Skip to main content

Full text of "The stolen bacillus, and other incidents"

See other formats 


Ipurcbaseo  for  tbe  Xtbrars  of 
Gbe  TUniversitp  of  Toronto 
out  of  tbe  proceeos  of  tbe  funo 

bequeatbet)  bp 
B.  Phillips  Stewart,  B.B., 

OB.   A.D.    1892. 


THE   STOLEN    BACILLUS 


THE  STOLEN  BACILLUS 

AND   OTHER   INCIDENTS 


BY 


H.   G.  WELLS 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  TIME  MACHINE,"  "THE  WONDERFUL  VISIT,' 
"THE  WHEELS  OF  CHANCE."  ETC. 


H onto on 
MACMILLAN   AND   CO.,   LIMITED 

NEW  YORK  :    THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 
1904 


Transferred  to  Hftstrs.  Macmil2an  and  Co.,  Limited,  1903 
Rfprinttd  1904 


TO 
H.    B.    MARRIOTT   WATSON 


IV  AOST  of  the  stories  in  this  collection 
appeared  originally  in  the  Pall 
Mall  Budget,  two  were  published  in  the 
Pall  Mall  Gazette,  and  one  in  St  James's 
Gazette.  I  desire  to  make  the  usual 
acknowledgments.  The  third  story  in 
the  book  was,  I  find,  reprinted  by  the 
Observatory,  and  the  "  Lord  of  the 
Dynamos"  by  the  Melbourne  Leader. 

H.  G.  WELLS. 


CONTENTS 

mot 

I.  THE  STOLEN  BACILLUS    ....  i 
II.  THE  FLOWERING  OF  THE  STRANGE 

ORCHID 17 

III.  IN  THE  Avu  OBSERVATORY     ...  36 

IV.  THE  TRIUMPHS  OF  A  TAXIDERMIST       .  53 

V.  A  DEAL  IN  OSTRICHES     ....  62 

VI.  THROUGH  A  WINDOW       ....  73 

VII.  THE  TEMPTATION  OF  HARRINGAY  .       .  93 

VIII.  THE  FLYING  MAN 106 

IX.  THE  DIAMOND  MAKER     ....  122 

^    X.  ^EPYORNIS  ISLAND 140 

XI.  THE  REMARKABLE  CASE  OF  DAVIDSON'S 

EYES 168 

XII.  THE  LORD  OF  THE  DYNAMOS         .       .  192 

XIII.  THE  HAMMERPOND  PARK  BURGLARY    .  214 

XIV.  A  MOTH— GENUS  Novo  .       .  232 
XV.  THE  TREASURE  IN  THE  FOREST     .       .  257 


THE  STOLEN  BACILLUS 

THIS  again,"  said  the  Bacteriologist, 
slipping  a  glass  slide  under  the 
microscope,  "  is  a  preparation  of  the  cele- 
brated Bacillus  of  cholera — the  cholera 
germ." 

The  pale-faced  man  peered  down  the 
microscope.  He  was  evidently  not  accus- 
tomed to  that  kind  of  thing,  and  held  a 
limp  white  hand  over  his  disengaged  eye. 
"  I  see  very  little,"  he  said. 

"Touch  this  screw,"  said  the  Bacteri- 
ologist ;  "  perhaps  the  microscope  is  out  of 
focus  for  you.  Eyes  vary  so  much.  Just 
the  fraction  of  a  turn  this  way  or  that." 

"Ah!  now  I  see,"  said  the  visitor.  "Not 
so  very  much  to  see  after  all.  Little  streaks 
and  shreds  of  pink.  And  yet  those  little 
particles,  those  mere  atomies,  might  mul- 
tiply and  devastate  a  city  !  Wonderful !  " 

A 


2          THE  STOLEN  BACILLUS 

He  stood  up,  and  releasing  the  glass  slip 
from  the  microscope,  held  it  in  his  hand 
towards  the  window.  "  Scarcely  visible," 
he  said,  scrutinising  the  preparation.  He 
hesitated.  "  Are  these — alive  ?  Are 
they  dangerous  now  ?  " 

"Those  have  been  stained  and  killed," 
said  the  Bacteriologist.  "  I  wish,  for  my 
own  part,  we  could  kill  and  stain  every 
one  of  them  in  the  universe." 

"  I  suppose,"  the  pale  man  said  with 
a  slight  smile,  "  that  you  scarcely  care 
to  have  such  things  about  you  in  the 
living — in  the  active  state  ?  " 

"  On  the  contrary,  we  are  obliged  to," 
said  the  Bacteriologist.  "  Here,  for  in- 
stance  "  He  walked  across  the  room 

and  took  up  one  of  several  sealed  tubes. 
"Here  is  the  living  thing.  This  is  a 
cultivation  of  the  actual  living  disease 
bacteria."  He  hesitated.  "  Bottled 
cholera,  so  to  speak." 

A  slight  gleam  of  satisfaction  appeared 
momentarily  in  the  face  of  the  pale  man. 


THE  STOLEN  BACILLUS  3 

"  It's  a  deadly  thing  to  have  in  your 
possession,"  he  said,  devouring  the  little 
tube  with  his  eyes.  The  Bacteriologist 
watched  the  morbid  pleasure  in  his 
visitor's  expression.  This  man,  who  had 
visited  him  that  afternoon  with  a  note  of 
introduction  from  an  old  friend,  interested 
him  from  the  very  contrast  of  their  dis- 
positions. The  lank  black  hair  and  deep 
grey  eyes,  the  haggard  expression  and 
nervous  manner,  the  fitful  yet  keen  in- 
terest of  his  visitor  were  a  novel  change 
from  the  phlegmatic  deliberations  of  the 
ordinary  scientific  worker  with  whom  the 
Bacteriologist  chiefly  associated.  It  was 
perhaps  natural,  with  a  hearer  evidently 
so  impressionable  to  the  lethal  nature  of 
his  topic,  to  take  the  most  effective  aspect 
of  the  matter. 

He  held  the  tube  in  his  hand  thought- 
fully. "Yes,  here  is  the  pestilence  im- 
prisoned. Only  break  such  a  little  tube 
as  this  into  a  supply  of  drinking-water, 
say  to  these  minute  particles  of  life  that 


4          THE  STOLEN  BACILLUS 

one  must  needs  stain  and  examine  with 
the  highest  powers  of  the  microscope 
even  to  see,  and  that  one  can  neither 
smell  nor  taste — say  to  them,  '  Go  forth, 
increase  and  multiply,  and  replenish  the 
cisterns/  and  death — mysterious,  un- 
traceable  death,  death  swift  and  terrible, 
death  full  of  pain  and  indignity — would 
be  released  upon  this  city,  and  go  hither 
and  thither  seeking  his  victims.  Here 
he  would  take  the  husband  from  the  wife, 
here  the  child  from  its  mother,  here  the 
statesman  from  his  duty,  and  here  the 
toiler  from  his  trouble.  He  would  follow 
the  water-mains,  creeping  along  streets, 
picking  out  and  punishing  a  house  here 
and  a  house  there  where  they  did  not 
boil  their  drinking-water,  creeping  into 
the  wells  of  the  mineral-water  makers, 
getting  washed  into  salad,  and  lying  dor- 
mant in  ices.  He  would  wait  ready  to 
be  drunk  in  the  horse-troughs,  and  by 
unwary  children  in  the  public  fountains. 
He  would  soak  into  the  soil,  to  reappear 


THE  STOLEN  BACILLUS          5 

in  springs  and  wells  at  a  thousand  un- 
expected places.  Once  start  him  at  the 
water  supply,  and  before  we  could  ring 
him  in,  and  catch  him  again,  he  would 
have  decimated  the  metropolis." 

He  stopped  abruptly.  He  had  been 
told  rhetoric  was  his  weakness. 

"  But  he  is  quite  safe  here,  you  know 
— quite  safe." 

The  pale-faced  man  nodded.  His 
eyes  shone.  He  cleared  his  throat. 
"  These  Anarchist  —  rascals,"  said  he, 
"are  fools,  blind  fools — to  use  bombs 
when  this  kind  of  thing  is  attainable. 
I  think " 

A  gentle  rap,  a  mere  light  touch  of  the 
finger-nails  was  heard  at  the  door.  The 
Bacteriologist  opened  it.  "Just  a  minute, 
dear,"  whispered  his  wife. 

When  he  re-entered  the  laboratory  his 
visitor  was  looking  at  his  watch.  "  I  had 
no  idea  I  had  wasted  an  hour  of  your 
time,"  he  said.  "  Twelve  minutes  to  four. 
I  ought  to  have  left  here  by  half-past 


6          THE  STOLEN  BACILLUS 

three.  But  your  things  were  really  too 
interesting.  No,  positively  I  cannot  stop 
a  moment  longer.  I  have  an  engagement 
s  at  four." 

He  passed  out  of  the  room  reiterating 
his  thanks,  and  the  Bacteriologist  accom- 
panied him  to  the  door,  and  then  returned 
thoughtfully  along  the  passage  to  his 
laboratory.  He  was  musing  on  the  ethno- 
logy of  his  visitor.  Certainly  the  man 
was  not  a  Teutonic  type  nor  a  common 
Latin  one.  "  A  morbid  product,  anyhow, 
I  am  afraid,"  said  the  Bacteriologist  to 
himself.  "  How  he  gloated  on  those  culti- 
vations of  disease-germs  ! "  A  disturbing 
thought  struck  him.  He  turned  to  the 
bench  by  the  vapour-bath,  and  then  very 
quickly  to  his  writing-table.  Then  he  felt 
hastily  in  his  pockets,  and  then  rushed  to 
the  door.  "  I  may  have  put  it  down  on 
the  hall  table,"  he  said. 

"  Minnie ! "  he  shouted  hoarsely  in  the 
hall. 

"  Yes,  dear,"  came  a  remote  voice. 


