Number 87

by Harrington Hext

  “I have a very good mind to go up to your master’s rooms and hammer at the door and insist on being attended to,” I said; but he earnestly begged me to do no such thing.

  “Doan’t e, there’s a good man,” he begged, with a familiarity that was not in the least impertinent. “Take my advice and carry on as usual. The master knows very well as you be here, and he wouldn’t treat you uncivil without a proper reason. He wouldn’t treat a house-beetle uncivil for that matter — kindness made alive he is, I do assure you. But if anything could make him mad ‘twould be to push in upon him, or break his peace. Only once — four year agone — when he’d been cooped up for three mortal days, did I venture to forget orders and shout and say I must be answered, or I’d fetch the doctor; but I never done it again. He was all right, of course — busy about his ideas — and by gor! the lightning flashed from his eyes when he opened the door and leapt out like a raging lion upon me. Very near sacked me that instant moment; and it weren’t until my wife and widowed darter went on their knees to him that I was saved. And so it will be with you; you’ll lose the gentleman’s friendship for evermore if you thrust in.”

  As for the friendship of Sir Bruce, it must be confessed that I had ceased to covet that. He was certainly using me ill, and I did resent the fact that he could pursue his own interests, whatever they might at present be, and leave me to cool my heels and wait his pleasure after my great response. As Timothy truly remarked, his master knew I was in the house, summoned thither at his urgent direction, and I could only suppose some irregularity, if not an actual upheaval of mind, kept him in his apartments and left me idle and puzzled beneath. But I had to leave it at that for the moment and, resolving to start for London at daybreak, I went to my room and prepared for dinner.

  The gongs rang punctually at the appointed times, one half an hour before dinner, the second at eight o’clock, when the meal was served. I descended at five minutes to the hour, hoping to find Sir Bruce in the study, but he was still invisible. I then strolled to the dining room, where two places were laid on the polished walnut-wood table. Timothy was opening a bottle of claret and had not seen Sir Bruce.

  “He’ll be stirring at the gong belike,” he told me. “You see there’s no call to wait upon him up over. He never had his own man and always looked after himself. He’s got all he wants in his rooms, and hot water laid on from the kitchen likewise.”

  At eight o’clock the veteran struck the gong, and as the sound rumbled through the hall and died away along the upper and lower corridors, Ann Ford, his daughter, brought a tureen of soup from the kitchen. Then Timothy turned up an electric light, which hung over the dining-room table, and I went into the hall, that I might greet Sir Bruce on his appearance. But he did not appear. I waited for five minutes and then suggested a second warning, only to find that nothing could induce Timothy to touch the gong again.

  “You can go in and eat and drink,” he said, “for Sir Bruce ban’t coming. He’s so punctual as a cow in all his ways, and a thousand times I have seed him turn the corner of thicky stairs afore the sound of the gong was still. If he had meant to take his dinner along with you, he’d have been down on the stroke. Early he may be, late never. He ain’t coming, master.”

  I stood irresolute and exasperated. The old boy carried the soup to the service table and Ann — a quiet woman of forty, who much resembled her mother — prepared to wait upon me. It seemed that there was nothing left either to say or do, and Timothy and his daughter attended quietly till I should take my seat. The situation was absurd, yet I saw nothing amusing in it. Indeed I experienced acute annoyance, while feeling at the same time there could be no sense in displaying any. But the mildest mannered man hates to look a fool through no fault of his own, and I felt not only that these impassive people were laughing at me behind the mask of their pleasant countenances, but also that, despite Bassett’s assurances, he must really know more concerning his master’s movements than he pretended. The man and woman regarded me quietly and patiently while I strode up and down the dining room, irresolute and perturbed, with my hands in my pockets.

  Suddenly a desire took me to gaze again at the exterior of Sir Bruce’s apartments and I went to the French window, pulled back the heavy curtains drawn over it and flung it open. Before I walked out, however, the factotum spoke.

