The Yellow Sign & Other Stories

by Robert W. Chambers

  Constance’s merry laugh aroused me from my reverie. “What are you staring at?” she inquired.

  “Nothingthe fleet,” I smiled.

  Then Louis told us what the vessels were, pointing out each by its relative position to the old Red Fort on Governor’s Island. “That little cigar-shaped thing is a torpedo boat,” he explained; “there are four more lying close together. They are the ‘Tarpon,’ the ‘Falcon,’ and ‘Sea Fox’ and the ‘Octopus.’ The gun-boats just above are the ‘Princeton,’ the ‘Champlain,’ the ‘Still Water’ and the ‘Erie.’ Next to them lie the cruiser “Farragut’ and ‘Los Angeles,’ and above them the battle-ships ‘California’ and ‘Dakota,’ and the ‘Washington’ which is the flag-ship. Those two squatty-looking chunks of metal which are anchored there off Castle William are the double-turreted monitors ‘Terrible’ and ‘Magnificent’; behind them lies the ram, ‘Osceola.’”

  Constance looked at him with deep approval in her beautiful eyes. “What loads of things you know for a soldier,” she said, and we all joined in the laugh which followed.

  Presently, Louis rose with a nod to us and offered his arm to Constance, and they strolled away along the river wall. Hawberk watched them for a moment and then turned to me.

  “Mr. Wilde was right,” he said. “I have found the missing tassets and left cuissard of the ‘Prince’s Emblazoned,’ in a vile old junk garret in Pell Street.”

  “998?” I inquired, with a smile.

  “Yes.”

  “Mr. Wilde is a very intelligent man,” I observed.

  “I want to give him the credit of this most important discovery,” continued Hawberk. “And I intend it shall be known that his is entitled to the fame for it.”

  “He won’t thank you for that,” I answered sharply; “please say nothing about it.” “Do you what it is worth?” said Hawberk.

  “No, fifty dollars. perhaps.”

  “It is valued at five hundred, but the owner of the ‘Prince’s Em - blazoned’ will give two thousand dollars to the person who completes his suit; that reward also belongs to Mr. Wilde.”

  “He doesn’t want it! He refuses it!” I answered angrily. “What do you know about Mr. Wilde? He doesn’t need the money. He is richor will bericher than any living man except myself. What will we care for money thenwhat will we care, he and I, whenwhen”

  “When what?” demanded Hawberk, astonished.

  “You will see,” I replied, on my guard again.

  He looked at me narrowly, much as Doctor Archer used to, and I knew he thought I was mentally unsound. Perhaps it was fortunate for him that he did not use the word lunatic just them.

  “No,” I replied to his unspoken thought, “I am not mentally weak; my mind is as healthy as Mr. Wilde’s. I do not care to explain just yet what I have on hand, but it is an investment which will pay more than mere gold, silver and precious stones. It will secure the happiness and prosperity of a continentyes, a hemisphere!”

  “Oh,” said Hawberk.

  “And eventually,” I continued more quietly, “it will secure the happiness of the whole world.”

  “And incidentally your own happiness and prosperity as well as Mr. Wilde’s?”

  “Exactly,” I smiled. But I could have throttled him for taking that tone. He looked at me in silence for a while and then said very gently, “Why don’t you give up your books and studies, Mr. Castaigne, and take a tramp among the mountains somewhere or other? You used to be fond of fishing. Take a cast or two at the trout in the Rangelys.”

  “I don’t care for fishing any more,” I answered, without a shade of annoyance in my voice.

  “You used to be fond of everything,” he continued; “athletics, yachting, shooting, riding” “I have never cared to ride since my fall,” I said quietly. “Ah, yes, your fall,” he repeated, looking away from me.

  I thought this nonsense had gone far enough, so I turned the conversation back to Mr. Wilde; but he was scanning my face again in a manner highly offensive to me.

  “Mr. Wilde,” he repeated, “do you know what he did this afternoon? He came downstairs and nailed a sign over the hall door next to mine; it read:

  MR. WILDE

  REPAIRER OF REPUTATIONS.

  3d Bell,

  Do you know what a Repairer of Reputations can be?” “I do,” I replied, suppressing the rage within.

  “Oh,” he said again.