THE  STOLEN  BACILLUS  7 

"Had  I  anything  in  my  hand  when  I 
spoke  to  you,  dear,  just  now?  " 
Pause. 
"  Nothing,  dear,    because   I    remember 


"Blue  ruin!"  cried  the  Bacteriologist, 
and  incontinently  ran  to  the  front  door 
and  down  the  steps  of  his  house  to  the 
street. 

Minnie,  hearing  the  door  slam  violently, 
ran  in  alarm  to  the  window.  Down  the 
street  a  slender  man  was  getting  into  a 
cab.  The  Bacteriologist,  hatless,  and  in 
his  carpet  slippers,  was  running  and  gesti- 
culating wildly  towards  this  group.  One 
slipper  came  off,  but  he  did  not  wait  for  it. 
"  He  has  gone  mad!"  said  Minnie;  "it's 
that  horrid  science  of  his  " ;  and,  opening 
the  window,  would  have  called  after  him. 
The  slender  man,  suddenly  glancing  round, 
seemed  struck  with  the  same  idea  of 
mental  disorder.  He  pointed  hastily  to 
the  Bacteriologist,  said  something  to  the 
cabman,  the  apron  of  the  cab  slammed, 


8          THE  STOLEN  BACILLUS 

the  whip  swished,  the  horse's  feet  clattered, 
and  in  a  moment  cab,  and  Bacteriologist 
hotly  in  pursuit,  had  receded  up  the  vista 
of  the  roadway  and  disappeared  round  the 
corner. 

Minnie  remained  straining  out  of  the 
window  for  a  minute.  Then  she  drew 
her  head  back  into  the  room  again.  She 
was  dumbfounded.  "  Of  course  he  is 
eccentric,"  she  meditated.  "  But  running 
about  London — in  the  height  of  the  season, 
too — in  his  socks  ! "  A  happy  thought 
struck  her.  She  hastily  put  her  bonnet 
on,  seized  his  shoes,  went  into  the  hall, 
took  down  his  hat  and  light  overcoat  from 
the  pegs,  emerged  upon  the  doorstep,  and 
hailed  a  cab  that  opportunely  crawled  by. 
"  Drive  me  up  the  road  and  round  Have- 
lock  Crescent,  and  see  if  we  can  find  a 
gentleman  running  about  in  a  velveteen 
coat  and  no  hat." 

"  Velveteen  coat,  ma'am,  and  no  'at. 
Very  good,  ma'am."  And  the  cabman 
whipped  up  at  once  in  the  most  matter- 


THE  STOLEN  BACILLUS          9 

of-fact  way,  as  if  he  drove  to  this  address 
every  day  in  his  life. 

Some  few  minutes  later  the  little  group 
of  cabmen  and  loafers  that  collects  round 
the  cabmen's  shelter  at  Haverstock  Hill 
were  startled  by  the  passing  of  a  cab  with 
a  ginger-coloured  screw  of  a  horse,  driven 
furiously. 

They  were  silent  as  it  went  by,  and 
then  as  it  receded — "  That's  'Arry  'Icks. 
Wot's  he  got  ?  "  said  the  stout  gentleman 
known  as  Old  Tootles. 

"  He's  a-using  his  whip,  he  is,  to  rights," 
said  the  ostler  boy. 

"  Hullo  !  "  said  poor  old  Tommy  Byles  ; 
"  here's  another  bloomin'  loonatic.  Blowed 
if  there  aint." 

"  It's  old  George,"  said  old  Tootles, 
"and  he's  drivin'  a  loonatic,  as  you  say. 
Aint  he  a-clawin'  out  of  the  keb  ?  Wonder 
if  he's  after  'Arry  'Icks  ?  " 

The  group  round  the  cabmen's  shelter 
became  animated.  Chorus  :  "  Go  it, 
George  !  "  "  It's  a  race."  "  You'll  ketch 
'em!"  "Whip  up!" 


io        THE  STOLEN  BACILLUS 

"  She's  a  goer,  she  is  ! "  said  the  ostler 
boy. 

"  Strike  me  giddy  ! "  cried  old  Tootles. 
"  Here !  I'm  a-goin'  to  begin  in  a  minute. 
Here's  another  comin'.  If  all  the  kebs  in 
Hampstead  aint  gone  mad  this  morning !  " 

"  It's  a  fieldmale  this  time,"  said  the 
ostler  boy. 

"  She's  a  follovvin'  him"  said  old 
Tootles.  "  Usually  the  other  way  about." 

"  What's  she  got  in  her  'and  ? " 

•'  Looks  like  a  'igh  'at." 

"  What  a  bloomin'  lark  it  is  !  Three 
to  one  on  old  George,"  said  the  ostler 
boy.  "  Nexst !  " 

Minnie  went  by  in  a  perfect  roar  of 
applause.  She  did  not  like  it  but  she  felt 
that  she  was  doing  her  duty,  and  whirled 
on  down  Haverstock  Hill  and  Camden 
Town  High  Street  with  her  eyes  ever 
intent  on  the  animated  back  view  of  old 
George,  who  was  driving  her  vagrant 
husband  so  incomprehensibly  away  from 
her. 


THE  STOLEN  BACILLUS         n 

The  man  in  the  foremost  cab  sat 
crouched  in  the  corner,  his  arms  tightly 
folded,  and  the  little  tube  that  contained 
such  vast  possibilities  of  destruction 
gripped  in  his  hand.  His  mood  was  a 
singular  mixture  of  fear  and  exultation. 
Chiefly  he  was  afraid  of  being  caught 
before  he  could  accomplish  his  purpose, 
but  behind  this  was  a  vaguer  but  larger 
fear  of  the  awfulness  of  his  crime.  But 
his  exultation  far  exceeded  his  fear.  No 
Anarchist  before  him  had  ever  ap- 
proached this  conception  of  his.  Rava- 
chol,  Vaillant,  all  those  distinguished 
persons  whose  fame  he  had  envied 
dwindled  into  insignificance  beside  him. 
He  had  only  to  make  sure  of  the  water 
supply,  and  break  the  little  tube  into 
a  reservoir.  How  brilliantly  he  had 
planned  it,  forged  the  letter  of  intro- 
duction and  got  into  the  laboratory,  and 
how  brilliantly  he  had  seized  his  oppor- 
tunity !  The  world  should  hear  of  him 
at  last.  All  those  people  who  had 


12        THE  STOLEN  BACILLUS 

sneered  at  him,  neglected  him,  preferred 
other  people  to  him,  found  his  company 
undesirable,  should  consider  him  at  last. 
Death,  death,  death  !  They  had  always 
treated  him  as  a  man  of  no  importance. 
All  the  world  had  been  in  a  conspiracy 
to  keep  him  under.  He  would  teach 
them  yet  what  it  is  to  isolate  a  man. 
What  was  this  familiar  street?  Great 
Saint  Andrew's  Street,  of  course  !  How 
fared  the  chase  ?  He  craned  out  of  the 
cab.  The  Bacteriologist  was  scarcely 
fifty  yards  behind.  That  was  bad.  He 
would  be  caught  and  stopped  yet.  He 
felt  in  his  pocket  for  money,  and  found 
half-a-sovereign.  This  he  thrust  up 
through  the  trap  in  the  top  of  the  cab 
into  the  man's  face.  "  More,"  he  shouted, 
"  if  only  we  get  away." 

The  money  was  snatched  out  of  his 
hand.  "  Right  you  are,"  said  the  cab- 
man, and  the  trap  slammed,  and  the  lash 
lay  along  the  glistening  side  of  the  horse. 
The  cab  swayed,  and  the  Anarchist,  half- 


THE  STOLEN  BACILLUS         13 

standing  under  the  trap,  put  the  hand 
containing  the  little  glass  tube  upon  the 
apron  to  preserve  his  balance.  He  felt 
the  brittle  thing  crack,  and  the  broken 
half  of  it  rang  upon  the  floor  of  the  cab. 
He  fell  back  into  the  seat  with  a  curse, 
and  stared  dismally  at  the  two  or  three 
drops  of  moisture  on  the  apron. 

He  shuddered. 

"Well!  I  suppose  I  shall  be  the 
first.  ^  Phew !  Anyhow,  I  shall  be  a 
Martyr.  That's  something.  But  it  is  a 
filthy  death,  nevertheless.  I  wonder  if  it 
hurts  as  much  as  they  say." 

Presently  a  thought  occurred  to  him 
— he  groped  between  his  feet.  A  little 
drop  was  still  in  the  broken  end  of  the 
tube,  and  he  drank  that  to  make  sure. 
It  was  better  to  make  sure.  At  any 
rate,  he  would  not  fail. 

Then  it  dawned  upon  him  that  there 
was  no  further  need  to  escape  the  Bacteri- 
ologist. In  Wellington  Street  he  told 
the  cabman  to  stop,  and  got  out.  He 


i4         THE  STOLEN  BACILLUS 

slipped  on  the  step,  and  his  head  felt 
queer.  It  was  rapid  stuff  this  cholera 
poison.  He  waved  his  cabman  out  of 
existence,  so  to  speak,  and  stood  on  the 
pavement  with  his  arms  folded  upon  his 
breast  awaiting  the  arrival  of  the  Bacteri- 
ologist. There  was  something  tragic  in 
his  pose.  The  sense  of  imminent  death 
gave  him  a  certain  dignity.  He  greeted 
his  pursuer  with  a  defiant  laugh. 

