by Bram Stoker
Adam smiled kindly at the old man:
‘It was not amatory. Even if it was, such was to be expected. I should be the last man in the world to object, since I am myself an offender in that respect. Moreover, not only have I been taught to fight fair, but by nature I really believe I am just. I would be as tolerant of and as liberal to a rival if he were one as I should expect him to be to me. No, the look I mean was nothing of that kind. And so long as it did not lack proper respect I should not of my own part condescend to notice it. I shall try to describe it to you. Did you ever seriously study the eyes of a hound?’
‘At rest?’
‘No, when he is following his instincts! Or, better still, ’ Adam went on, ‘the eyes of a bird of prey when he is following his instincts. Not when he is swooping, but merely when he is watching his quarry?’
‘No, ’ said Sir Nathaniel, ‘I don’t know that I ever did. Why, may I ask?’
‘That was the look. Certainly not amatory or anything of that kind – and yet it was, it struck me, more dangerous, if not so deadly as an actual threatening.’
Again there was a silence, which Sir Nathaniel broke as he stood up:
‘I think it would be well if we all thought over this by ourselves. Then we can renew the subject.’
CHAPTER VIII
OOLANGA
Mr Salton had an appointment for six o’clock at Walsall. When he had driven off, Sir Nathaniel took Adam by the arm and said to him:
‘May I come with you for a while to your study? I want to speak to you privately without your uncle knowing about it, or even what the subject is. You don’t mind, do you? It is not any idle curiosity. No, no. It is on the subject to which we are all committed.’
Adam said with some constraint:
‘Is it necessary to keep my uncle in the dark about it? He might be offended.’
‘It is not necessary; but it is advisable. It is for his sake that I asked. My friend is an old man, and it might concern him unduly – even alarm him. I promise you there shall be nothing that could cause him anxiety in our silence, or at which he could take umbrage.’
‘Go on, sir!’ said Adam simply.
When they were locked into the study he spoke:
‘You see, your uncle is now an old man. I know it, for we were boys together. He has led an uneventful and somewhat self-contained life, so that any such condition of things as has now arisen is apt to perplex him from its very strangeness. In fact, any new matter is trying to old people. It has its own disturbances and its own anxieties, and neither of these things are good for lives that should be restful. Your uncle is a strong man with a very happy and placid nature. Given health and ordinary conditions of life, there is no reason why he should not live to be a hundred. You and I therefore, who both love him, though in different ways, should make it our business to protect him from all disturbing influences. Such care shall undoubtedly add to the magnitude of his span of life and the happiness of his days. I am sure you will agree with me that any labour to this end would be well spent. All right, my boy! I see your answer in your eyes; so we need say no more of that. And now, ’ here his voice changed, ‘tell me all that took place at that interview. You cannot be too exhaustive. Nothing is too trivial. There are strange things in front of us – how strange we cannot at present even guess. Doubtless some of the difficult things to understand which lie behind the veil will in time be shown to us to see and understand. In the meantime, all we can do is to think and work patiently, fearlessly, and unselfishly to an end that we think is right. Tell me as well as you can – I shall try to help you. You had just got so far as where Lilla opened the door to Mr Caswall, and the Christy Minstrel, who had followed him, went a little distance away and lurked. You also observed that Mimi was disturbed in her mind at the way Mr Caswall looked at her cousin.’
‘Certainly – though “disturbed in her mind” is only a poor way of expressing her objection.’
‘Can you remember well enough to describe Caswall’s eyes, and how Lilla looked, and what Mimi said and did? Also of the Christy Minstrel, who is, I take it, Oolanga, Caswall’s West African servant. When you have said all you know of these things I want you to tell me what you have heard in any way about the “Christy Minstrel.” I take it this will be the most humorous way of bringing him in. Though indeed I doubt his being in any conceivable way a subject of humour. Tragedy would more probably be a follower in his train.’
