Round the Fire Stories

by Arthur Conan Doyle

THE USHER OF LEA HOUSE SCHOOL

  Mr. Lumsden, the senior partner of Lumsden and Westmacott, thewell-known scholastic and clerical agents, was a small, dapper man, witha sharp, abrupt manner, a critical eye, and an incisive way of speaking.

  “Your name, sir?” said he, sitting pen in hand with his long, red-linedfolio in front of him.

  “Harold Weld.”

  “Oxford or Cambridge?”

  “Cambridge.”

  “Honours?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Athlete?”

  “Nothing remarkable, I am afraid.”

  “Not a Blue?”

  “Oh, no.”

  Mr. Lumsden shook his head despondently and shrugged his shoulders in away which sent my hopes down to zero. “There is a very keen competitionfor masterships, Mr. Weld,” said he. “The vacancies are few and theapplicants innumerable. A first-class athlete, oar, or cricketer, or aman who has passed very high in his examinations, can usually find avacancy—I might say always in the case of the cricketer. But the averageman—if you will excuse the description, Mr. Weld—has a very greatdifficulty, almost an insurmountable difficulty. We have already morethan a hundred such names upon our lists, and if you think it worthwhile our adding yours, I daresay that in the course of some years wemay possibly be able to find you some opening which——”

  He paused on account of a knock at the door. It was a clerk with a note.Mr. Lumsden broke the seal and read it.

  “Why, Mr. Weld,” said he, “this is really rather an interestingcoincidence. I understand you to say that Latin and English are yoursubjects, and that you would prefer for a time to accept a place in anelementary establishment, where you would have time for private study?”

  “Quite so.”

  “This note contains a request from an old client of ours, Dr. PhelpsMcCarthy, of Willow Lea House Academy, West Hampstead, that I should atonce send him a young man who should be qualified to teach Latin andEnglish to a small class of boys under fourteen years of age. Hisvacancy appears to be the very one which you are looking for. The termsare not munificent—sixty pounds, board, lodging, and washing—but thework is not onerous, and you would have the evenings to yourself.”

  “That would do,” I cried, with all the eagerness of the man who seeswork at last after weary months of seeking.

  “I don’t know that it is quite fair to these gentlemen whose names havebeen so long upon our list,” said Mr. Lumsden, glancing down at his openledger. “But the coincidence is so striking that I feel we must reallygive you the refusal of it.”

  “Then I accept it, sir, and I am much obliged to you.”

  “There is one small provision in Dr. McCarthy’s letter. He stipulatesthat the applicant must be a man with an imperturbably good temper.”

  “I am the very man,” said I, with conviction.

  “Well,” said Mr. Lumsden, with some hesitation, “I hope that your temperis really as good as you say, for I rather fancy that you may need it.”

  “I presume that every elementary schoolmaster does.”

  “Yes, sir, but it is only fair to you to warn you that there may be someespecially trying circumstances in this particular situation. Dr. PhelpsMcCarthy does not make such a condition without some very good andpressing reason.”

  There was a certain solemnity in his speech which struck a chill in thedelight with which I had welcomed this providential vacancy.

  “May I ask the nature of these circumstances?” I asked.

  “We endeavour to hold the balance equally between our clients, and to beperfectly frank with all of them. If I knew of objections to you Ishould certainly communicate them to Dr. McCarthy, and so I have nohesitation in doing as much for you. I find,” he continued, glancingover the pages of his ledger, “that within the last twelve months wehave supplied no fewer than seven Latin masters to Willow Lea HouseAcademy, four of them having left so abruptly as to forfeit theirmonth’s salary, and none of them having stayed more than eight weeks.”

  “And the other masters? Have they stayed?”

  “There is only one other residential master, and he appears to beunchanged. You can understand, Mr. Weld,” continued the agent, closingboth the ledger and the interview, “that such rapid changes are notdesirable from a master’s point of view, whatever may be said for themby an agent working on commission. I have no idea why these gentlemenhave resigned their situations so early. I can only give you the facts,and advise you to see Dr. McCarthy at once and to form your ownconclusions.”