"  Vive  1'Anarchie !  You  are  too  late, 
my  friend.  I  have  drunk  it.  The  cholera 
is  abroad ! " 

The  Bacteriologist  from  his  cab  beamed 
curiously  at  him  through  his  spectacles. 
"  You  have  drunk  it !  An  Anarchist ! 
I  see  now."  He  was  about  to  say  some- 
thing more,  and  then  checked  himself. 
A  smile  hung  in  the  corner  of  his  mouth. 
He  opened  the  apron  of  his  cab  as  if  to 
descend,  at  which  the  Anarchist  waved 
him  a  dramatic  farewell  and  strode  off 
towards  Waterloo  Bridge,  carefully  jost- 
ling his  infected  body  against  as  many 


THE  STOLEN  BACILLUS         15 

people  as  possible.  The  Bacteriologist 
was  so  preoccupied  with  the  vision  of 
him  that  he  scarcely  manifested  the 
slightest  surprise  at  the  appearance  of 
Minnie  upon  the  pavement  with  his  hat 
and  shoes  and  overcoat.  "  Very  good 
of  you  to  bring  my  things,"  he  said,  and 
remained  lost  in  contemplation  of  the 
receding  figure  of  the  Anarchist. 

"  You  had  better  get  in,"  he  said,  still 
staring.  Minnie  felt  absolutely  convinced 
now  that  he  was  mad,  and  directed  the 
cabman  home  on  her  own  responsibility. 
"Put  on  my  shoes?  Certainly  dear," 
said  he,  as  the  cab  began  to  turn,  and 
hid  the  strutting  black  figure,  now  small 
in  the  distance,  from  his  eyes.  Then 
suddenly  something  grotesque  struck  him, 
and  he  laughed.  Then  he  remarked,  "It 
is  really  very  serious,  though." 

"  You  see,  that  man  came  to  my  house 
to  see  me,  and  he  is  an  Anarchist.  No 
— don't  faint,  or  I  cannot  possibly  tell 
you  the  rest.  And  I  wanted  to  astonish 


1 6        THE  STOLEN  BACILLUS 

him,  not  knowing  he  was  an  Anarchist, 
and  took  up  a  cultivation  of  that  new 
species  of  Bacterium  I  was  telling  you 
of,  that  infest,  and  I  think  cause,  the 
blue  patches  upon  various  monkeys  ;  and 
like  a  fool,  I  said  it  was  Asiatic  cholera. 
And  he  ran  away  with  it  to  poison  the 
water  of  London,  and  he  certainly  might 
have  made  things  look  blue  for  this 
civilised  city.  And  now  he  has  swallowed 
it.  Of  course,  I  cannot  say  what  will 
happen,  but  you  know  it  turned  that 
kitten  blue,  and  the  three  puppies — in 
patches,  and  the  sparrow — bright  blue. 
But  tJ*s  bother  is,  I  shall  have  all  the 
trouble  and  expense  of  preparing  some 
more. 

"  Put  on  my  coat  on  this  hot  day ! 
Why  ?  Because  we  might  meet  Mrs 
Jabber.  My  dear,  Mrs  Jabber  is  not  a 
draught.  But  why  should  I  wear  a  coat 

on  a  hot  day  because  of  Mrs .     Oh ! 

very  well." 


THE    FLOWERING    OF    THE 
STRANGE    ORCHID 

TH  E  buying  of  orchids  always  has  in  it 
a  certain  speculative  flavour.  You 
have  before  you  the  brown  shrivelled  lump 
of  tissue,  and  for  the  rest  you  must  trust 
your  judgment,  or  the  auctioneer,  or  your 
good-luck,  as  your  taste  may  incline.  The 
plant  may  be  moribund  or  dead,  or  it  may 
be  just  a  respectable  purchase,  fair  value  for 
your  money,  or  perhaps — for  the  thing  has 
happened  again  and  again — there  slowly 
unfolds  before  the  delighted  eyes  of  the 
happy  purchaser,  day  after  day,  some  new 
variety,  some  novel  richness,  a  strange 
twist  of  the  labellum,  or  some  subtler  col- 
ouration or  unexpected  mimicry.  Pride, 
beauty,  and  profit  blossom  together  on 
one  delicate  green  spike,  and,  it-  may 
be,  even  immortality.  For  the  new 
B  I7 


i8      THE  FLOWERING  OF  THE 

miracle  of  Nature  may  stand  in  need  of  a 
new  specific  name,  and  what  so  convenient 
as  that  of  its  discoverer  ?  "  Johnsmithia  "  ! 
There  have  been  worse  names. 

It  was  perhaps  the  hope  of  some  such 
happy  discovery  that  made  Winter- 
Wedderburn  such  a  frequent  attendant 
at  these  sales — that  hope,  and  also,  may- 
be, the  fact  that  he  had  nothing  else  of 
the  slightest  interest  to  do  in  the  world. 
He  was  a  shy,  lonely,  rather  ineffectual 
man,  provided  with  just  enough  income  to 
keep  off  the  spur  of  necessity,  and  not 
enough  nervous  energy  to  make  him  seek 
any  exacting  employments.  He  might 
have  collected  stamps  or  coins,  or  trans- 
lated Horace,  or  bound  books,  or  in- 
vented new  species  of  diatoms.  But,  as 
it  happened,  he  grew  orchids,  and  had 
one  ambitious  little  hothouse. 

"  I  have  a  fancy,"  he  said  over  his 
coffee,  "  that  something  is  going  to  happen 
to  me  to-day."  He  spoke — as  he  moved 
and  thought — slowly. 


STRANGE  ORCHID  19 

"  Oh,  don't  say  that  /  "  said  his  house- 
keeper— who  was  also  his  remote  cousin. 
For  "something  happening"  was  a 
euphemism  that  meant  only  one  thing 
to  her. 

"You  misunderstand  me.  I  mean 
nothing  unpleasant  .  .  .  though-  what  I 
do  mean  I  scarcely  know. 

"  To-day,"  he  continued,  after  a  pause, 
"  Peters'  are  going  to  sell  a  batch  of  plants 
from  the  Andamans  and  the  Indies.  I 
shall  go  up  and  see  what  they  have.  It 
may  be  I  shall  buy  something  good, 
unawares.  That  may  be  it." 

He  passed  his  cup  for  his  second  cupful 
of  coffee. 

"  Are  these  the  things  collected  by  that 
poor  young  fellow  you  told  me  of  the  other 
day  ? "  asked  his  cousin  as  she  filled  his 
cup. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  and  became  meditative 
over  a  piece  of  toast. 

"  Nothing  ever  does  happen  to  me,"  he 
remarked  presently,  beginning  to  think 


20      THE  FLOWERING  OF  THE 

aloud.  "  I  wonder  why  ?  Things  enough 
happen  to  other  people.  There  is  Harvey. 
Only  the  other  week ;  on  Monday  he 
picked  up  sixpence,  on  Wednesday  his 
chicks  all  had  the  staggers,  on  Friday  his 
cousin  came  home  from  Australia,  and 
on  Saturday  he  broke  his  ankle.  What 
a  whirl  of  excitement ! — compared  to  me." 

"  I  think  I  would  rather  be  without  so 
much  excitement,"  said  his  housekeeper. 
"It  can't  be  good  for  you." 

"  I  suppose  it's  troublesome.  Still  .  .  . 
you  see,  nothing  ever  happens  to  me. 
When  I  was  a  little  boy  I  never  had 
accidents.  I  never  fell  in  love  as  I  grew 
up.  Never  married.  ...  I  wonder  how 
it  feels  to  have  something  happen  to  you, 
something  really  remarkable. 

"  That  orchid-collector  was  only  thirty- 
six — twenty  years  younger  than  myself — 
when  he  died.  And  he  had  been  married 
twice  and  divorced  once ;  he  had  had 
malarial  fever  four  times,  and  once  he 
broke  his  thigh.  He  killed  a  Malay  once, 


STRANGE  ORCHID  21 

and  once  he  was  wounded  by  a  poisoned 
dart.  And  in  the  end  he  was  killed  by 
jungle-leeches.  It  must  have  all  been  very 
troublesome,  but  then  it  must  have  been 
very  interesting,  you  know — except,  per- 
haps, the  leeches." 

"  I  am  sure  it  was  not  good  for  him," 
said  the  lady,  with  conviction. 

"  Perhaps  not."  And  then  Wedderburn 
looked  at  his  watch.  "Twenty-three 
minutes  past  eight  I  am  going  up  by  the 
quarter  to  twelve  train,  so  that  there  is 
plenty  of  time.  I  think  I  shall  wear  my 
alpaca  jacket — it  is  quite  warm  enough — 
and  my  grey  felt  hat  and  brown  shoes.  I 
suppose " 

He  glanced  out  of  the  window  at  the 
serene  sky  and  sunlit  garden,  and  then 
nervously  at  his  cousin's  face. 

"  I  think  you  had  better  take  an  umbrella 
if  you  are  going  to  London,"  she  said  in  a 
voice  that  admitted  of  no  denial .  "  There's 
all  between  here  and  the  station  coming 
back." 


22      THE  FLOWERING  OF  THE 

When  he  returned  he  was  in  a  state  of 
mild  excitement.  He  had  made  a  pur- 
chase. It  was  rare  that  he  could  make  up 
his  mind  quickly  enough  to  buy,  but  this 
time  he  had  done  so. 

"  There  are  Vandas,"  he  said,  "  and  a 
Dendrobe  and  some  Palseonophis."  He 
surveyed  his  purchases  lovingly  as  he 
consumed  his  soup.  They  were  laid  out 
on  the  spotless  tablecloth  before  him,  and 
he  was  telling  his  cousin  all  about  them  as 
he  slowly  meandered  through  his  dinner. 
It  was  his  custom  to  live  all  his  visits  to 
London  over  again  in  the  evening  for  her 
and  his  own  entertainment 

"  I  knew  something  would  happen  to- 
day. And  I  have  bought  all  these. 
Some  of  them — some  of  them — I  feel 
sure,  do  you  know,  that  some  of  them 
will  be  remarkable.  I  don't  know  how  it 
is,  but  I  feel  just  as  sure  as  if  someone 
had  told  me  that  some  of  these  will  turn 
out  remarkable. 