‘I’ll do what I can, sir. All the time Mr Caswall was staring he kept his eyes fixed and motionless – but not as if he was dead or in a trance. His forehead was wrinkled up as it is when one is trying to see through or into something. At the best of times his face is not of very equable or of gentle expression; but when it was screwed up like that it was almost diabolical. It frightened poor Lilla so that she trembled, and after a bit got so pale that I thought she had fainted. However, she held up and tried to stare back, but in a feeble kind of way. Then Mimi came close and held her hand. That braced her up, and – still, never ceasing her return stare – she got colour again and seemed more like herself.’
‘Did he stare too?’
‘More than ever. The weaker Lilla seemed the stronger he seemed to get, just as if he was feeding on her strength. All at once she turned round, threw up her hands, and fell down in a faint. I could not see what else happened just then, for Mimi had thrown herself on her knees beside her and hid her from me. Then there was something like a black shadow between us, and there was the pleasing form of the Christy Minstrel, looking more like a malignant devil than ever. He had better look out. I am not usually a patient man, and the sight of that ugly devil is enough to make an Eskimo’s blood boil. When he saw my face he seemed to realise danger – immediate danger – and he slunk out of the room as noiselessly as if he had been blown out. I learned one thing, however. He is an enemy, if ever a man had one.’
‘That still leaves us three to two!’ – this from Sir Nathaniel.
‘Then Caswall slunk out much as the nigger had done. When he had gone, Lilla recovered at once. I hope I won’t see Mr Christy look at Lilla again!’ As he spoke he took a nickel-plated revolver from his pocket and put it back again with an ominous remark: ‘I don’t know if he wishes to be buried on English soil. He can have his choice if he likes. Ordinarily speaking, he isn’t worth a cartridge; but when there is a lady in the case –’ The revolver clicked.
‘Now, ’ said Sir Nathaniel, anxious to restore peace, ‘have you found out anything yet regarding your friend the Christy Minstrel? I am anxious to be posted regarding him. I fear there will be, or may be, grave trouble with him.’
‘Yes, sir, I’ve heard a good deal about him – of course it is not official; but then hearsay may guide us at first. You know my man Davenport, I think. He really is my alter ego – private secretary, confidential man of business, and general factotum. He came with me in a journey of exploration across the desert. He saved my life many times. He is devoted to me, and has my full confidence. I asked him to go on board the West African and have a good look round, and find out what he could about Mr Caswall. Naturally, he was struck with the aboriginal savage. He found one of the ship’s stewards who had been on the regular voyages to South Africa. He knew Oolanga and had made a study of him. He is a man who gets on well with niggers, and they opened their hearts to him. It seems that this Oolanga is quite a great person in the nigger world of the African West Coast. He has the two things which men of his own colour respect: he can make them afraid, and he is lavish with money. I don’t know whose money – but that does not matter. They are always ready to trumpet his greatness. Evil greatness it is – but neither does that matter. Briefly, this is his history. He was originally a witch-finder – about as low an occupation as exists amongst even aboriginal savages, amongst the mangrove swamps. Then he got up in the world and became an Obi-man, which gives an opportunity to wealth via blackmail. Finally, he reached the highest honour in hellish service. He became a user of Voodoo, 1 whic
h seems to be a service of the utmost baseness and cruelty. I was told some of his deeds of cruelty, which are simply sickening. They made me long for an opportunity of helping to drive him back to hell. You might think to look at him that you could measure in some way the extent of his vileness; but it would be a vain hope. Monsters such as he is belong to an earlier and more rudimentary stage of barbarism. Whoever kills him when the time comes will not have to fear punishment, but to expect praise. He is in his way a clever fellow – for a nigger; but is none the less dangerous or the less hateful for that. The men in the ship told me that he was a collector: some of them had seen his collections. Such collections! All that was potent for evil in bird or beast, or even in fish. Beaks that could break and rend and tear. All the birds represented were of a predatory kind. Even the fishes are those which are born to destroy, to wound, to torture. The collection, I assure you, was an object lesson in human malignity. This being has enough evil in his face to frighten even a strong man. It is little wonder that the sight of it unexpectedly put that poor girl into a dead faint! If that other savage intends to keep him round here they may build a new prison at once; for there won’t be a decent man or woman in his neighbourhood that won’t be a criminal at the very start, if indeed it be a crime to destroy such a thing.’