  Great is the power of the man who has nothing to lose, and it wastherefore with perfect serenity, but with a good deal of curiosity, thatI rang early that afternoon the heavy wrought-iron bell of the WillowLea House Academy. The building was a massive pile, square and ugly,standing in its own extensive grounds, with a broad carriage-sweepcurving up to it from the road. It stood high, and commanded a view onthe one side of the grey roofs and bristling spires of Northern London,and on the other of the well-wooded and beautiful country which fringesthe great city. The door was opened by a boy in buttons, and I was showninto a well-appointed study, where the principal of the academypresently joined me.

  The warnings and insinuations of the agent had prepared me to meet acholeric and overbearing person—one whose manner was an insupportableprovocation to those who worked under him. Anything further from thereality cannot be imagined. He was a frail, gentle creature,clean-shaven and round-shouldered, with a bearing which was so courteousthat it became almost deprecating. His bushy hair was thickly shot withgrey, and his age I should imagine to verge upon sixty. His voice waslow and suave, and he walked with a certain mincing delicacy of manner.His whole appearance was that of a kindly scholar, who was more at homeamong his books than in the practical affairs of the world.

  “I am sure that we shall be very happy to have your assistance, Mr.Weld,” said he, after a few professional questions. “Mr. PercivalManners left me yesterday, and I should be glad if you could take overhis duties to-morrow.”

  “May I ask if that is Mr. Percival Manners of Selwyn?” I asked.

  “Precisely. Did you know him?”

  “Yes; he is a friend of mine.”

  “An excellent teacher, but a little hasty in his disposition. It was hisonly fault. Now, in your case, Mr. Weld, is your own temper under goodcontrol? Supposing for argument’s sake that I were to so far forgetmyself as to be rude to you or to speak roughly or to jar your feelingsin any way, could you rely upon yourself to control your emotions?”

  I smiled at the idea of this courteous, little, mincing creatureruffling my nerves.

  “I think that I could answer for it, sir,” said I.

  “Quarrels are very painful to me,” said he. “I wish every one to live inharmony under my roof. I will not deny Mr. Percival Manners hadprovocation, but I wish to find a man who can raise himself aboveprovocation, and sacrifice his own feelings for the sake of peace andconcord.”

  “I will do my best, sir.”

  “You cannot say more, Mr. Weld. In that case I shall expect youto-night, if you can get your things ready so soon.”

  I not only succeeded in getting my things ready, but I found time tocall at the Benedict Club in Piccadilly, where I knew that I should findManners if he were still in town. There he was sure enough in thesmoking-room, and I questioned him, over a cigarette, as to his reasonsfor throwing up his recent situation.

  “You don’t tell me that you are going to Dr. Phelps McCarthy’s Academy?”he cried, staring at me in surprise. “My dear chap, it’s no use. Youcan’t possibly remain there.”

  “But I saw him, and he seemed the most courtly, inoffensive fellow. Inever met a man with more gentle manners.”

  “He! oh, he’s all right. There’s no vice in him. Have you seenTheophilus St. James?”

  “I have never heard the name. Who is he?”

  “Your colleague. The other master.”

  “No, I have not seen him.�
�

  “_He’s_ the terror. If you can stand him, you have either the spirit ofa perfect Christian or else you have no spirit at all. A more perfectbounder never bounded.”

  “But why does McCarthy stand it?”

  My friend looked at me significantly through his cigarette smoke, andshrugged his shoulders.

  “You will form your own conclusions about that. Mine were formed verysoon, and I never found occasion to alter them.”

  “It would help me very much if you would tell me them.”

  “When you see a man in his own house allowing his business to be ruined,his comfort destroyed, and his authority defied by another man in asubordinate position, and calmly submitting to it without so much as aword of protest, what conclusion do you come to?”

  “That the one has a hold over the other.”

  Percival Manners nodded his head.