  “I shouldn’t do that, sir, if I was you,” he said, and for once I detected a quickening of his slow speech. He evidently had no desire that I should leave the house. Indeed he stepped towards me and turning I saw something very like anxiety and concern upon his face. His daughter made less attempt to hide her feelings. She was staring straight at me and evidently felt alarm.

  Much and vainly I have wished since then that I had taken the old man’s advice; but I did not. I was nettled, and the suggestion in his voice and action that he would actually prevent me from leaving the house if he could, upset what little temper remained to me.

  “Stop where you are,” I said, “and mind your own business. I am going to walk on the terrace, and when I want my meal, I’ll take it.”

  So saying I left them and passed into the darkness of the night. I was conscious that both Bassett and his daughter followed me to the window; but they came no further, and when I turned, after a few short strides, they had evidently thought better of it and retreated.

  The night was still heavy with an earth-born fog, but the mist was disposed irregularly. It followed the course of the stream, that descended through the meadows, and it dislimned and wound away along the neighboring edges of the woods. About and above the house and gardens there was but little vapor and I could see the stars shining over my head. I padded the terrace half a dozen times and then rapidly grew calm. In a few movements I perceived the futility of this irritation and also discovered that I was a hungry man. I determined to go back, eat my dinner and behave with reason, still hoping that Sir Bruce might be pleased to descend and spend the evening with me afterwards. But, before returning to the house, I recollected the impulse that had driven me from it and the motive: to gaze again at the outside of my host’s rooms and observe if they were still illuminated. I stood off from the house, therefore, left the neglected and grass-grown terrace and walked out upon the garden, that I might get a look at the windows above.

  The light still burned in them and threw a gentle beam into the haze without. And then, in a moment, I became conscious of some slow and silent movement above my head and saw a patch of darkness blot the stars. It became swiftly larger, and though it was too dark to perceive its outline, this grew fairly distinct in a few seconds and I saw that the object was descending straight upon Grimwood. It became defined in a moment and my eyes, now accustomed to the darkness, made out a gigantic flying animal that wheeled once, then turned and, after remaining stationary with outspread pinions, slowly descended upon the roof of the manor. It settled as gently as an owl upon the battlemented summit, then furled its wings and turned round with its long neck stretched forward over the terrace beneath. The movements were automatic, and just such as any bird would have made when alighting in this position.

  The thing had perched immediately above Sir Bruce’s windows, and I could see its bat-like head, its ears laid back and the glow-worm light in eyes that seemed out of proportion large to its flat, reptilian skull. They were like saucers of dim fire. I knew at once that the creature was the same that I had observed in the glade during my previous visit, and I waited, transfixed, gasping and staring upwards in the horrible expectation that Sir Bruce would swiftly open his window, or possibly appear upon the roof beside his messenger. But that did not happen and, instead, I found myself faced with an event far more appalling. To see the creature was terrible enough, and I felt my heart beating furiously, so that my breast could hardly contain it; but now a thing far worse befell, for I in my turn was seen.

  ‘The Bat’ perceived me standing and staring upon it from below; its head suddenly thrust out; its neck was lowered over the parapet; I felt as th
ough a ray had struck me from its eyes. Even in that moment of terror, I perceived the sudden increase of their light. They glowed and I was conscious of being illuminated by them. Then the thing opened its wings again and slid noiselessly down, straight to where I stood beneath it. As it came the light undoubtedly increased, and I felt myself circled by a ray from which escape into the outer darkness was impossible. As lightly and swiftly as a night hawk it descended, wheeled immediately over me, not twenty feet above my head, and then touching ground some fifteen yards distant, closed its wings and hopped towards me.

  I strove to run, but could not move hand or foot. A frenzied instinct to get into the house and so evade it, won no response from my frozen muscles. As in a nightmare I stood, fastened to the earth, all my faculties clear, conscious that a dreadful death must now be the matter of moments only.