"  That  one  " — he  pointed  to  a  shrivelled 


STRANGE  ORCHID  23 

rhizome — "  was  not  identified.  It  may  be 
a  Palseonophis — or  it  may  not.  It  may 
be  a  new  species,  or  even  a  new  genus. 
And  it  was  the  last  that  poor  Batten  ever 
collected" 

"I  don't  like  the  look  of  it,"  said  his 
housekeeper.  "  It's  such  an  ugly  shape." 

"To  me  it  scarcely  seems  to  have  a 
shape." 

"  I  don't  like  those  things  that  stick 
out,"  said  his  housekeeper. 

"It  shall  be  put  away  in  a  pot  to- 
morrow." 

"It  looks,"  said  the  housekeeper,  " like 
a  spider  shamming  dead." 

Wedderburn  smiled  and  surveyed  the 
root  with  his  head  on  one  side.  "It  is 
certainly  not  a  pretty  lump  of  stuff.  But 
you  can  never  judge  of  these  things  from 
their  dry  appearance.  It  may  turn  out  to 
be  a  very  beautiful  orchid  indeed.  How 
busy  I  shall  be  to-morrow !  I  must  see 
to-night  just  exactly  what  to  do  with  these 
things,  and  to-morrow  I  shall  set  to  work." 


24      THE  FLOWERING  OF  THE 

"  They  found  poor  Batten  lying  dead, 
or  dying,  in  a  mangrove  swamp — I  forget 
which,"  he  began  again  presently,  "  with 
one  of  these  very  orchids  crushed  up  under 
his  body.  He  had  been  unwell  for  some 
days  with  some  kind  of  native  fever,  and 
I  suppose  he  fainted.  These  mangrove 
swamps  are  very  unwholesome.  Every 
drop  of  blood,  they  say,  was  taken  out  of 
him  by  the  jungle-leeches.  It  may  be  that 
very  plant  that  cost  him  his  life  to  obtain." 

"  I  think  none  the  better  of  it  for  that." 

"  Men  must  work  though  women  may 
weep,"  said  Wedderburn  with  profound 
gravity. 

"  Fancy  dying  away  from  every  comfort 
in  a  nasty  swamp !  Fancy  being  ill  of 
fever  with  nothing  to  take  but  chlorodyne 
and  quinine — if  men  were  left  to  them- 
selves they  would  live  on  chlorodyne  and 
quinine — and  no  one  round  you  but 
horrible  natives  !  They  say  the  Andaman 
islanders  are  most  disgusting  wretches — 
and,  anyhow,  they  can  scarcely  make  good 


STRANGE  ORCHID  25 

nurses,  not  having  the  necessary  training. 
And  just  for  people  in  England  to  have 
orchids  !  " 

"  I  don't  suppose  it  was  comfortable, 
but  some  men  seem  to  enjoy  that  kind 
of  thing,"  said  Wedderburn.  "  Anyhow, 
the  natives  of  his  party  were  sufficiently 
civilised  to  take  care  of  all  his  collection 
until  his  colleague,  who  was  an  ornitho- 
logist, came  back  again  from  the  interior ; 
though  they  could  not  tell  the  species  of 
the  orchid  and  had  let  it  wither.  And  it 
makes  these  things  more  interesting." 

"It  makes  them  disgusting.  I  should 
be  afraid  of  some  of  the  malaria  clinging 
to  them.  And  just  think,  there  has  been 
a  dead  body  lying  across  that  ugly  thing ! 
I  never  thought  of  that  before.  There !  I 
declare  I  cannot  eat  another  mouthful  of 
dinner." 

"  I  will  take  them  off  the  table  if  you 
like,  and  put  them  in  the  window-seat.  I 
can  see  them  just  as  well  there." 

The    next    few    days    he   was    indeed 


26      THE  FLOWERING  OF  THE 

singularly  busy  in  his  steamy  little  hot- 
house, fussing  about  with  charcoal,  lumps 
of  teak,  moss,  and  all  the  other  mysteries 
of  the  orchid  cultivator.  He  considered 
he  was  having  a  wonderfully  eventful  time. 
In  the  evening  he  would  talk  about  these 
new  orchids  to  his  friends,  and  over  and 
over  again  he  reverted  to  his  expectation 
of  something  strange. 

Several  of  the  Vandas  and  the  Dend- 
robium  died  under  his  care,  but  presently 
the  strange  orchid  began  to  show  signs  of 
life.  He  was  delighted  and  took  his 
housekeeper  right  away  from  jam-making 
to  see  it  at  once,  directly  he  made  the 
discovery. 

"  That  is  a  bud,"  he  said,  "  and  presently 
there  will  be  a  lot  of  leaves  there,  and 
those  little  things  coming  out  here  are 
aerial  rootlets." 

"  They  look  to  me  like  little  white 
fingers  poking  out  of  the  brown,"  said  his 
housekeeper.  "  I  don't  like  them." 

"Why  not?" 


STRANGE  ORCHID  27 

"  I  don't  know.  They  look  like  fingers 
trying  to  get  at  you.  I  can't  help  my 
likes  and  dislikes." 

"  I  don't  know  for  certain,  but  I  don't 
think  there  are  any  orchids  I  know  that 
have  aerial  rootlets  quite  like  that  It 
may  be  my  fancy,  of  course.  You  see 
they  are  a  little  flattened  at  the  ends." 

"  I  don't  like  'em,"  said  his  housekeeper, 
suddenly  shivering  and  turning  away.  "  I 
know  it's  very  silly  of  me — and  I'm  very 
sorry,  particularly  as  you  like  the  thing  so 
much.  But  I  can't  help  thinking  of  that 
corpse." 

"  But  it  may  not  be  that  particular  plant. 
That  was  merely  a  guess  of  mine." 

His  housekeeper  shrugged  her  shoulders. 
"  Anyhow  I  don't  like  it,"  she  said. 

Wedderburn  felt  a  little  hurt  at  her 
dislike  to  the  plant.  But  that  did  not 
prevent  his  talking  to  her  about  orchids 
generally,  and  this  orchid  in  particular, 
whenever  he  felt  inclined. 

"  There   are   such   queer   things   about 


2S      THE  FLOWERING  OF  THE 

orchids,"  he  said  one  day ;  "  such  pos- 
sibilities of  surprises.  You  know,  Darwin 
studied  their  fertilisation,  and  showed  that 
the  whole  structure  of  an  ordinary  orchid- 
flower  was  contrived  in  order  that  moths 
might  carry  the  pollen  from  plant  to  plant. 
Well,  it  seems  that  there  are  lots  of  orchids 
known  the  flower  of  which  cannot  possibly 
be  used  for  fertilisation  in  that  way.  Some 
of  the  Cypripediums,  for  instance ;  there 
are  no  insects  known  that  can  possibly 
fertilise  them,  and  some  of  them  have 
never  be  found  with  seed." 

"  But  how  do  they  form  new  plants  ?  " 
"  By  runners  and  tubers,  and  that  kind 
of  outgrowth.      That  is  easily  explained. 
The  puzzle  is,  what  are  the  flowers  for  ? 

"  Very  likely,"  he  added,  "  my  orchid 
may  be  something  extraordinary  in  that 
way.  If  so  I  shall  study  it  I  have  often 
thought  of  making  researches  as  Darwin 
did.  But  hitherto  I  have  not  found  the 
time,  or  something  else  has  happened  to 
prevent  it  The  leaves  are  beginning  to 


STRANGE   ORCHID  29 

unfold  now.     I  do  wish  you  would  come 
and  see  them  !  " 

But  she  said  that  the  orchid-house  was 
so  hot  it  gave  her  the  headache.  She  had 
seen  the  plant  once  again,  and  the  aerial 
rootlets,  which  were  now  some  of  them 
more  than  a  foot  long,  had  unfortunately 
reminded  her  of  tentacles  reaching  out 
after  something ;  and  they  got  into  her 
dreams,  growing  after  her  with  incredible 
rapidity.  So  that  she  had  settled  to  her 
entire  satisfaction  that  she  would  not  see 
that  plant  again,  and  Wedderburn  had  to 
admire  its  leaves  alone.  They  were  of 
the  ordinary  broad  form,  and  a  deep 
glossy  green,  with  splashes  and  dots  of 
deep  red  towards  the  base.  He  knew 
of  no  other  leaves  quite  like  them.  The 
plant  was  placed  on  a  low  bench  near  the 
thermometer,  and  close  by  was  a  simple 
arrangement  by  which  a  tap  dripped  on 
the  hot-water  pipes  and  kept  the  air 
steamy.  And  he  spent  his  afternoons  now 
with  some  regularity  meditating  on  the  ap- 
proaching flowering  of  this  strange  plant. 


30      THE  FLOWERING  OF  THE 

And  at  last  the  great  thing  happened. 
Directly  he  entered  the  little  glass  house 
he  knew  that  the  spike  had  burst  out,  al- 
though his  great  Palceonophis  Lowii  hid  the 
corner  where  his  new  darling  stood.  There 
was  a  new  odour  in  the  air,  a  rich,  intensely 
sweet  scent,  that  overpowered  every  other 
in  that  crowded,  steaming  little  greenhouse. 

Directly  he  noticed  this  he  hurried  down 
to  the  strange  orchid.  And,  behold !  the 
trailing  green  spikes  bore  now  three  great 
splashes  of  blossom,  from  which  this 
overpowering  sweetness  proceeded.  He 
stopped  before  them  in  an  ecstasy  of 
admiration. 

The  flowers  were  white,  with  streaks  of 
golden  orange  upon  the  petals  ;  the  heavy 
labellum  was  coiled  into  an  intricate 
projection,  and  a  wonderful  bluish  purple 
mingled  there  with  the  gold.  He  could 
see  at  once  that  the  genus  was  altogether 
a  new  one.  And  the  insufferable  scent ! 
How  hot  the  place  was !  The  blossoms 
swam  before  his  eyes. 