  “There you are! You’ve hit it first barrel. It seems to me that there’sno other explanation which will cover the facts. At some period in hislife the little Doctor has gone astray. _Humanum est errare._ I haveeven done it myself. But this was something serious, and the other mangot a hold of it and has never let go. That’s the truth. Blackmail is atthe bottom of it. But he had no hold over me, and there was no reasonwhy _I_ should stand his insolence, so I came away—and I very muchexpect to see you do the same.”

  For some time he talked over the matter, but he always came to the sameconclusion—that I should not retain my new situation very long.

  It was with no very pleasant feelings after this preparation that Ifound myself face to face with the very man of whom I had received soevil an account. Dr. McCarthy introduced us to each other in his studyon the evening of that same day immediately after my arrival at theschool.

  “This is your new colleague, Mr. St. James,” said he, in his genial,courteous fashion. “I trust that you will mutually agree, and that Ishall find nothing but good feeling and sympathy beneath this roof.”

  I shared the good Doctor’s hope, but my expectations of it were notincreased by the appearance of my _confrère_. He was a young,bull-necked fellow about thirty years of age, dark-eyed andblack-haired, with an exceedingly vigorous physique. I have never seen amore strongly built man, though he tended to run to fat in a way whichshowed that he was in the worst of training. His face was coarse,swollen, and brutal, with a pair of small black eyes deeply sunken inhis head. His heavy jowl, his projecting ears, and his thick bandy legsall went to make up a personality which was as formidable as it wasrepellent.

  “I hear you’ve never been out before,” said he, in a rude, brusquefashion. “Well, it’s a poor life: hard work and starvation pay, asyou’ll find out for yourself.”

  “But it has some compensations,” said the principal. “Surely you willallow that, Mr. St. James?”

  “Has it? I never could find them. What do you call compensations?”

  “Even to be in the continual presence of youth is a privilege. It hasthe effect of keeping youth in one’s own soul, for one reflectssomething of their high spirits and their keen enjoyment of life.”

  “Little beasts!” cried my colleague.

  “Come, come, Mr. St. James, you are too hard upon them.”

  “I hate the sight of them! If I could put them and their blessedcopybooks and lexicons and slates into one bonfire I’d do it to-night.”

  “This is Mr. St. James’s way of talking,” said the principal, smilingnervously as he glanced at me. “You must not take him too seriously.Now, Mr. Weld, you know where your room is, and no doubt you have yourown little arrangements to make. The sooner you make them the sooner youwill feel yourself at home.”

  It seemed to me that he was only too anxious to remove me at once fromthe influence of this extraordinary colleague, and I was glad to go, forthe conversation had become embarrassing.

  And so began an epoch which always seems to me as I look back to it tobe the most singular in all my experience. The school was in many waysan excellent one. Dr. Phelps McCarthy was an ideal principal. Hismethods were modern and rational. The management was all that could bedesired. And yet in the middle of this well-ordered machine thereintruded the incongruous and impossible Mr. St. James, throwingeverything into confusion. His duties were to teach English andmathematics, and how he acquitted himself of them I do not know, as ourclasses were held in separate rooms. I can answer for it, however, thatthe boys feared him and loathed him, and I know that they had goodreason to do so, for frequently my own teaching was interrupted by hisbellowings of anger, and even by the sound of his blows. Dr. McCarthyspent most of his time in his class, but it was, I suspect, to watchover the master rather than the boys, and to try to moderate hisferocious temper when it threatened to become dangerous.

