The Master of the Macabre

by Russell Thorndike

  “Do you feel well enough to tell me the preamble and the incidents?” I asked. “It would make the opening of Carnaby’s packet much more exciting for me.”

  “It was what I was going to suggest,” he answered. “Then I shall have your help in examining his deductions. But I hear the Doctor’s car. I’ll deal with him first; but whatever he has to say about my Latin Cursitis, I’ll get Hoadley to park me in the Library, and tell you there how I once was given a mysterious overcoat in India, which disappeared.”

  I could see that the doctor was thoroughly mystified by Hogarth’s complaint, but to my relief, he had no objection to his patient being moved into the Library for the day. “I’ll send in our hospital masseuse this afternoon,” he said. “Till then, put on a warm dressing-gown and take it easy. You are certainly not a rheumaticky subject. Can’t understand it. I’ve never known you indisposed before, my dear Hogarth, and if massage doesn’t help you, I shall feel inclined to agree with Hoadley and Shakespeare and say that you need more the divine than the physician. That will necessitate me resigning in favour of the Rector. We’ll have to get him along with holy water, bell, book and candle, and a Latin prescription to remove the curse. But seriously, my good fellow, I should move back to your old room and not try to sleep in this place. I’m a religious sort of chap in spite of a scientific training, and although I admit this bedroom is the lap of luxury in which it should be possible to sleep, there may be spiritual objections to the practice that we wot not of. I shouldn’t feel right in sleeping in a consecrated building myself.”

  “What nonsense,” laughed Hogarth. “Many’s the time I’ve heard you snoring during the Rector’s sermons.”

  “That’s different,” retorted the doctor. “At least, I’m clad in a respectable tail-coat. Pyjamas aren’t respectful, whatever you may say.”

  And with that retort he left the Chapel.

  While waiting for the Master to join me in the Library I amused myself by hobbling over to the specimen case on my crutches, to see which relic I would ask my host to tell me about after dinner. The two skulls looked promising and gruesome, and as they were set out at different ends of the case, I concluded that they each had their own adventure to tell. They certainly looked eager enough, and their grinning promised stories of grim humour. I had nearly decided on one of them when my curiosity was whetted by the pathetic and broken-winged body of the white moth. What tale had that delicate creature to tell? I think I had decided on that, when Hoadley entered with his Master’s keys and opened the safe, placing the packet I had carried down from London upon the table.

  In a little time he wheeled in the Master who fingered the packet as he talked.

  “I’m going to tell you the whole thing just as it happened, leaving nothing out, so that you can get the full background. No doubt there will be a lot of extraneous details when you come to sum up your impressions—so forgive me if I mix trivial matter in the concoction.

  “As I said, it started in India in 1912. As a youngster of twenty I was on the stage. Already I had the urge to collect stories—true ones—and I saw in the theatrical profession a chance of seeing the world. I confess that I also loved acting, and so was doubly fortunate in becoming a member of the famous Matheson Lang Company, which set out on a world tour. From South Africa we proceeded to India, the Company being the star attraction for the Durbar held by George the Fifth and Queen Mary. We played in Bombay to coincide with the King’s arrival and in Calcutta for his farewell. It was in this latter city that the adventure started.

  “I have been there since many times, but never have I known the place so full with sightseers from all parts of the world and so many notables taking part in the ceremonies. Bejewelled elephants with gorgeous trappings seemed to take up half the space in the streets and everywhere could be seen glittering uniforms amid the picturesque colours of the East.

  “One day—the day when the adventure started—our company had been invited to play a cricket match against the Maharajah of Natore’s Eleven, a famous team, many of whose players were well known on English county grounds. We were taken out in cars to the magnificent private ground, where we found ourselves confronted with these first-class cricketers. I remember one Indian gentleman whose bowling quite demoralized our scratch team. He seemed to run for a mile, leaping high into the air as he raced for the crease with his wild hair and gleaming teeth, and then delivering the ball like a cannon-shot.

