though a sound not human I certainly heard. It was a low and intermittent gurgle, like a bird’s note. This sound reached me and soon ceased, but no distinguishable word answered it. The whole scene must have been in reality very brief, though it stretched, as a nightmare stretches, into an eternity for me, where I watched with my hair bristling and sweat running down my brow. It was, however, quickly hidden by the serious forerunners of heavy cloud. Again the moon was blotted and all plunged into a deeper darkness than before. Only the distant eyes still shone out of it and I felt that rain was descending coldly upon my face. For five more minutes I waited, and then the eyes disappeared and I saw them no more. A last gleam of light broke from above, a fitful flash soon followed by storm; but the illumination sufficed to show the glade empty. ‘The Bat’ was gone and the man had also disappeared.

  Waiting a little longer and conscious now of the strange odor reported wherever this thing was seen, I started at length in a drenching rain, thankful for the darkness that concealed my movements. For a moment I stood and frankly shook again before a distant light seen far off through the rainstorm as I emerged from the wood; but this time it was a friendly illumination that hung high over the great porch of Grimwood, where Sir Bruce had his own apartments. There a lamp shone through his lowered blind, and another, under a red shade, greeted me from the French window through which I had emerged half an hour before.

  I thankfully regained the house, but with jarring nerves and something very like palpitation of the heart. I then shut and locked the windows, helped myself to a stiff tot of whiskey, extinguished the lamp, lighted a candle and threading the silent passages, reached my own room.

  My first thought was to approach Sir Bruce without delay and describe all that I had seen; but honestly I dreaded to do so. I felt scarcely master of myself before the complicated horror of what I had seen, nor could I bear to reflect upon it, or consider its implications. Such a common-sense mind as I possessed might doubtless have been expected to approach the phenomena without any distraction, for I lacked imaginative powers and was not sufficiently inventive to pile horror upon horror, or develop the situation in my thoughts; but the actual event proved more than enough to unsettle me. The stark fact that some unknown creature had come down to earth and conversed with a man afforded sufficient matter to confound me. Nor could I suppose that any other than the master of Grimwood had met this thing by appointment in the night-hidden forest.

  I longed for time to pass, that I might see again the light of day, and I doubted not that ‘the Bat’ was even now upon some mission the purpose of which another four and twenty hours would probably reveal. I believed most thoroughly that I had seen Sir Bruce himself, and I sank into haunted sleep under that conviction. But with day there came doubts of such a suspicion, and subsequent events convinced me that this dreadful fear was groundless.

  CHAPTER X

  FROM RUSSIA TO CHINA

  I RETURNED home to find that my friend Leon Jacobs and Paul Strossmayer were both back; while a week later Jack Smith completed his holiday and Merrivale Medland also reappeared among us, tanned very brown by southern suns. The lawyer’s walking tour had apparently done him good, for though he exhibited no cordiality, Smith took occasion to express regrets at a past ebullition of temper, and Leon was quick to meet him halfway.

  Certain events in his own country combined to atone for Paul Strossmayer’s disappointments in another. For Greater Serbia had determined its future constitution on lines that Strossmayer considered to be dignified, advanced and wise. Jugo-Slavia was declared a hereditary monarchy with the Karageorgevitch dynasty affirmed upon the throne. Her Ministerial Councils had assembled and taken this important decision. The Councils expressed themselves in favor of a unified State with a single legislative Parliament, supported, however, by a system of non-legislative, local autonomy throughout the new Empire.

  I well recollect our friend’s satisfaction before these facts, and how, with almost childish pleasure, he dwelt on every detail, even to the heraldic devices of his country. The royal arms would be a double-headed, white eagle, with the symbols of Croatia and Slovenia upon its breast; while the national ensign was designed in a combination of three colors: blue, white and red. Strossmayer’s disappointments were concerned with America, where his quest for young and aspiring radio-chemists had proved unproductive. Such men as he needed did not lack; but he found their own country valued their services and was quick to offer them such inducements that no temptation existed to seek fame and fortune afield.

  “America,” he said, “has sane millionaires who foster research. Her public is better educated than yours: you have only got to read her new books on science and philosophy to see it. She has even a misty feeling that pure research is worth while, simply as a quest for truth. But she is intensely practical also. She appreciates radio-activity and its tremendous approaching significance. The commercial, industrial and protective possibilities lying before her chemical researchers are clearly seen and grasped by their own countrymen. In the United States the chemist is somebody. His may be the ‘big noise,’ as they say, tomorrow.”

  Yet one circumstance, which he did not hesitate to impart, atoned in great measure for Strossmayer’s transatlantic failure.

  “After all,” he confessed, “there is not any among the
m who, to my knowledge, has yet gone as far as Ian Noble. While I was away, his work has progressed amazingly. He stands a head and shoulders above the best in America, or the Southern Republics, and rapidly gains upon our unknown rivals. Ian is, in truth, far along the road to the goal, and has shown me some staggering things since I returned. But he works too hard. I have ordered him to take some rest and get away from his laboratory for a week or two. It is doubtful, however, whether he will do so. I find in him an element almost of fear that he may be too late, so to speak, and fail to catch the unknown in time. He takes a gloomy view of what has already happened and what may happen at any moment.”

  This statement deeply interested Jacobs and myself.

  “Has Noble developed his theory of the unknown?” inquired Leon, and Strossmayer answered ‘yes.’ Upon that point, however, he had not very closely examined his protégé.

  “Details do not particularly interest me, now that I am convinced these secret agents are sound in their politics and can be trusted,” he replied; “but Noble has a new theory which needlessly disquiets him. We are, of course, not agreed on the performances of the unknown, and he does not applaud them so heartily as I do.”

  “Has he changed his opinion, that ‘the Bat’ itself is a myth?” asked Jacobs, and the other admitted that he had.

  “‘The Bat’ still puzzles him,” he answered, “but that slippery customer may also be within his grasp ere long.”

  Strossmayer exulted in the assassination of Judge Stubbs. He held republican ideals unworthy of a mighty nation, and recounted the effect of this political murder, as it had come under his own eyes. He informed us that he had been in Chicago at the time, and never remembered to have seen such a display of emotion as the announcement caused.