  It was in his bearing to the head master, however, that my colleague’sconduct was most outrageous. The first conversation which I haverecorded proved to be typical of their intercourse. He domineered overhim openly and brutally. I have heard him contradict him roughly beforethe whole school. At no time would he show him any mark of respect, andmy temper often rose within me when I saw the quiet acquiescence of theold Doctor, and his patient tolerance of this monstrous treatment. Andyet the sight of it surrounded the principal also with a certain vaguehorror in my mind, for supposing my friend’s theory to be correct—and Icould devise no better one—how black must have been the story whichcould be held over his head by this man and, by fear of its publicity,force him to undergo such humiliations. This quiet, gentle Doctor mightbe a profound hypocrite, a criminal, a forger possibly, or a poisoner.Only such a secret as this could account for the complete power whichthe young man held over him. Why else should he admit so hateful apresence into his house and so harmful an influence into his school? Whyshould he submit to degradations which could not be witnessed, far lessendured, without indignation?

  And yet, if it were so, I was forced to confess that my principalcarried it off with extraordinary duplicity. Never by word or sign didhe show that the young man’s presence was distasteful to him. I haveseen him look pained, it is true, after some peculiarly outrageousexhibition, but he gave me the impression that it was always on accountof the scholars or of me, never on account of himself. He spoke to andof St. James in an indulgent fashion, smiling gently at what made myblood boil within me. In his way of looking at him and addressing him,one could see no trace of resentment, but rather a sort of timid anddeprecating good will. His company he certainly courted, and they spentmany hours together in the study and the garden.

  As to my own relations with Theophilus St. James, I made up my mind fromthe beginning that I should keep my temper with him, and to thatresolution I steadfastly adhered. If Dr. McCarthy chose to permit thisdisrespect, and to condone these outrages, it was his affair and notmine. It was evident that his one wish was that there should be peacebetween us, and I felt that I could help him best by respecting thisdesire. My easiest way to do so was to avoid my colleague, and this Idid to the best of my ability. When we were thrown together I was quiet,polite, and reserved. He, on his part, showed me no ill-will, but met merather with a coarse joviality, and a rough familiarity which he meantto be ingratiating. He was insistent in his attempts to get me into hisroom at night, for the purpose of playing euchre and of drinking.

  “Old McCarthy doesn’t mind,” said he. “Don’t you be afraid of him. We’lldo what we like, and I’ll answer for it that he won’t object.” Once onlyI went, and when I left, after a dull and gross evening, my host wasstretched dead drunk upon the sofa. After that I gave the excuse of acourse of study, and spent my spare hours alone in my own room.

  One point upon which I was anxious to gain information was as to howlong these proceedings had been going on. When did St. James assert hishold over Dr. McCarthy? From neither of them could I learn how long mycolleague had been in his present situation. One or two leadingquestions upon my part were eluded or ignored in a manner so marked thatit was easy to see that they wer
e both of them as eager to conceal thepoint as I was to know it. But at last one evening I had the chance of achat with Mrs. Carter, the matron—for the Doctor was a widower—and fromher I got the information which I wanted. It needed no questioning toget at her knowledge, for she was so full of indignation that she shookwith passion as she spoke of it, and raised her hands into the air inthe earnestness of her denunciation, as she described the grievanceswhich she had against my colleague.

  “It was three years ago, Mr. Weld, that he first darkened thisdoorstep,” she cried. “Three bitter years they have been to me. Theschool had fifty boys then. Now it has twenty-two. That’s what he hasdone for us in three years. In another three there won’t be one. And theDoctor, that angel of patience, you see how he treats him, though he isnot fit to lace his boots for him. If it wasn’t for the Doctor, you maybe sure that I wouldn’t stay an hour under the same roof with such aman, and so I told him to his own face, Mr. Weld. If the Doctor wouldonly pack him about his business—but I know that I am saying more than Ishould!” She stopped herself with an effort, and spoke no more upon thesubject. She had remembered that I was almost a stranger in the school,and she feared that she had been indiscreet.

  There were one or two very singular points about my colleague. The chiefone was that he rarely took any exercise. There was a playing-fieldwithin the college grounds, and that was his farthest point. If the boyswent out, it was I or Dr. McCarthy who accompanied them. St. James gaveas a reason for this that he had injured his knee some years before, andthat walking was painful to him. For my own part I put it down to purelaziness upon his part, for he was of an obese, heavy temperament.Twice, however, I saw him from my window stealing out of the groundslate at night, and the second time I watched him return in the grey ofthe morning and slink in through an open window. These furtiveexcursions were never alluded to, but they exposed the hollowness of hisstory about his knee, and they increased the dislike and distrust whichI had of the man. His nature seemed to be vicious to the core.