  “Our wickets fell to him so rapidly that we were forced to follow on, but the absurdity of this ill-matched match in no way diminished the keenness of our opponents. They might have been playing England herself, which I take it was a mark of their true hospitality, for they would not change their best bowlers for fear of giving us the inferiority complex we felt anyway. Although a lovely day, it was a tiring one, too, for the heat was as fierce as the bowling, and the magnificent refreshments forced upon us were conducive to sleep, so that by the time we had finished our night’s work in the theatre, we were all eager to hurry back to our hotels.

  “In those days the theatres of the Far East had been mostly served by touring musical comedies, and the rules of the stage door were lax in the extreme. We found that anyone seemed to have the right of popping back-stage whenever so disposed. Strangers would walk into our dressing-rooms and invite us to supper-parties, and then casually stroll on to the stage itself to watch the play from the wings. Naturally, this lack of theatre discipline hampered the work of staff and artists, and Mr. Lang wisely put a stop to it by forbidding anyone to come past the stage door without a written permission from the management. As a stage manager it fell to my lot to sign these papers, which were only encouraged after the fall of the final curtain.

  On this particular night we had more visitors than usual, mostly people who had witnessed the day’s cricket, and were no doubt curious to see if we could play a play better than a game. So it happened that I was very late before being free to leave the theatre.

  “Now, going backwards and forwards across the stage while giving out calls for the next day, I noticed a gentleman in evening dress with a black overcoat over his arm. He was a smart-looking man, dark and bronzed, and had the cut of an Anglo-Indian officer. He seemed to be very interested in every man connected with the company. For the ladies he had no eyes at all: but each actor he scrutinized closely, and then seemed to find them wanting. There was nothing offensive about him. He was sober and self-contained, and I wondered whom he was waiting for.

  “At last everyone had gone but Matheson Lang himself, who was entertaining a party of friends in his dressing-room. Ready to go myself and having settled everything for the next morning’s rehearsal with the various members of the staff, I called in to say good night to Mr. Lang.

  “One of his guests, who remarked that we were certainly better actors than cricketers, asked me what I thought of mysterious India. I replied that the fast bowler was the most eerie thing I had seen in the country so far, and he said that had I lived in India as long as he had, I would have encountered many more eerie things than that. Now, I added that I had no wish to, little knowing that I was to meet an inexplicable adventure outside that very door, for there I saw again the mysterious stranger with the coat over his arm.

  “He was watching me as I crossed the stage for the last time towards the stage-door. He seemed to be sizing me up, and was subconsciously nodding his head, as though he approved of me. This is not conceit, for he may yet have been looking for a prize booby to suit his turn.

  “I could see that he was undecided whether to speak to me or not, and thinking perhaps I might have met him at the match, I walked back to him, asking if he were waiting for anyone and could I help. I told him I was stage manager, gave him my name and held out my hand. This he ignored, but seizing my left wrist, he suddenly curved my arm and placed the black coat he was carrying over it, saying solemnly, ‘The coat.’

  “I looked at the folded garment over my arm and asked, ‘What coat?’

&
nbsp; “He just said ‘That one,’ and promptly turned his back on me and walked quickly away.

  “Somewhat bewildered, I followed him to the stage door, where I again asked, ‘Whose is it?’

  “Instead of answering, he put a rupee on to the stage doorkeeper’s window-ledge, growled a ‘Good night,’ and hurried out.

  “I followed and, to my astonishment, he broke into a run. I remember running after him and calling out, ‘Hi, sir. This isn’t mine.’

  “He only ran the faster and towards a car which was standing against the curb with its engine running. It was a large open car with four men in it—all in evening dress.

  “On his reaching the car it began to move forward. He jumped on to the running-board and was pulled into the back by his companions.

  “I shouted emphatically, ‘This is not my coat,’ which made the others laugh. But the man who had given it to me did not laugh with them. He leaned over the back of the car and, pointing at me, called back—‘Wear it. Wear it.’

  “There was something in the way he said these words which sounded sinister, and I was to remember that tone afterwards.