Adam was up in the early morning and took a smart walk round the Brow. As he was passing Diana’s Grove he looked in on the short avenue of trees, and noticed the snakes killed on the previous morning by the mongoose. They all lay in a row, straight and rigid, as if they had been placed by hands. Their skins seemed all damp and sticky, and they were covered all over with ants and all sorts of insects. They looked loathsome, so after a glance he passed on. A little later, when his steps took him, naturally enough, past the entrance to Mercy Farm, he was passed by the Christy Minstrel moving quickly under the trees wherever there was shadow. Laid across one extended arm, and looking like dirty towels across a rail, he had the horrid-looking snakes. He did not seem to see Adam, to the pleasant surprise of the latter. No one was to be seen at Mercy except a few workmen in the farmyard. So, after waiting round on a chance of seeing Mimi, he began to go slowly home. Once more he was passed on the way. This time it was by Lady Arabella, walking hurriedly and so furiously angry that she did not seem to recognise him even to the extent of acknowledging his bow. He wondered, but simply went on his way. When he got to Lesser Hill, he went to the coach-house where the box with the mongoose was kept, and took it with him, intending to finish at the Mound of Stone what he had begun the previous morning with regard to the extermination. He found that the snakes were even more easily attacked than on the previous day; no less than six were killed in the first half-hour. As no more appeared, he took it for granted that the morning’s work was over, and went towards home. The mongoose had by this time become accustomed to him, and was willing to let himself be handled freely. Adam lifted him up and put him on his shoulders and walked on. Presently he saw a lady advancing towards him, and as they grew nearer recognised Lady Arabella. Hitherto the mongoose had been quiet, like a playful affectionate kitten; but when the two got close he was horrified to see the mongoose, in a state of the wildest fury, with every hair standing on end, jump from his shoulder and run towards Lady Arabella. It looked so furious and so intent on attack that he called out:
‘Look out – look out! The animal is furious and means to attack.’
She looked more than ever disdainful and was passing on; the mongoose jumped at her in a furious attack. Adam rushed forward with his stick, the only weapon he had. But just as he got within striking distance the lady drew out a revolver and shot the animal, breaking his backbone. Not satisfied with this, she poured shot after shot into him till the magazine was exhausted. There was no coolness or hauteur about her now. She seemed more furious even than the animal, her face transformed with hate, and as determined to kill as he had appeared to be. Adam, not knowing exactly what to do, lifted his hat in apology and hurried on to Lesser Hill.
CHAPTER IX
SURVIVALS
At breakfast Sir Nathaniel noticed that Adam was put out about something. But he said nothing. The lesson of silence is better remembered in age than in youth. When they were both in the study, where Sir Nathaniel had followed him, Adam at once began to tell his companion of what had happened. Sir Nathaniel looked graver and graver as the narration proceeded, and when Adam had stopped he remained silent for several minutes. At last he said:
‘This is very grave. I have not formed my thought yet; but it seems to me at first impression that this is worse than anything we had thought of.’
‘Why, sir?’ said Adam. ‘Is the killing of a mongoose – no matter by whom – so serious a thing as all that?’
The other smoked on quietly for quite another few minutes before he spoke.
‘When I have properly thought it over I may moderate my opinion. But in the meantime it seems to me that there is something dreadful behind all this – something that may affect all our lives – that may mean the issue of life or death to any of us.’
Adam sat up quickly.
‘Do tell me, sir, what is in your mind – if, of course, you have no objection to, or do not think it better not.’
‘I have no objection, Adam. In fact, if I had, I should have to overcome it. I fear there can be no more hidden or reserved thoughts between us.’
‘Indeed, sir, that sounds serious, worse than serious!’