  Another point, small but suggestive, was that he hardly ever during themonths that I was at Willow Lea House received any letters, and on thosefew occasions they were obviously tradesmen’s bills. I am an earlyriser, and used every morning to pick my own correspondence out of thebundle upon the hall table. I could judge therefore how few were everthere for Mr. Theophilus St. James. There seemed to me to be somethingpeculiarly ominous in this. What sort of a man could he be who duringthirty years of life had never made a single friend, high or low, whocared to continue to keep in touch with him? And yet the sinister factremained that the head master not only tolerated, but was even intimatewith him. More than once on entering a room I have found them talkingconfidentially together, and they would walk arm in arm in deepconversation up and down the garden paths. So curious did I become toknow what the tie was which bound them, that I found it gradually pushout my other interests and become the main purpose of my life. In schooland out of school, at meals and at play, I was perpetually engaged inwatching Dr. Phelps McCarthy and Mr. Theophilus St. James, and inendeavouring to solve the mystery which surrounded them.

  But, unfortunately, my curiosity was a little too open. I had not theart to conceal the suspicions which I felt about the relations whichexisted between these two men and the nature of the hold which the oneappeared to have over the other. It may have been my manner of watchingthem, it may have been some indiscreet question, but it is certain thatI showed too clearly what I felt. One night I was conscious that theeyes of Theophilus St. James were fixed upon me in a surly and menacingstare. I had a foreboding of evil, and I was not surprised when Dr.McCarthy called me next morning into his study.

  “I am very sorry, Mr. Weld,” said he, “but I am afraid that I shall becompelled to dispense with your services.”

  “Perhaps you would give me some reason for dismissing me,” I answered,for I was conscious of having done my duties to the best of my power,and knew well that only one reason could be given.

  “I have no fault to find with you,” said he, and the colour came to hischeeks.

  “You send me away at the suggestion of my colleague.”

  His eyes turned away from mine.

  “We will not discuss the question, Mr. Weld. It is impossible for me todiscuss it. In justice to you, I will give you the strongestrecommendation for your next situation. I can say no more. I hope thatyou will continue your duties here until you have found a placeelsewhere.”

  My whole soul rose against the injustice of it, and yet I had no appealand no redress. I could only bow and leave the room, with a bitter senseof ill-usage at my heart.

  My first instinct was to pack my boxes and leave the house. But the headmaster had given me permission to remain until I had found anothersituation. I was sure that St. James desired me to go, and that was astrong reason why I should stay. If my presence annoyed him, I shouldgive him as much of it as I could. I had begun to hate him and to longto have my revenge upon him. If he had a hold over our principal, mightnot I in turn obtain one over him? It was a sign of weakness that heshould be so afraid of my curiosity. He would not resent it so much ifhe had not something to fear from it. I entered my name once more uponthe books of the agents, but meanwhile I continued to fulfil my dutiesat Willow Lea House, and so it came about that I was present at thedénouement of this singular situation.

  During that week—for it was only a week before the crisis came—I was inthe habit of going down each evening, after the work of the day wasdone, to inquire about my new arrangements. One night, it was a cold andwindy evening in March, I had just stepped out from the hall door when astrange sight met my eyes. A man was crouching before one of the windowsof the house. His knees were bent and his eyes were fixed upon the smallline of light between the curtain and the sash. The window threw asquare of brightness in front of it, and in the middle of this the darkshadow of this ominous visitor showed clear and hard. It was but for aninstant that I saw him, for he glanced up and was off in a momentthrough the shrubbery. I could hear the patter of his feet as he randown the road, until it died away in the distance.