  “Well—the car disappeared round a corner and I was left with the coat.

  “Not wishing to carry such a heavy garment on such a hot night to the hotel, I turned back to the theatre in order to leave it in my dressing-room.

  “Passing the stage doorkeeper, I told him what had happened. He said he had noticed the men in the car, and that they seemed to him to be gentlemen who had been dining too well, but that the gentleman with the coat over his arm was stone cold sober, and had followed the party of Mr. Lang’s friends on to the stage, so he naturally thought he was one of them. Now the coat had been neatly folded with the outside showing. The stage doorkeeper remembered it perfectly and pointed out that I had signed the paper for Mr. Lang’s party and that the mysterious gentleman had evidently tacked himself on to them in order to get through to the stage.

  “We looked at the coat. It was made of good, heavy, black cloth with black wooden buttons. When I unfolded it to hang it in my dressing-room, I was astonished to find it lined with scarlet.

  “This seemed to prove it to be what it looked like—a military officer’s top-coat, but carrying no regimental buttons or badges.

  “Anxious to get back to my supper, I left it hanging in my room, and walked back to my hotel, where I remember telling one of my colleagues about the adventure.

  “The next morning I showed him the coat and tried it on. Had it been tailored for me I couldn’t have had a better fit, and Monty—his name, you may remember, as he became later a famous Hollywood film actor, Montague Love—well, he advised me to stick to it, as it might prove a useful piece of wardrobe in some play. But being curious as to why it had been handed to me, I took it to the house manager, who had a notice pinned up in the cloakroom, asking if anyone had lost an overcoat on such-and-such a date, and that if so, provided that a correct description were given, the management would be pleased to return it to the owner.

  “As we were to revisit Calcutta after our tour in China and the Philippines, I left the coat in the manager’s office, and meeting him again some months later, he told me that since no-one had claimed it, I had better keep it, with the suggestion that if I were to change the scarlet lining to black, I would have a very serviceable coat for winter in London. So I carried it to my hotel and told my bearer to pack it in the bottom of my trunk.

  “He picked up the coat and looked at it, seeming to concentrate upon the red lining. Then with fear in his voice, he said, ‘Pack this? No. Not this. Bad.’

  “ ‘Bad?’ I repeated. ‘I think it’s jolly good. What makes you say “bad”? Look—it fits me perfectly.’ There and then I put it on. My dignified Indian servant looked at me with horror in his eyes, and abruptly left the room. I never saw him again, which was strange, since I had not paid him his wages.

  “As he had been with me on my first visit, and had, without my asking him, met me on the return journey to look after my baggage, and in all things had proved himself honest, willing and capable, I was at a loss to understand how I had offended his good sense of judgment, for until the coat episode, he had continually expressed a wish to return with me to England, and remain my servant. Such loyalty I had appreciated, and it made his sudden walking out on me the more bewildering.

  “Well, I packed the coat in a spare trunk filled with presents for people at home, and thought little more about it. Some months later I returned to England from South Africa, unpacked it, and hung it in an empty wardrobe, for I had by then got into the habit of a wardrobe trunk.

  “More months went by before I gave it another thought.

  “You remember the play Mr. Wu? I was not in it, as I wanted to give up all my time to the writing of a book. My brother had taken my place in the Company and we were still living at home at father’s vicarage in Westminster.

  “One evening a terrific rain-storm broke out just as he was about to start off for the theatre. He had left his evening coat at the cleaners, and so borrowed mine. Later on he phoned me to join him at a supper-party. I told him it was all very fine, considering he had bagged my coat.

  “His answer was, ‘You’ve got to come. Why not put on the mysterious coat from India? If you think it looks odd, all the better. Make a point of it. Blame me, and then tell them all the story. It will give us something to talk about, and one of the party may be able to solve the great mystery.’ So I changed and put it on over my evening clothes, and really worn like that it looked most distinguished, and I rather kicked myself that I had never thought of using it before. Of course, the snag was the red lining. One hates to be conspicuous, and I realized it would be noticed when I took it off in the restaurant. I had to decide whether to be eccentric or wet. Well—the rain beat me to it, and off I went in the coat.