  Louis and Constance came strolling by and stopped to ask if we would join them. Hawberk looked at his watch. At the same moment a puff of smoke shot from the casemates of Castle William, and the boom of the sunset gun rolled across the water and was re-echoed from the Highlands opposite. The flag came running down from the flag-pole, the bugles sounded on the white decks of the warships, and the first electric light sparkled out from the Jersey shore.

  As I turned into the city with Hawberk I heard Constance murmur something to Louis which I did not understand; but Louis whispered “My darling,” in reply; and again, walking ahead with Hawberk through the square I heard a murmur of “sweetheart,” and “my own Constance,” and I knew the time had nearly arrived when i should speak of important matters with my Cousin Louis.

  III One morning early in May I stood before the steel safe in my bedroom, trying on the golden jewelled crown. The diamonds flashed fire as I turned to the mirror, and the heavy beaten gold burned like a halo about my head. I remembered Camilla’s agonized scream and the awful words echoing through the dim streets of Carcosa. They were the last in the first act, and I dared not think of what followeddared not, even in the spring sunshine, there in my own room, surrounded with familiar objects, reassured by the bustle from the street and the voices of the servants in the hallway outside. For those poisoned words had dropped slowly into my head, as death-sweat drops upon a bedsheet and is absorbed. Trembling, I put the diadem from my head and wiped my forehead, but I thought of Hastur and of my own rightful ambition, and I remembered Mr. Wilde as I had last left him, his face all torn and bloody from the claws of that devil’s creature, and what he saidah, what he said! The alarm bell in the safe began to whirr harshly, and I knew my time was up; but I would not heed it, and replacing the flashing circlet upon my head I turned defiantly to the mirror. I stood for a long time absorbed in the changing expression of my own eyes. The mirror reflected a face which was like my own, but whiter, and so thin that I hardly recognized it. And all the time I kept repeating between clenched teeth, “The day has come! the day has come!” while the alarm in the safe whirred and clamored, and the diamonds sparkled and flamed above my brow. I heard a door open but did not heed it. It was only when I saw two faces in the mirror;it was only when another face rose over my shoulder, and two other eyes me mine. I wheeled like a flash and seized a long knife from my dress- ing-table, and my cousin sprang back very pale, crying” Hildred! for God’s sake!’ then as my hand fell, he said: “It is I, Louis, don’t you know me?” I stood silent. I could not have spoken for my life. He walked up to me and took the knife from my hand.

  “What is all this?” he inquired, in a gentle voice. “Are you ill?” “No, “ I replied. But I doubt if he heard me.

  “Come, come, old fellow,” he cried, “take off that brass crown and toddle into the study. Are you going to a masquerade? What’s all this theatrical tinsel anyway?”

  I was glad he thought the crown was made of brass and paste, yet I didn’t like him any better for thinking so. I let him take it from my hand, knowing it was best to humor him. He tossed the splendid diadem in the air, and catching it, turned to me smiling.

  “It’s dear at fifty cents,” he said. “What’s it for?” I did not answer, but took the circlet from his hands, and placing it in the safe shut the massive steel door.. The alarm ceased its infernal din at once. He watched me curiously, but did not seem to notice the sudden ceasing of the alarm. He did, however, speak of the safe as a biscuit box. Fearing lest he might examine the combination I led the way into my study. Louis threw himself on th
e sofa and flicked at flies with his eternal riding-whip. He wore his fatigue uniform with the braided jacket and jaunty cap, and I noticed that his riding-boots were all were all splashed with red mud.

  “Where have you been?” I inquired. “Jumping mud creeks in Jersey,” he said. “I haven’t had time to change yet; I was rather in a hurry to see you. Haven’t you got a glass of something? I’m dead tired; been in the saddle twenty-four hours.”

  I gave him some brandy from my medicinal store, which he drank with a grimace.

  “Damned bad stuff,” he observed. “I’ll give you an address where they sell brandy that is brandy.”

  “It’s good enough for my needs,” I said indifferently. “I use it to rub my chest with.” He stared and flicked at another fly. “See here, old fellow,” he began, “I’ve got something to suggest to you. It’s four years now that you’ve shut yourself up here like an owl, never going anywhere, never taking any healthy exercise, never doing a damn thing but poring over those books up there on the mantelpiece.”

  He glanced along the row of shelves. “Napoleon, Napoleon, Napoleon!” he read. “For heaven’s sake, have you nothing but Napoleans here?”