Again they both resumed their cigars, and presently Sir Nathaniel said gravely:
‘Adam, I greatly fear the time has come for us – for you and me, at all events – to speak out plainly to one another. Does not there seem something very mysterious about this?’
‘I have thought so, sir, all along. The only difficulty one has is what one is to think and where to begin.’
‘Let us begin with what you have told me. First take the conduct of the mongoose.’
Adam waited; the other went on:
‘He was quiet, even friendly and affectionate with you. He only attacked the snakes, which is, after all, only his business in life.’
‘That is so!’
‘Then we must try to find out or imagine some reason why he attacked Lady Arabella.’
‘I fear we shall have to imagine; there is no logical answer to that question.’
‘Then let us imagine. He had not shown any disposition hitherto to attack strangers?’
‘No; the opposite. He made friends at once with everyone he came across.’
‘Then even if his action is based on instinct, why does he single out one person in such a way?’
‘In that, sir, I see a difficulty, or, if you will permit me, it may be only a flaw in your reasoning.’
‘Permit! I shall be glad. Go on.’
‘It seems to me that you take “instinct” as a definite fixed thing concerning which there can be only one reading – even by the brute creation.’
‘Go on, Adam. This is very interesting.’
‘We both may have erred in our idea of “instinct.” May it not be that a mongoose may have merely the instinct to attack, that nature does not allow or provide him with the fine reasoning powers to discriminate who he is to attack?’
‘Good! Of course that may be so. But then, on the other hand, should we not satisfy ourselves why he does wish to attack anything? If for centuries in all parts of the world this particular animal is known to attack only one kind of other animal, are we not justified in assuming that when a case strange to us comes before us, if one of the first class attacks a hitherto unclassed animal, he recognises in that animal some quality which it has in common with the hitherto classed animal?’
‘That is a good argument, sir, ’ Adam went on, ‘but a dangerous one. If we followed it out with pure logic it would lead us to believe that Lady Arabella is a snake. And I doubt if we – either of us – are prepared to go so far.’
‘So far as I am concerned I am to follow blindly the lead of logic. But bef
ore doing so we have a duty to fulfil.’
‘What is that duty, sir?’
‘The first of all duties, truth. We must be sure before going to such an end that there is no point as yet unconsidered which would account for the unknown thing which puzzles us.’
‘As how?’
‘Well, suppose the instinct works on some physical basis – sight, for instance, or smell. If there were anything in recent juxtaposition to the accused which would look like the cause or would carry the scent, surely that would supply the missing cause.’
‘Of course!’ Adam spoke with conviction.
Sir Nathaniel went on:
‘Now, from what you tell me, your Christy Minstrel friend had just come from the direction of Diana’s Grove carrying the dead snakes, which the mongoose had killed the previous morning. Might not the scent have been carried that way?’
‘Of course it might, probably was. I never thought of that. Look here, sir, I really think it will be prudent of us not to draw final conclusions till we know more. At any rate that episode has a suggestive hint for us – one which we can follow up without saying anything to anybody. Then we shall be in a safer position for going on.’
‘Good and sensible!’ Sir Nathaniel spoke approvingly; and so it was tacitly arranged between the two to wait.
But whilst they were sitting in silence an idea struck Adam, and he thought it wise to make it known to the elder man.
‘Two things I want to ask you, if I may. One is a sort of corollary to the other.’ Sir Nathaniel listened. He went on: ‘Is there any possible way of even guessing approximately how long a scent will remain? You see, this is a natural scent, and may derive from a place where it has been effective for thousands of years. Then, does a scent of any kind carry with it any form or quality of another kind, either good or evil? I ask you because one ancient name of the house lived in by the lady who was attacked by the mongoose was “The Lair of the White Worm.” If any of these things be so, our possibilities of knowledge and our difficulties have multiplied indefinitely. They may even change in kind. We may get into even moral entanglements; before we know it we may be even in the midst of a bedrock struggle between good and evil.’