STRANGE  ORCHID  31 

He  would  see  if  the  temperature  was 
right.  He  made  a  step  towards  the  ther- 
mometer. Suddenly  everything  appeared 
unsteady.  The  bricks  on  the  floor  were 
dancing  up  and  down.  Then  the  white 
blossoms,  the  green  leaves  behind  them, 
the  whole  greenhouse,  seemed  to  sweep 

sideways,  and  then  in  a  curve  upward. 

***** 

At  half-past  four  his  cousin  made  the  tea, 
according  to  their  invariable  custom.  But 
Wedderburn  did  not  come  in  for  his  tea. 

"He  is  worshipping  that  horrid  orchid," 
she  told  herself,  and  waited  ten  minutes. 
"  His  watch  must  have  stopped.  I  will 
go  and  call  him." 

She  went  straight  to  the  hothouse,  and, 
opening  the  door,  called  his  name.  There 
was  no  reply.  She  noticed  that  the  air 
was  very  close,  and  loaded  with  an  intense 
perfume.  Then  she  saw  something  lying 
on  the  bricks  between  the  hot- water  pipes. 

For  a  minute,  perhaps,  she  stood 
motionless. 


32      THE  FLOWERING  OF  THE 

He  was  lying,  face  upward,  at  the  foot 
of  the  strange  orchid.  The  tentacle-like 
aerial  rootlets  no  longer  swayed  freely  in 
the  air,  but  were  crowded  together,  a  tangle 
of  grey  ropes,  and  stretched  tight  with 
their  ends  closely  applied  to  his  chin  and 
neck  and  hands. 

She  did  not  understand.  Then  she  saw 
from  under  one  of  the  exultant  tentacles 
upon  his  cheek  there  trickled  a  little 
thread  of  blood. 

With  an  inarticulate  cry  she  ran  towards 
him,  and  tried  to  pull  him  away  from  the 
leech-like  suckers.  She  snapped  two  of 
these  tentacles,  and  their  sap  dripped  red. 

Then  the  overpowering  scent  of  the 
blossom  began  to  make  her  head  reel. 
How  they  clung  to  him !  She  tore  at 
the  tough  ropes,  and  he  and  the  white 
inflorescence  swam  about  her.  She  felt 
she  was  fainting,  knew  she  must  not. 
She  left  him  and  hastily  opened  the  near- 
est door,  and,  after  she  had  panted  for  a 
moment  in  the  fresh  air,  she  had  a  brilliant 


33 

inspiration.  She  caught  up  a  flower-pot 
and  smashed  in  the  windows  at  the  end 
of  the  green-house.  Then  she  re-entered. 
She  tugged  now  with  renewed  strength 
at  Wedderburn's  motionless  body,  and 
brought  the  strange  orchid  crashing  to  the 
floor.  It  still  clung  with  the  grimmest 
tenacity  to  its  victim.  In  a  frenzy,  she 
lugged  it  and  him  into  the  open  air. 

Then  she  thought  of  tearing  through 
the  sucker  rootlets  one  by  one,  and  in 
another  minute  she  had  released  him  and 
was  dragging  him  away  from  the  horror. 

He  was  white  and  bleeding  from  a 
dozen  circular  patches. 

The  odd-job  man  was  coming  up  the 
garden,  amazed  at  the  smashing  of  glass, 
and  saw  her  emerge,  hauling  the  inani- 
mate body  with  red-stained  hands.  For 
a  moment  he  thought  impossible  things. 

"  Bring   some  water ! "   she  cried,   and 

her   voice   dispelled   his   fancies.     When, 

with  unnatural  alacrity,  he  returned  with 

the  water,  he  found  her  weeping  with  ex- 

c 


34      THE  FLOWERING  OF  THE 

citement,  and  with  Wedderburn's  head 
upon  her  knee,  wiping  the  blood  from 
his  face. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  said  Wedderburn, 
opening  his  eyes  feebly,  and  closing  them 
again  at  once. 

"  Go  and  tell  Annie  to  come  out  here 
to  me,  and  then  go  for  Doctor  Haddon  at 
once,"  she  said  to  the  odd-job  man  so  soon 
as  he  brought  the  water ;  and  added,  seeing 
he  hesitated,  "  I  will  tell  you  all  about  it 
when  you  come  back." 

Presently  Wedderburn  opened  his  eyes 
again,  and,  seeing  that  he  was  troubled  by 
the  puzzle  of  his  position,  she  explained  to 
him,  "  You  fainted  in  the  hothouse." 

"And  the  orchid?" 

"  I  will  see  to  that,"  she  said. 

Wedderburn  had  lost  a  good  deal  of 
blood,  but  beyond  that  he  had  suffered  no 
very  great  injury.  They  gave  him  brandy 
mixed  with  some  pink  extract  of  meat,  and 
carried  him  upstairs  to  bed.  His  house- 
keeper told  her  incredible  story  in  frag- 


STRANGE  ORCHID  35 

ments  to  Dr  Haddon.  "  Come  to  the 
orchid-house  and  see,"  she  said. 

The  cold  outer  air  was  blowing  in 
through  the  open  door,  and  the  sickly 
perfume  was  almost  dispelled.  Most  of 
the  torn  aerial  rootlets  lay  already  with- 
ered amidst  a  number  of  dark  stains  upon 
the  bricks.  The  stem  of  the  inflorescence 
was  broken  by  the  fall  of  the  plant,  and 
the  flowers  were  growing  limp  and  brown 
at  the  edges  of  the  petals.  The  doctor 
stooped  towards  it,  then  saw  that  one  of 
the  aerial  rootlets  still  stirred  feebly,  and 
hesitated. 

The  next  morning  the  strange  orchid 
still  lay  there,  black  now  and  putrescent. 
The  door  banged  intermittently  in  the 
morning  breeze,  and  all  the  array  of 
Wedderburn's  orchids  was  shrivelled  and 
prostrate.  But  Wedderburn  himself  was 
bright  and  garrulous  upstairs  in  the  glory 
of  his  strange  adventure. 


IN  THE  AVU  OBSERVATORY 


observatory  at  Avu,  in  Borneo, 
1  stands  on  the  spur  of  the  mountain. 
To  the  north  rises  the  old  crater,  black 
at  night  against  the  unfathomable  blue  of 
the  sky.  From  the  little  circular  building, 
with  its  mushroom  dome,  the  slopes  plunge 
steeply  downward  into  the  black  mysteries 
of  the  tropical  forest  beneath.  The  little 
house  in  which  the  observer  and  his 
assistant  live  is  about  fifty  yards  from  the 
observatory,  and  beyond  this  are  the 
huts  of  their  native  attendants. 

Thaddy,  the  chief  observer,  was  down 
with  a  slight  fever.  His  assistant,  Wood- 
house,  paused  for  a  moment  in  silent  con- 
templation of  the  tropical  night  before 
commencing  his  solitary  vigil.  The  night 
was  very  still.  Now  and  then  voices 
and  laughter  came  from  the  native  huts, 


IN  THE  AVU  OBSERVATORY     37 

or  the  cry  of  some  strange  animal  was 
heard  from  the  midst  of  the  mystery  of 
the  forest.  Nocturnal  insects  appeared 
in  ghostly  fashion  out  of  the  darkness, 
and  fluttered  round  his  light.  He  thought, 
perhaps,  of  all  the  possibilities  of  discovery 
that  still  lay  in  the  black  tangle  beneath 
him  ;  for  to  the  naturalist  the  virgin  forests 
of  Borneo  are  still  a  wonderland  full  of 
strange  questions  and  half-suspected  dis- 
coveries. Woodhouse  carried  a  small 
lantern  in  his  hand,  and  its  yellow  glow 
contrasted  vividly  with  the  infinite  series 
of  tints  between  lavender-blue  and  black 
in  which  the  landscape  was  painted.  His 
hands  and  face  were  smeared  with  ointment 
against  the  attacks  of  the  mosquitoes. 

Even  in  these  days  of  celestial  photo- 
graphy, work  done  in  a  purely  temporary 
erection,  and  with  only  the  most  primitive 
appliances  in  addition  to  the  telescope, 
still  involves  a  very  large  amount  of 
cramped  and  motionless  watching.  He 
sighed  as  he  thought  of  the  physical 


38   IN  THE  AVU  OBSERVATORY 

fatigues  before  him,  stretched  himself,  and 
entered  the  observatory. 

The  reader  is  probably  familiar  with 
the  structure  of  an  ordinary  astronomical 
observatory.  The  building  is  usually 
cylindrical  in  shape,  with  a  very  light 
hemispherical  roof  capable  of  being  turned 
round  from  the  interior.  The  telescope 
is  supported  upon  a  stone  pillar  in  the 
centre,  and  a  clockwork  arrangement  com- 
pensates for  the  earth's  rotation,  and 
allows  a  star  once  found  to  be  continu- 
ously observed.  Besides  this,  there  is  a 
compact  tracery  of  wheels  and  screws 
about  its  point  of  support,  by  which  the 
astronomer  adjusts  it.  There  is,  of  course, 
a  slit  in  the  movable  roof  which  follows 
the  eye  of  the  telescope  in  its  survey  of 
the  heavens.  The  observer  sits  or  lies 
on  a  sloping  wooden  arrangement,  which 
he  can  wheel  to  any  part  of  the  observa- 
tory as  the  position  of  the  telescope  may 
require.  Within  it  is  advisable  to  have 
things  as  dark  as  possible,  in  order 


IN  THE  AVU  OBSERVATORY    39 

to  enhance  the  brilliance  of  the  stars  ob- 
served. 