  “On arrival I found my brother’s guests waiting for me in the lounge, and they all said the coat looked very smart, and asked me where I got it. My brother said I must tell its history over supper, which was all ready, so I went to park it in the cloakroom. It was there that the next curious thing happened.

  “There was one other man at the cloakroom counter. In my hurry I just noticed that he had collected his own overcoat and was putting it on. He placed a sixpence in the tipping saucer and was going out, when he looked at me, watching my coat as I took it off.

  “I did my best to conceal the conspicuous lining by folding it outside up, as when I had originally seen it. But I was reckoning without the attendant, who promptly unfolded it to give it a good shake as it was wet. He then placed it on a shelf with the red lining well in evidence.

  “The leaving customer noticed, hurried back and stared—first at the lining—then at me. In my anxiety to hide the lining, I had paid little heed to the man, and it was only then that I saw he was a Hindu. From me he looked again at the coat, and seemed puzzled. And now the strange part begins. He glanced at his wrist-watch, and said to the attendant, ‘I have more time than I thought. I am going back to my friends. Perhaps the rain will stop later.’

  “He took off his coat again and re-checked it. Then he followed me into the restaurant, where he joined a party of three Indians who were sitting next to our table.

  “He gave a whispered explanation of his sudden return, and by the way they kept looking at me, I gathered that I, or the coat, had had something to do with it, and it became very obvious when I was telling the story of the thing, that they were all four of them trying to overhear the conversation. We were a long time over our supper, but none of the Indians moved till I did. They got up simultaneously, and hurried past us to the cloakroom, evidently determined that we should not beat them to it.

  “By this time the rain had stopped, and while we were waiting for the ladies of our party, the Indians waited too.

  “We called a taxi. The Indians called another, but they did not start till we did. They were obviously trailing us and, of course, we linked it up definitely wit
h my coat.

  “When we pulled up at the girls’ address in Kensington, the other taxi stopped at the next house. We left our cab ticking up and purposely went in for a final drink. We had arranged that on the way just to see what they’d do. Peeping through the blind of our friends’ dining-room, we could see that the Indians were still waiting. One of them had got out and was talking to the others through the door.

  “In order to see again what they would do, I went out and paid our taxi off, and then returned into the house. This did not shake them off. They waited.

  “So we waited too, for about half an hour, and then walked out. As we passed the Indians, I said audibly, ‘Let’s walk.’

  “They paid off their cab and followed us on foot.

  “We walked them nearly to Westminster, refusing all cruising taxis. Then we saw two taxis on a rank and, taking one, directed him to drive us to the Tower Bridge and back. The Indians sure enough followed suit. We brought them back to the same rank and walked on home. They paid off their cab too, and when we finally let ourselves in, they parted after leaving one of them to watch from the pavement opposite our front door.

  “Being now very thrilled with the adventure, we spied on the fellow. Two hours later he was relieved by one of the others, who had changed from dinner-jacket to a lounge suit. By then we thought we’d had enough, so went to bed, but in the morning we noticed that another one was watching the house before breakfast, and was relieved while we were eating. As the relieving one was chatting earnestly to his colleague, I went out and asked him point-blank why we were being watched. He said politely that I had made a mistake, and that they were waiting for a friend who lived next door. I said that as I knew the people next door very well, could I help by giving them a message? After a quick consultation in their own tongue, they told me it didn’t matter, and walked away. I saw neither of them again, but within a quarter of an hour a turbaned Indian, one of their servants, no doubt, was watching our house from the farther side of the square gardens. This vigilance was kept up by other Indians for three whole weeks. Whenever I left the house in the coat I was followed. Without it I was left alone, except on one day when I passed them carrying a suit-case. Perhaps they thought it was inside. It was. I took it to a tailor, and had the red lining changed for black. There were no secret papers in the lining, for I watched him strip it, but we did make one discovery.