  It was evidently my duty to turn back and to tell Dr. McCarthy what Ihad seen. I found him in his study. I had expected him to be disturbedat such an incident, but I was not prepared for the state of panic intowhich he fell. He leaned back in his chair, white and gasping, like onewho has received a mortal blow.

  “Which window, Mr. Weld?” he asked, wiping his forehead. “Which windowwas it?”

  “The next to the dining-room—Mr. St. James’s window.”

  “Dear me! Dear me! This is, indeed, unfortunate! A man looking throughMr. St. James’s window!” He wrung his hands like a man who is at hiswits’ end what to do.

  “I shall be passing the police-station, sir. Would you wish me tomention the matter?”

  “No, no,” he cried, suddenly, mastering his extreme agitation; “I haveno doubt that it was some poor tramp who intended to beg. I attach noimportance to the incident—none at all. Don’t let me detain you, Mr.Weld, if you wish to go out.”

  I left him sitting in his study with reassuring words upon his lips, butwith horror upon his face. My heart was heavy for my little employer asI started off once more for town. As I looked back from the gate at thesquare of light which marked the window of my colleague, I suddenly sawthe black outline of Dr. McCarthy’s figure passing against the lamp. Hehad hastened from his study then to tell St. James what he had heard.What was the meaning of it all, this atmosphere of mystery, thisinexplicable terror, these confidences between two such dissimilar men?I thought and thought as I walked, but do what I would I could not hitupon any adequate conclusion. I little knew how near I was to thesolution of the problem.

  It was very late—nearly twelve o’clock—when I returned, and the lightswere all out save one in the Doctor’s study. The black, gloomy houseloomed before me as I walked up the drive, its sombre bulk broken onlyby the one glimmering point of brightness. I let myself
in with mylatch-key, and was about to enter my own room when my attention wasarrested by a short, sharp cry like that of a man in pain. I stood andlistened, my hand upon the handle of my door.

  All was silent in the house save for a distant murmur of voices whichcame, I knew, from the Doctor’s room. I stole quietly down the corridorin that direction. The sound resolved itself now into two voices, therough bullying tones of St. James and the lower tone of the Doctor, theone apparently insisting and the other arguing and pleading. Four thinlines of light in the blackness showed me the door of the Doctor’s room,and step by step I drew nearer to it in the darkness. St. James’s voicewithin rose louder and louder, and his words now came plainly to my ear.

  “I’ll have every pound of it. If you won’t give it me I’ll take it. Doyou hear?”

  Dr. McCarthy’s reply was inaudible, but the angry voice broke in again.

  “Leave you destitute! I leave you this little goldmine of a school, andthat’s enough for one old man, is it not? How am I to set up inAustralia without money? Answer me that!”

  Again the Doctor said something in a soothing voice, but his answer onlyroused his companion to a higher pitch of fury.

  “Done for me! What have you ever done for me except what you couldn’thelp doing? It was for your good name, not for my safety, that youcared. But enough cackle! I must get on my way before morning. Will youopen your safe or will you not?”

  “Oh, James, how can you use me so?” cried a wailing voice, and thenthere came a sudden little scream of pain. At the sound of that helplessappeal from brutal violence I lost for once that temper upon which I hadprided myself. Every bit of manhood in me cried out against any furtherneutrality. With my walking cane in my hand I rushed into the study. AsI did so I was conscious that the hall-door bell was violently ringing.

  “You villain!” I cried, “let him go!”

  The two men were standing in front of a small safe, which stood againstone wall of the Doctor’s room. St. James held the old man by the wrist,and he had twisted his arm round in order to force him to produce thekey. My little head master, white but resolute, was struggling furiouslyin the grip of the burly athlete. The bully glared over his shoulder atme with a mixture of fury and terror upon his brutal features. Then,realizing that I was alone, he dropped his victim and made for me with ahorrible curse.

  “You infernal spy!” he cried. “I’ll do for you anyhow before I leave.”