  “I wish they were bound in gold,” I said. “But wait, yes, there is another book, The King in Yellow.” I looked him steadily in the eye. “Have you ever read it?” I asked.

  “I? No, thank God! I don’t want to be driven crazy.”

  I saw he regretted his speech as soon as he had uttered it. There is only one word which I loathe more than I do lunatic and that word is crazy. But I controlled myself and asked him why he thought “The King in Yellow” dangerous.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” he said, hastily, “I only remember the excitement it created and the denunciations from pulpit and press. I believe the author shot himself after bringing forth this monstrosity, didn’t he?”

  “I understand he’s still alive,” I answered.

  “That’s probably true,” he muttered; “bullets couldn’t kill a fiend like that.”

  “It is a book of great truths,” I said. “Yes,” he replied, “of ‘truths’ which send men frantic and blast their lives. I don’t care if the thing is, as they say, the very supreme essence of art. It’s a crime to have written it, and I for one shall never open its pages.”

  “Is that what you have come to tell me?” I asked.

  “No,” he said, “I came to tell that I am going to be married.”

  I believe for a moment my heart ceased to beat, but I kept my eyes on his face.

  “Yes,” he continued, smiling happily, “married to the sweetest girl on earth.”

  “Constance Hawberk,” I said mechanically. “How did you know?” he cried, astonished. “I didn’t know it myself until that evening last April, when we strolled down to the embankment before dinner.”

  “When is it to be?” I asked. “It was to have been next September, but an hour ago a dispatch came ordering our regiment to the Presidio, San Francisco. We leave at noon to-morrow. To-morrow,” he repeated. “Just think, Hildred, to-morrow I shall be the happiest fellow that ever drew breath in this jolly world, for Constance will go with me.”

  I offered him my hand in congratulation, and he seized and shook it like the good-natured fool he wasor pretended to be.

  “I am going to get my squadron as a wedding present,” he rattled on. “Captain and Mrs. Louis Castaigne, eh, Hildred” Then he told me where it was to be and who were to be there, and made me promise to come and be best man. I set my teeth and listened to his boyish chatter without showing what I felt, but

  I was getting to the limit of my endurance, and when he jumped up, and, switching his spurs till they jingled, said he must go, I did not detain him.

  “There’s one thing I want to ask of you,” I said quietly. “Out with it, it’s promised,” he laughed.

  “I want you to meet me for a quarter of an hour’s talk to-night.” “Of course, if you wish,” he said, somewhat puzzled. “Where?” “Anywhere, in the park there.”

  “What time, Hildred?”

  “Midnight.”

  “What in the name of” he began, but checked himself and laughingly assented. I watched him go down the stairs and hurry away, his sabre banging at every stride. He turned into Bleecker Street, and I knew he was going to see Constance. I gave him ten minutes to disappear and then followed in his footsteps, taking with me the jewelled crown and the silken robe embroidered with the Yellow Sign. When I turned into Bleecker Street, and entered the doorway which bore the sign,

  MR. WILDE

  REPAIRER OF REPUTATIONS.

  3d Bell,

  I saw old Hawberk moving about in his shop and imagined I heard Constance’s voice in the parlor; but I avoided them both and hurried up the trembling stairways to Mr. Wilde’s apartment. I knocked, and entered without ceremony. Mr. Wilde lay groaning on the floor, his face covered with blood, his clothes torn to shreds. Drops of blood were scattered about over the carpet, which had also been ripped and frayed in the evidently recent struggle.

  “It’s the cursed cat,” he said, ceasing his groans, and turning his colorless eyes to me; “she attacked me while I was asleep. I believe she will kill me yet.”

  This was too much, so I went into the kitchen and seizing a hatchet from the pantry, started to find the infernal beast and settle her then and there. My search was fruitless, and after a while I gave it up and came back to find Mr. Wilde squatting on his high chair by the table. He had washed his face and changed his clothes. The great furrows which the cat’s claws had ploughed up in his face he had filled with collodion, and a rag hid the wound on his throat. I told him I should kill the cat when I came across her, but he only shook his head and turned to the open ledger before him. He read name after name of the people who had come to him in regard to their reputation, and the sums he had amassed were startling.

  “I put on the screws now and then,” he explained.

  “One day or other some of these people will assassinate you,” I insisted.