  Moments indeed they were, but time becomes no more than a word in many a supreme crisis of life, and for me those moments extended into hours — a very lifetime of acute agony. In reality all was over in a few seconds; but they stretched to an eternity.

  I struggled to shout my danger and summon aid, but no sound came; then I perceived a man’s figure running swiftly from the corner of the house and felt a dreadful regret that he had come too late. At the same moment something seemed to crack in my heart and I found myself falling to the ground, in what my last conscious thought believed was death.

  CHAPTER XIV

  NUMBER 87

  WHEN consciousness returned I found an arm supporting a glass of spirits at my lips. Instinctively I drank of it and then heard Sir Bruce thank God.

  But it was not his arm that held me up. Timothy Bassett knelt beside me and sustained me.

  “Have no fear — all is well,” said Sir Bruce, and then I perceived that he stood beside me, but in strange attire. He was clad in tight-fitting black from head to heel and his head appeared to be enveloped in a heavy black cowl with earpieces. Indeed only his eyes, nose and mouth were visible. I gazed wildly about me for the monster; but it had vanished, and after a few words, Sir Bruce withdrew.

  “Bassett will give you an arm,” he said. “Return to the dining room and try to make a good meal. I will join you shortly.”

  Then he spoke strangely to his old servant.

  “Be ready to leave — all of you — in three hours’ time, Timothy. Tell your wife and Ann to set about their preparations at once. For tonight you can convey yourselves and your goods to the empty lodge. There you will be safe. And have no fear for the future. All of you are amply provided for.”

  He left us, having seen me again on my legs, and I now observed that Bassett was in a condition of supreme dejection and misery.

  “It’s all over; it’s all over,” he kept mumbling, nor did he appear able to answer the questions I put to him.

  He gave me an arm to the house, but I was now recovered and presently contrived to eat and drink. While I did so, Bassett who waited on me alone, seemed concerned for his own future.

  “Us was sworn to say nought,” he explained, “and I pray God that no evil will fall upon me and my wife and child. We’re innocent as unborn babes — the three of us.”

  Knowing nothing, I said nothing.

  Sir Bruce appeared before I had finished and himself partook of a little food; then, somewhat dizzy and unsteady, I followed him to his study. He still wore the singular garments, but had removed his cowl. He was very pale, his eyes flickered with a strange light and the woe of the world appeared to rest upon his forehead.

  He bade me take an easy chair and then began his story without preliminaries.

  “I shall leave you a brief manuscript,” he said, “and I ask you to publish it in The Times at an early date. Before we part, I will read it to you. The document covers all the ground of my actions and motives, my ambitions and my failure to achieve them. Together with what I am now going to impart, it embraces the whole story. I have chosen you as the recipient of my confidence, and I know, arduous and painful though the task has been and may yet be, you will not blame me in that matter. That I should have caused you this terrible shock tonight I deeply regret. I had planned not to do so, and only the unexpected accident of your leaving the dinner table and coming out upon the terrace precipitated the misfortune.”

  He broke off for a moment, then plunged into his extraordinary narrative.

  “When radio-activity was discovered and the new elements appeared, I found myself deeply interested in the subject. I devoured the scanty information to be obtained, and fifteen years ago, when on holiday in England, studied in the French laboratories and learned all that could be learned up to that time. A natural bent inspired me, and when I returned to India for my last term of official service, I devoted every moment of my leisure to radio-activity. The story of my labors will perish with the results of them. It suffices that by a strange accident on an expedition in the Sikkim, I found a new element and proved it to be No. 87 of the Periodic Table. The late Ian Noble, as I know now, discovered No. 85, and concerning that I can say nothing. No. 85 has disappeared with Noble himself; but from what I heard Strossmayer say at the club on the night before I killed him, I believed that it was No. 87 Noble had found. That No. 85 possessed the ubiquitous powers of my element I cannot suppose. No. 87 is the King of Elements — whether in this world or any other.