  I am not a very strong man, and I realized that I was helpless if onceat close quarters. Twice I cut at him with my stick, but he rushed in atme with a murderous growl, and seized me by the throat with both hismuscular hands. I fell backwards and he on the top of me, with a gripwhich was squeezing the life from me. I was conscious of his malignantyellow-tinged eyes within a few inches of my own, and then with abeating of pulses in my head and a singing in my ears, my senses slippedaway from me. But even in that supreme moment I was aware that thedoor-bell was still violently ringing.

  When I came to myself, I was lying upon the sofa in Dr. McCarthy’sstudy, and the Doctor himself was seated beside me. He appeared to bewatching me intently and anxiously, for as I opened my eyes and lookedabout me he gave a great cry of relief. “Thank God!” he cried. “ThankGod!”

  “Where is he?” I asked, looking round the room. As I did so, I becameaware that the furniture was scattered in every direction, and thatthere were traces of an even more violent struggle than that in which Ihad been engaged.

  The Doctor sank his face between his hands.

  “They have him,” he groaned. “After these years of trial they have himagain. But how thankful I am that he has not for a second time stainedhis hands in blood.”

  As the Doctor spoke I became aware that a man in the braided jacket ofan inspector of police was standing in the doorway.

  “Yes, sir,” he remarked, “you have had a pretty narrow escape. If we hadnot got in when we did, you would not be here to tell the tale. I don’tknow that I ever saw any one much nearer to the undertaker.”

  I sat up with my hands to my throbbing head.

  “Dr. McCarthy,” said I, “this is all a mystery to me. I should be gladif you could explain to me who this man is, and why you have toleratedhim so long in your house.”

  “I owe you an explanation, Mr. Weld—and the more so since you have, inso chivalrous a fashion, almost sacrificed your life in my defence.There is no reason now for secrecy. In a word, Mr. Weld, this unhappyman’s real name is James McCarthy, and he is my only son.”

  “Your son?”

  “Alas, yes. What sin have I ever committed that I should have such apunishment? He has made my whole life a misery from the first years ofhis boyhood. Violent, headstrong, selfish, unprincipled, he has alwaysbeen the same. At eighteen he was a criminal. At twenty, in a paroxysmof passion, he took the life of a boon companion and was tried formurder. He only just escaped the gallows, and he was condemned to penalservitude. Three years ago he succeeded in escaping, and managed, inface of a thousand obstacles, to reach my house in London. My wife’sheart had been broken by his condemnation, and as he had succeeded ingetting a suit of ordinary clothes, there was no one here to recognizehim. For months he lay concealed in the attics until the first search ofthe police should be over. Then I gave him employment here, as you haveseen, though by his rough and overbearing manners he made my own lifemiserable, and that of his fellow-masters unbearable. You have been withus for four months, Mr. Weld, but no other master endured him so long. Iapologize now for all you have had to submit to, but I ask you what elsecould I do? For his dead mother’s sake I could not let harm come to himas long as it was in my power to fend it off. Only under my roof couldhe find a refuge—the only spot in all the world—and how could I keep himhere without its exciting remark unless I gave him some occupation? Imade him English master therefore, and in that capacity I have protectedhim here for three years. You have no doubt observed that he neverduring the daytime went beyond the college grounds. You now understandthe reason. But when to-night you came to me with your report of a manwho was looking through his window, I understood that his retreat was atlast discovered. I besought him to fly at once, but he had beendrinking, the unhappy fellow, and my words fell upon deaf ears. When atlast he made up his mind to go he wished to take from me in his flightevery shilling which I possessed. It was your entrance which saved mefrom him, while the police in turn arrived only just in time to rescueyou. I have made myself amenable to the law by harbouring an escapedprisoner, and remain here in the custody of the inspector, but a prisonhas no terrors for me after what I have endured in this house during thelast three years.”

  “It seems to me, Doctor,” said the inspector, “that, if you have brokenthe law, you have had quite enough punishment already.”

  “God knows I have!” cried Dr. McCarthy, and sank his haggard face uponhis hands.