  “Do you think so?” he said, rubbing his mutilated ears. It was useless to argue with him, so I took down the manuscript entitled Imperial Dynasty of America, for the last time I should ever take it down in Mr. Wilde’s study. I read through, thrilling and trembling with pleasure. When I finished Mr. Wilde took the manuscript and, turning to the dark passage which leads from his study to his bed-chamber, called out in a loud voice, “Vance.” Then for the first time, I noticed a man crouching there in the shadow. How I had overlooked him during my search for the cat, I cannot imagine.

  “Vance, come in,” cried Mr. Wilde. The figure rose and crept toward us, and I shall never forget the face that he raised to mine, as the light from the window illuminated it.

  “Vance, this is Mr. Castaigne,” said Mr. Wilde. Before he had fin - ished speaking, the man threw himself on the ground before the table, crying and gasping, “Oh, God! Oh, my God! Help me! Forgive meOh, Mr. Castaigne, keep that man away. You cannot, you cannot mean it! You are differentsave me! I am broken downI was in a madhouse and nowwhen all was coming rightwhen I had forgotten the Kingthe King in Yellow andbut I shall go mad againI shall go mad”

  His voice died in a choking rattle, for Mr. Wilde had leapt on his and his right hand encircled the man’s throat. When Vance fell in a heap on the floor, Mr. Wilde clambered nimbly into his chair again, and rubbing his mangled ears with the stump of his hand, turned to me and asked me for the ledger. I reached it down from the shelf and he opened it. After a moment’s searching among the beautifully written pages, he coughed complacently, and pointed to the name Vance.

  “Vance,” he read aloud, “Osgood Oswald Vance.” At the sound of his voice, the man on the floor raised his head and turned a convulsed face to Mr. Wilde. His eyes were injected with blood, his lips tumefied. “Called April 28th,” continued Mr. Wilde. “Occupation, cashier in the Seaforth National Bank; has served a term of forgery at Sing Sing, from whence he was transferred to the Asylum for the
Criminal Insane. Pardoned by the Governor of New York, and discharged from the Asylum, January 19, 1918. Reputation damaged at Sheepshead Bay. Rumors that he lives beyond his income. Reputation to be repaired at once. Retainer $1,500.

  “NoteHas embezzled sums amounting to $30,000 since March 20th, 1919, excellent family, and secured present position through uncle’s influence. Father President of Seaforth Bank.”

  I looked at the man on the floor. “Get up, Vance,” said Mr. Wilde in a gentle voice. Vance rose as if hypnotized. “He will do as we suggest now,” observed Mr. Wilde, and opening the manuscript, he read the entire history of the Imperial Dynasty of America. Then in a kind and soothing murmur he ran over the important points with Vance, who stood like one stunned. His eyes were so blank and vacant that I imagined he had become half-witted, and remarked it to Mr. Wilde who replied that it was of no consequence anyway. Very patiently we pointed out to Vance what his share in the affair would be, and he seemed to understand after a while. Mr. Wilde explained the manuscript, using several volumes on Heraldry, to substantiate the result of his researches. He mentioned the establishment of the Dynasty in Carcosa, the lakes which connected Hastur, Aldebaran and the mystery of the Hyades. He spoke of Cassilda and Camilla, and sounded the cloudy depths of Demhe, and the Lake of Hali. “The scolloped tatters of the King in Yellow must hide Yhtill forever,” he muttered, but I do not believe Vance heard him. Then by degrees he led Vance along the ramifications of the Imperial family, to Uoht and Thale, from Naotalba and Phantom of Truth, to Aldones, and then tossing aside his manuscripts and notes, he began the wonderful story of the Last King. Fascinated and thrilled I watched him. He threw up his head, his long arms were stretched out in a magnificent gesture of pride and power, and his eyes blazed deep in their sockets like two emeralds. Vance listened stupefied. As for me, when at last Mr. Wilde had finished, and pointing to me, cried, “The cousin of the King!” my head swam with excitement.

  Controlling myself with a superhuman effort, I explained to Vance why I alone was worthy of the crown and why my cousin must be exiled or die. I made him understand that my cousin must never marry, even after renouncing all his claims, and how that least of all he should marry the daughter of the Marquis of Avonshire and bring England into the question. I showed him a list of thousands of names which Mr. Wilde had drawn up; every man whose name was there had received the Yellow Sign which no living human dared disregard. The city, the state, the whole land, were ready to rise and tremble before the Pallid Mask.