The  lantern  flared  as  Woodhouse  en- 
tered his  circular  den,  and  the  general 
darkness  fled  into  black  shadows  behind 
the  big  machine,  from  which  it  presently 
seemed  to  creep  back  over  the  whole  place 
again  as  the  light  waned.  The  slit  was  a 
profound  transparent  blue,  in  which  six 
stars  shone  with  tropical  brilliance,  and 
their  light  lay,  a  pallid  gleam,  along  the 
black  tube  of  the  instrument.  Wood- 
house  shifted  the  roof,  and  then  proceed- 
ing to  the  telescope,  turned  first  one  wheel 
and  then  another,  the  great  cylinder  slowly 
swinging  into  a  new  position.  Then  he 
glanced  through  the  finder,  the  little  com- 
panion telescope,  moved  the  roof  a  little 
more,  made  some  further  adjustments, 
and  set  the  clockwork  in  motion.  He 
took  off  his  jacket,  for  the  night  was  very 
hot,  and  pushed  into  position  the  uncom- 
fortable seat  to  which  he  was  condemned 
for  the  next  four  hours.  Then  with  a  sigh 


40   IN  THE  AVU  OBSERVATORY 

he  resigned  himself  to  his  watch  upon  the 
mysteries  of  space. 

There  was  no  sound  now  in  the  ob- 
servatory, and  the  lantern  waned  steadily. 
Outside  there  was  the  occasional  cry  of 
some  animal  in  alarm  or  pain,  or  calling 
to  its  mate,  and  the  intermittent  sounds 
of  the  Malay  and  Dyak  servants.  Pre- 
sently one  of  the  men  began  a  queer 
chanting  song,  in  which  the  others  joined 
at  intervals.  After  this  it  would  seem 
that  they  turned  in  for  the  night,  for 
no  further  sound  came  from  their  direc- 
tion, and  the  whispering  stillness  became 
more  and  more  profound. 

The  clockwork  ticked  steadily.  The 
shrill  hum  of  a  mosquito  explored  the 
place  and  grew  shriller  in  indignation  at 
Woodhouse's  ointment  Then  the  lantern 
went  out  and  all  the  observatory  was  black. 

Woodhouse  shifted  his  position  pre- 
sently, when  the  slow  movement  of  the 
telescope  had  carried  it  beyond  the  limits 
of  his  comfort. 


IN  THE  AVU  OBSERVATORY    41 

He  was  watching  a  little  group  of  stars 
in  the  Milky  Way,  in  one  of  which  his 
chief  had  seen  or  fancied  a  remarkable 
colour  variability.  It  was  not  a  part  of 
the  regular  work  for  which  the  establish- 
ment existed,  and  for  that  reason  perhaps 
Woodhouse  was  deeply  interested.  He 
must  have  forgotten  things  terrestrial. 
All  his  attention  was  concentrated  upon 
the  great  blue  circle  of  the  telescope  field 
— a  circle  powdered,  so  it  seemed,  with 
an  innumerable  multitude  of  stars,  and 
all  luminous  against  the  blackness  of  its 
setting.  As  he  watched  he  seemed  to 
himself  to  become  incorporeal,  as  if  he 
too  were  floating  in  the  ether  of  space. 
Infinitely  remote  was  the  faint  red  spot 
he  was  observing. 

Suddenly  the  stars  were  blotted  out. 
A  flash  of  blackness  passed,  and  they 
were  visible  again. 

"  Queer,"  said  Woodhouse.  "  Must 
have  been  a  bird." 

The  thing  happened  again,  and  immedi- 


42     IN  THE  AVU  OBSERVATORY 

ately  after  the  great  tube  shivered  as 
though  it  had  been  struck.  Then  the 
dome  of  the  observatory  resounded  with 
a  series  of  thundering  blows.  The  stars 
seemed  to  sweep  aside  as  the  telescope — 
which  had  been  undamped — swung  round 
and  away  from  the  slit  in  the  roof. 

"  Great  Scott ! "  cried  Woodhouse. 
'What's  this?" 

Some  huge  vague  black  shape,  with  a 
flapping  something  like  a  wing,  seemed 
to  be  struggling  in  the  aperture  of  the 
roof.  In  another  moment  the  slit  was 
clear  again,  and  the  luminous  haze  of 
the  Milky  Way  shone  warm  and  bright. 

The  interior  of  the  roof  was  perfectly 
black,  and  only  a  scraping  sound  marked 
the  whereabouts  of  the  unknown  creature. 

Woodhouse  had  scrambled  from  the 
seat  to  his  feet.  He  was  trembling 
violently  and  in  a  perspiration  with'  the 
suddenness  of  the  occurrence.  Was  the 
thing,  whatever  it  was,  inside  or  out  ?  It 
was  big,  whatever  else  it  might  be. 


IN  THE  AVU  OBSERVATORY    43 

Something  shot  across  the  skylight,  and 
the  telescope  swayed.  He  started  violently 
and  put  his  arm  up.  It  was  in  the  ob- 
servatory, then,  with  him.  It  was  cling- 
ing to  the  roof,  apparently.  What  the 
devil  was  it  ?  Could  it  see  him  ? 

He  stood  for  perhaps  a  minute  in  a 
state  of  stupefaction.  The  beast,  what- 
ever it  was,  clawed  at  the  interior  of  the 
dome,  and  then  something  flapped  almost 
into  his  face,  and  he  saw  the  momentary 
gleam  of  starlight  on  a  skin  like  oiled 
leather.  His  water-bottle  was  knocked 
off  his  little  table  with  a  smash. 

The  sense  of  some  strange  bird-creature 
hovering  a  few  yards  from  his  face  in  the 
darkness  was  indescribably  unpleasant  to 
Woodhouse.  As  his  thought  returned  he 
concluded  that  it  must  be  some  night-bird 
or  large  bat.  At  any  risk  he  would  see 
what  it  was,  and  pulling  a  match  from  his 
pocket,  he  tried  to  strike  it  on  the  tele- 
scope seat.  There  was  a  smoking  streak 
of  phosphorescent  light,  the  match  flared 


44    IN  THE  AVU  OBSERVATORY 

for  a  moment,  and  he  saw  a  vast  wing 
sweeping  towards  him,  a  gleam  of  grey- 
brown  fur,  and  then  he  was  struck  in  the 
face  and  the  match  knocked  out  of  his 
hand.  The  blow  was  aimed  at  his  temple, 
and  a  claw  tore  sideways  down  to  his 
cheek.  He  reeled  and  fell,  and  he  heard 
the  extinguished  lantern  smash.  Another 
blow  followed  as  he  fell.  He  was  partly 
stunned,  he  felt  his  own  warm  blood  stream 
out  upon  his  face.  Instinctively  he  felt 
his  eyes  had  been  struck  at,  and,  turning 
over  on  his  face  to  protect  them,  tried  to 
crawl  under  the  protection  of  the  telescope. 
He  was  struck  again  upon  the  back,  and 
he  heard  his  jacket  rip,  and  then  the  thing 
hit  the  roof  of  the  observatory.  He 
edged  as  far  as  he  could  between  the 
wooden  seat  and  the  eyepiece  of  the 
instrument,  and  turned  his  body  round 
so  that  it  was  chiefly  his  feet  that  were 
exposed.  With  these  he  could  at  least 
kick.  He  was  still  in  a  mystified  state. 
The  strange  beast  banged  about  in  the 


IN  THE  AVU  OBSERVATORY     45 

darkness,  and  presently  clung  to  the  tele- 
scope, making  it  sway  and  the  gear  rattle. 
Once  it  flapped  near  him,  and  he  kicked 
out  madly  and  felt  a  soft  body  with  his 
feet.  He  was  horribly  scared  now.  It 
must  be  a  big  thing  to  swing  the  telescope 
like  that.  He  saw  for  a  moment  the  out- 
line of  a  head  black  against  the  starlight, 
with  sharply-pointed  upstanding  ears  and 
a  crest  between  them.  It  seemed  to 
him  to  be  as  big  as  a  mastiff's.  Then  he 
began  to  bawl  out  as  loudly  as  he  could 
for  help. 

At  that  the  thing  came  down  upon  him 
again.  As  it  did  so  his  hand  touched 
something  beside  him  on  the  floor.  He 
kicked  out,  and  the  next  moment  his  ankle 
was  gripped  and  held  by  a  row  of  keen 
teeth.  He  yelled  again,  and  tried  to  free 
his  leg  by  kicking  with  the  other.  Then 
he  realised  he  had  the  broken  water-bottle 
at  his  hand,  and,  snatching  it,  he  struggled 
into  a  sitting  posture,  and  feeling  in  the 
darkness  towards  his  foot,  gripped  a 


46    IN  THE  AVU  OBSERVATORY 

velvety  ear,  like  the  ear  of  a  big  cat.  He 
had  seized  the  water-bottle  by  its  neck 
and  brought  it  down  with  a  shivering 
crash  upon  the  head  of  the  strange  beast. 
He  repeated  the  blow,  and  then  stabbed 
and  jobbed  with  the  jagged  end  of  it,  in 
the  darkness,  where  he  judged  the  face 
might  be. 

The  small  teeth  relaxed  their  hold,  and 
at  once  Woodhouse  pulled  his  leg  free 
and  kicked  hard.  He  felt  the  sickening 
feel  of  fur  and  bone  giving  under  his  boot 
There  was  a  tearing  bite  at  his  arm,  and 
he  struck  over  it  at  the  face,  as  he  judged, 
and  hit  damp  fur. 