  “My element, forever nameless now, and destined to be hidden from this generation with my departure, is distributed under certain natural conditions with the utmost profusion. An extraordinary chance — little likely to happen again — placed it within my reach. I quickly perceived that the supply was enormous and after sustained and tireless experiments, I found myself able to secure the energy at will and in quantity far in excess of any private requirement. For three years I matured my processes and did not leave India until I had discovered, not only the complete attributes of the element — its duration, and so forth — but also the means by which it might be controlled and applied. The stupendous difficulties attendant on radium and other radio-active material are modified in connection with mine. It is an amenable giant.

  “What are its attributes, and what its prodigious significance to mankind, you will learn from my manuscript. What I have done with it you already understand, because the facts are common property. I am the ‘Unknown.’ The events of the last year are my work and mine only. When I left the Civil Service and retired, I came to England armed with my secret; and it was my original purpose to place it at the service of our Government. For reflection convinced me that to make it public and inform the world of what I had found, might inevitably defeat my own ambitions and desires. But we were now immersed in the Great War, and apprehending only too certainly the purposes to which the energy would be applied, I determined to conceal it. At the crisis, I had decided to enter myself into the arena and win the war for the Allies. This I could have done, and I was actually making my arrangements, when severe indisposition overtook me. For a year, as you will remember, I was a very sick man, and during that year the war was won.

  “Again I considered the importance of liberating my discovery, as a healing rather than a destructive force, and again I convinced myself that the danger far exceeded the promise of any salvation I could yet bring. Passions still swept every heart, and well I knew that neither the defeated nor victorious nations might yet be trusted with No. 87. Naturally no thought of self-advancement darkened my deliberations; otherwise I had certainly proclaimed the find and won the earthly fame that must have resulted to me from such an achievement. But I had long lost any personal ambition in the matter and was only concerned with an agonizing desire to help mankind, and an equally terrible conviction that it was still impossible to do so. The temptation to reveal was fought by the deep conviction that no Government on earth might be trusted with this terrific agent. Again and again I was upon the brink of proclaiming my knowledge; again and again circumstances and the ceaseless revelations of man’s faulty ambitions, false ideals, unconquerable sava
gery and unconquerable greed kept me silent. The terms of the great peace struck me dumb with dismay, and though my secret tortured me, I kept it from mankind — at a cost only I can tell.

  “But through slow stages, now seen clearly enough by me, I paid the price of that fearful strain. It wore me down; it deteriorated my intellect; it found the faulty ingredient within my own nature and finally drove me into the actions I deplore too late. I had conquered much; I had withstood the ordinary human weakness for fame, for the applause of my own generation and the honor of generations to come. These allurements passed me by; but I was not proof against myself, and those dangerous constituents of character ingrained in my own personality and now to be liberated by my weakening intelligence.”

  He broke off for a moment upon a subsidiary theme.

  “I am a pessimist,” he continued, “and we will consider that for a moment. What is it, Granger, to be a pessimist? Pessimism is a mental attitude and indeed, the only logical standpoint of mind, given certain postulates. When discontent with things as they are takes the form of pessimism, it is indeed a ‘divine discontent,’ if it embodies the desire to lift mankind from the slough upward and onward to nobler conditions and higher happiness. Such pessimism is justified of her children, and I have never denied my pessimism, or been on bad terms with myself for embracing that attitude.

  “I found myself, then, on the horns of an intolerable dilemma. I proved to myself by a thousand secret experiments that I had discovered a panacea for much earthly suffering, and I also convinced myself that, since this discovery was potent for evil as well as good, to proclaim it and make it over to man in his present temper, would endanger the very foundations of society. There was none on earth that I could trust; there is still none on earth that I can trust — Scots caution, perhaps, carried to insane lengths; or else my native idiosyncracy, that ever prompted me to reserve, reticence, suppression. And at this stage my thoughts turned in upon myself, and out of my own character — out of my convictions, even out of my opinions and self-delusion that I was a wise, tolerant and temperate man, there arose the accursed temptation personally to experiment with my new-found energy.