There  was  a  pause ;  then  he  heard  the 
sound  of  claws  and  the  dragging  of  a 
heavy  body  away  from  him  over  the  ob- 
servatory floor.  Then  there  was  silence, 
broken  only  by  his  own  sobbing  breath- 
ing, and  a  sound  like  licking.  Everything 
was  black  except  the  parallelogram  of  the 
blue  skylight  with  the  luminous  dust  of 
stars,  against  which  the  end  of  the  tele- 


IN  THE  AVU  OBSERVATORY    47 

scope  now  appeared  in  silhouette.  He 
waited,  as  it  seemed,  an  interminable  time. 
Was  the  thing  coming  on  again  ?  He  felt 
in  his  trouser-pocket  for  some  matches, 
and  found  one  remaining.  He  tried  to 
strike  this,  but  the  floor  was  wet,  and  it 
spat  and  went  out.  He  cursed.  He 
could  not  see  where  the  door  was  situ- 
ated. In  his  struggle  he  had  quite  lost 
his  bearings.  The  strange  beast,  dis- 
turbed by  the  splutter  of  the  match,  began 
to  move  again.  "  Time  !  "  called  Wood- 
house,  with  a  sudden  gleam  of  mirth,  but 
the  thing  was  not  coming  at  him  again. 
He  must  have  hurt  it,  he  thought,  with 
the  broken  bottle.  He  felt  a  dull  pain  in 
his  ankle.  Probably  he  was  bleeding 
there.  He  wondered  if  it  would  support 
him  if  he  tried  to  stand  up.  The  night 
outside  was  very  still.  There  was  no 
sound  of  any  one  moving.  The  sleepy 
fools  had  not  heard  those  wings  battering 
upon  the  dome,  nor  his  shouts.  It  was 
no  good  wasting  strength  in  shouting. 


48   IN  THE  AVU  OBSERVATORY 

The  monster  flapped  its  wings  and 
startled  him  into  a  defensive  attitude.  He 
hit  his  elbow  against  the  seat,  and  it  fell 
over  with  a  crash.  He  cursed  this,  and 
then  he  cursed  the  darkness. 

Suddenly  the  oblong  patch  of  starlight 
seemed  to  sway  to  and  fro.  Was  he 
going  to  faint  ?  It  would  never  do  to 
faint.  He  clenched  his  fists  and  set  his 
teeth  to  hold  himself  together.  Where 
had  the  door  got  to  ?  It  occurred  to  him 
he  could  get  his  bearings  by  the  stars 
visible  through  the  skylight.  The  patch 
of  stars  he  saw  was  in  Sagittarius  and 
south-eastward ;  the  door  was  north — or 
was  it  north  by  west  ?  He  tried  to  think. 
If  he  could  get  the  door  open  he  might 
retreat.  It  might  be  the  thing  was 
wounded.  The  suspense  was  beastly. 
"  Look  here ! "  he  said,  "  if  you  don't  come 
on,  I  shall  come  at  you." 

Then  the  thing  began  clambering  up 
the  side  of  the  observatory,  and  he  saw 
its  black  outline  gradually  blot  out  the 


IN  THE  AVU  OBSERVATORY    49 

skylight.  Was  it  in  retreat  ?  He  forgot 
about  the  door,  and  watched  as  the  dome 
shifted  and  creaked.  Somehow  he  did 
not  feel  very  frightened  or  excited  now. 
He  felt  a  curious  sinking  sensation  inside 
him.  The  sharply-defined  patch  of  light, 
with  the  black  form  moving  across  it, 
seemed  to  be  growing  smaller  and  smaller, 
That  was  curious.  He  began  to  feel  very 
thirsty,  and  yet  he  did  not  feel  inclined  to 
get  anything  to  drink.  He  seemed  to  be 
sliding  down  a  long  funnel. 

He  felt  a  burning  sensation  in  his  throat, 
and  then  he  perceived  it  was  broad  day- 
light, and  that  one  of  the  Dyak  servants 
was  looking  at  him  with  a  curious  expres- 
sion. Then  there  was  the  top  of  Thaddy's 
face  upside  down.  Funny  fellow,  Thaddy, 
to  go  about  like  that !  Then  he  grasped 
the  situation  better,  and  perceived  that  his 
head  was  on  Thaddy's  knee,  and  Thaddy 
was  giving  him  brandy.  And  then  he  saw 
the  eyepiece  of  the  telescope  with  a  lot  of 
red  smears  on  it.  He  began  to  remember. 
D 


50    IN  THE  AVU  OBSERVATORY 

"You've  made  this  observatory  in  a 
pretty  mess,"  said  Thaddy. 

The  Dyak  boy  was  beating  up  an  egg 
in  brandy.  Woodhouse  took  this  and  sat 
up.  He  felt  a  sharp  twinge  of  pain.  His 
ankle  was  tied  up,  so  were  his  arm  and 
the  side  of  his  face.  The  smashed  glass, 
red-stained,  lay  about  the  floor,  the  tele- 
scope seat  was  overturned,  and  by  the 
opposite  wall  was  a  dark  pool.  The  door 
was  open,  and  he  saw  the  grey  summit  of 
the  mountain  against  a  brilliant  back- 
ground of  blue  sky. 

"  Pah!"  said  Woodhouse.  "Who's  been 
killing  calves  here  ?  Take  me  out  of  it." 

Then  he  remembered  the  Thing,  and 
the  fight  he  had  had  with  it. 

"  What  was  it  ?  "  he  said  to  Thaddy— 
"  The  Thing  I  fought  with  ?  " 

"  You  know  that  best,"  said  Thaddy. 
"  But,  anyhow,  don't  worry  yourself  now 
about  it.  Have  some  more  to  drink." 

Thaddy,  however,  was  curious  enough, 
and  it  was  a  hard  struggle  between  duty 


IN  THE  AVU  OBSERVATORY    51 

and  inclination  to  keep  Woodhouse  quiet 
until  he  was  decently  put  away  in  bed,  and 
had  slept  upon  the  copious  dose  of  meat- 
extract  Thaddy  considered  advisable. 
They  then  talked  it  over  together. 

"It  was,"  said  Woodhouse,  "more  like 
a  big  bat  than  anything  else  in  the  world. 
It  had  sharp,  short  ears,  and  soft  fur,  and 
its  wings  were  leathery.  Its  teeth  were 
little,  but  devilish  sharp,  and  its  jaw  could 
not  have  been  very  strong  or  else  it  would 
have  bitten  through  my  ankle." 

"It  has  pretty  nearly,"  said  Thaddy. 

"It  seemed  to  me  to  hit  out  with  its 
claws  pretty  freely.  That  is  about  as 
much  as  I  know  about  the  beast.  Our 
conversation  was  intimate,  so  to  speak, 
and  yet  not  confidential." 

"  The  Dyak  chaps  talk  about  a  Big 
Colugo,  a  Klang-utang — whatever  that 
may  be.  It  does  not  often  attack  man, 
but  I  suppose  you  made  it  nervous.  They 
say  there  is  a  Big  Colugo  and  a  Little 
Colugo,  and  a  something  else  that  sounds 


52     IN  THE  AVU  OBSERVATORY 

like  gobble.  They  all  fly  about  at  night. 
For  my  own  part  I  know  ttysre  are  flying 
foxes  and  flying  lemurs  about  here,  but 
they  are  none  of  them  very  big  beasts." 

"  There  are  more  things  in  heaven  and 
earth,"  said  Woodhouse  —  and  Thaddy 
groaned  at  the  quotation  —  "  and  more 
particularly  in  the  forests  of  Borneo,  than 
are  dreamt  of  in  our  philosophies.  On  the 
whole,  if  the  Borneo  fauna  is  going  to 
disgorge  any  more  of  its  novelties  upon 
me,  I  should  prefer  that  it  did  so  when  I 
was  not  occupied  in  the  observatory  at 
night  and  alone." 


THE  TRIUMPHS  OF  A 
TAXIDERMIST 

HERE  are  some  of  the  secrets  of 
taxidermy.  They  were  told  me 
by  the  taxidermist  in  a  mood  of  elation. 
He  told  me  them  in  the  time  between  the 
first  glass  of  whisky  and  the  fourth,  when 
a  man  is  no  longer  cautious  and  yet  not 
drunk.  We  sat  in  his  den  together ;  his 
library  it  was,  his  sitting  and  his  eating- 
room — separated  by  a  bead  curtain,  so  far 
as  the  sense  of  sight  went,  from  the 
noisome  den  where  he  plied  his  trade. 

He  sat  on  a  deck  chair,  and  when  he 
was  not  tapping  refractory  bits  of  coal 
with  them,  he  kept  his  feet — on  which  he 
wore,  after  the  manner  of  sandals,  the 
holy  relics  of  a  pair  of  carpet  slippers — 
out  of  the  way  upon  the  mantel-piece, 
among  the  glass  eyes.  And  his  trousers, 


53 


54  THE  TRIUMPHS 

by-the-by  —  though  they  have  nothing 
to  do  with  his  triumphs — were  a  most 
horrible  yellow  plaid,  such  as  they  made 
when  our  fathers  wore  side-whiskers  and 
there  were  crinolines  in  the  land.  Further, 
his  hair  was  black,  his  face  rosy,  and  his 
eye  a  fiery  brown  ;  and  his  coat  was  chiefly 
of  grease  upon  a  basis  of  velveteen.  And 
his  pipe  had  a  bowl  of  china  showing  the 
Graces,  and  his  spectacles  were  always 
askew,  the  left  eye  glaring  nakedly  at  you, 
small  and  penetrating ;  the  right,  seen 
through  a  glass  darkly,  magnified  and  mild. 
Thus  his  discourse  ran  :  "  There  never 
was  a  man  who  could  stuff  like  me, 
Bellows,  never.  I  have  stuffed  elephants 
and  I  have  stuffed  moths,  and  the  things 
have  looked  all  the  livelier  and  better  for 
it.  And  I  have  stuffed  human  beings — 
chiefly  amateur  ornithologists.  But  I 
stuffed  a  nigger  once. 

"  No,  there  is  no  law  against  it  I  made 
him  with  all  his  fingers  out  and  used  him 
as  a  hat-rack,  but  that  fool  Homersby  got 


OF  A  TAXIDERMIST  55 

up  a  quarrel  with  him  late  one  night  and 
spoilt  him.  That  was  before  your  time. 
It  is  hard  to  get  skins,  or  I  would  have 
another. 

"  Unpleasant  ?  I  don't  see  it.  Seems 
to  me  taxidermy  is  a  promising  third 
course  to  burial  or  cremation.  You  could 
keep  all  your  dear  ones  by  you.  Bric-a- 
brac  of  that  sort  stuck  about  the  house 
would  be  as  good  as  most  company,  and 
much  less  expensive.  You  might  have 
them  fitted  up  with  clockwork  to  do  things. 

"  Of  course  they  would  have  to  be 
varnished,  but  they  need  not  shine  more 
than  lots  of  people  do  naturally.  Old 
Manningtree's  bald  head.  .  .  .  Any- 
how, you  could  talk  to  them  without 
interruption.  Even  aunts.  There  is  a 
great  future  before  taxidermy,  depend 
upon  it.  There  is  fossils  again  .  .  . 

He  suddenly  became  silent 
"  No,  I  don't  think  I  ought  to  tell  you 
that."     He  sucked  at  his  pipe  thought- 
fully.  "  Thanks,  yes.    Not  too  much  water. 


56  THE  TRIUMPHS 

"  Of  course,  what  I  tell  you  now  will  go 
no  further.  You  know  I  have  made  some 
dodos  and  a  great  auk  ?  No  !  Evidently 
you  are  an  amateur  at  taxidermy.  My 
dear  fellow,  half  the  great  auks  in  the  world 
are  about  as  genuine  as  the  handkerchief  of 
Saint  Veronica,  as  the  Holy  Coat  of  Treves. 
We  make  'em  of  grebes'  feathers  and  the 
like.  And  the  great  auk's  eggs  too  !  " 

"  Good  heavens  ! " 

"  Yes,  we  make  them  out  of  fine  porce- 
lain. I  tell  you  it  is  worth  while.  They 
fetch — one  fetched  ^"300  only  the  other 
day.  That  one  was  really  genuine,  I 
believe,  but  of  course  one  is  never  certain. 
It  is  very  fine  work,  and  afterwards  you 
have  to  get  them  dusty,  for  no  one  who 
owns  one  of  these  precious  eggs  has  ever 
the  temerity  to  clean  the  thing.  That's 
the  beauty  of  the  business.  Even  if  they 
suspect  an  egg  they  do  not  like  to  examine 
it  too  closely.  It's  such  brittle  capital  at 
the  best. 

"  You   did   not    know   that   taxidermy 


OF  A  TAXIDERMIST  57 

rose  to  heights  like  that.  My  boy,  it  has 
risen  higher.  I  have  rivalled  the  hands 
of  Nature  herself.  One  of  the  genuine 
great  auks  " — his  voice  fell  to  a  whisper — 
' '  one  of  the  genuine  great  auks  was  made 
by  me" 

"  No.  You  must  study  ornithology, 
and  find  out  which  it  is  yourself.  And 
what  is  more,  I  have  been  approached  by 
a  syndicate  of  dealers  to  stock  one  of  the 
unexplored  skerries  to  the  north  of  Iceland 
with  specimens.  I  may — some  day.  But 
I  have  another  little  thing  in  hand  just 
now.  Ever  heard  of  the  dinornis  ? 

"It  is  one  of  those  big  birds  recently 
extinct  in  New  Zealand.  '  Moa '  is  its 
common  name,  so  called  because  extinct : 
there  is  no  moa  now.  See  ?  Well,  they 
have  got  bones  of  it,  and  from  some  of  the 
marshes  even  feathers  and  dried  bits  of 
skin.  Now,  I  am  going  to — well,  there  is 
no  need  to  make  any  bones  about  it — going 
to  forge  a  complete  stuffed  moa.  I  know  a 
chap  out  there  who  will  pretend  to  make  the 


58  THE  TRIUMPHS 

find  in  a  kind  of  antiseptic  swamp,  and 
say  he  stuffed  it  at  once,  as  it  threatened 
to  fall  to  pieces.  The  feathers  are  peculiar, 
but  I  have  got  a  simply  lovely  way  of 
dodging  up  singed  bits  of  ostrich  plume. 
Yes,  that  is  the  new  smell  you  noticed. 
They  can  only  discover  the  fraud  with  a 
microscope,  and  they  will  hardly  care  to 
pull  a  nice  specimen  to  bits  for  that 

"  In  this  way,  you  see,  I  give  my  little 
push  in  the  advancement  of  science. 

"  But  all  this  is  merely  imitating  Nature. 
I  have  done  more  than  that  in  my  time. 
I  have — beaten  her." 

He  took  his  feet  down  from  the  mantel- 
board,  and  leant  over  confidentially 
towards  me.  "  I  have  created  birds,"  he 
said  in  a  low  voice.  "  New  birds.  Im- 
provements. Like  no  birds  that  was  ever 
seen  before." 

He  resumed  his  attitude  during  an 
impressive  silence. 

"  Enrich  the  universe  ;  rath-sx.  Some 
of  the  birds  I  made  were  new  kinds  of 


OF  A  TAXIDERMIST  59 

humming  birds,  and  very  beautiful  little 
things,  but  some  of  them  were  simply  rum. 
The  rummest,  I  think,  was  the  Anomalop- 
teryx  Jejuna.  Jejunus-a-um — empty — so 
called  because  there  was  really  nothing  in 
it ;  a  thoroughly  empty  bird — except  for 
stuffing.  Old  Javvers  has  the  thing  now, 
and  I  suppose  he  is  almost  as  proud  of 
it  as  I  am.  It  is  a  masterpiece,  Bellows. 
It  has  all  the  silly  clumsiness  of  your 
pelican,  all  the  solemn  want  of  dignity  of 
your  parrot,  all  the  gaunt  ungainliness  of 
a  flamingo,  with  all  the  extravagant 
chromatic  conflict  of  a  mandarin  duck. 
Such  a  bird.  I  made  it  out  of  the 
skeletons  of  a  stork  and  a  toucan  and  a 
job  lot  of  feathers.  Taxidermy  of  that 
kind  is  just  pure  joy,  Bellows,  to  a  real 
artist  in  the  art. 

"  How  did  I  come  to  make  it  ?  Simple 
enough,  as  all  great  inventions  are.  One 
of  those  young  genii  who  write  us  Science 
Notes  in  the  papers  got  hold  of  a  German 
pamphlet  about  the  birds  of  New  Zealand, 


60  THE  TRIUMPHS 

and  translated  some  of  it  by  means  of  a 
dictionary  and  his  mother-wit — he  must 
have  been  one  of  a  very  large  family  with 
a  small  mother — and  he  got  mixed  between 
the  living  apteryx  and  the  extinct  anomal- 
opteryx ;  talked  about  a  bird  five  feet 
high,  living  in  the  jungles  of  the  North 
Island,  rare,  shy,  specimens  difficult  to 
obtain,  and  so  on.  Javvers,  who  even  for 
a  collector,  is  a  miraculously  ignorant  man, 
read  these  paragraphs,  and  swore  he  would 
have  the  thing  at  any  price.  Raided  the 
dealers  with  enquiries.  It  shows  what  a 
man  can  do  by  persistence — will-power. 
Here  was  a  bird-collector  swearing  he 
would  have  a  specimen  of  a  bird  that  did 
not  exist,  that  never  had  existed,  and 
which  for  very  shame  of  its  own  profane 
ungainliness,  probably  would  not  exist 
now  if  it  could  help  itself.  And  he  got  it. 
He  got  it" 

"  Have  some  more  whisky,  Bellows  ?  " 
said  the  taxidermist,  rousing  himself  from 
a  transient  contemplation  of  the  mysteries 


OF  A  TAXIDERMIST  61 

of  will-power  and  the  collecting  turn  of 
mind.  And,  replenished,  he  proceeded  to 
tell  me  of  how  he  concocted  a  most 
attractive  mermaid,  and  how  an  itinerant 
preacher,  who  could  not  get  an  audience 
because  of  it,  smashed  it  because  it  was 
idolatry,  or  worse,  at  Burslem  Wakes. 
But  as  the  conversation  of  all  the  parties 
to  this  transaction,  creator,  would-be  pre- 
server, and  destroyer,  was  uniformly  unfit 
for  publication,  this  cheerful  incident  must 
still  remain  unprinted. 

The  reader  unacquainted  with  the  dark 
ways  of  the  collector  may  perhaps  be 
inclined  to  doubt  my  taxidermist,  but  so 
far  as  great  auks'  eggs,  and  the  bogus 
stuffed  birds  are  concerned,  I  find  that 
he  has  the  confirmation  of  distinguished 
ornithological  writers.  And  the  note 
about  the  New  Zealand  bird  certainly 
appeared  in  a  morning  paper  of  un- 
blemished reputation,  for  the  Taxidermist 
keeps  a  copy  and  has  shown  it  to  me. 


A  DEAL  IN  OSTRICHES 

'""pALKING   of  the  prices  ot    birds, 

1  I've  seen  an  ostrich  that  cost  three 
hundred  pounds,"  said  the  Taxidermist, 
recalling  his  youth  of  travel.  "  Three 
hundred  pounds ! " 

He  looked  at  me  over  his  spectacles. 
"  I've  seen  another  that  was  refused  at 
four." 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  it  wasn't  any  fancy 
points.  They  was  just  plain  ostriches. 
A  little  off  colour,  too — owing  to  dietary. 
And  there  wasn't  any  particular  restriction 
of  the  demand  either.  You'd  have  thought 
five  ostriches  would  have  ruled  cheap  on 
an  East  Indiaman.  But  the  point  was, 
one  of  'em  had  swallowed  a  diamond. 

"  The  chap  it  got  it  off  was  Sir  Mohini 
Padishah,  a  tremendous  swell,  a  Piccadilly 
swell  you  might  say  up  to  the  neck  of  him, 


A  DEAL  IN  OSTRICHES         63 

and  then  an  ugly  black  head  and  a  whop- 
ping turban,  with  this  diamond  in  it.  The 
blessed  bird  pecked  suddenly  and  had  it, 
and  when  the  chap  made  a  fuss  it  realised 
it  had  done  wrong,  I  suppose,  and  went 
and  mixed  itself  with  the  others  to  preserve 
its  incog.  It  all  happened  in  a  minute.  I 
was  among  the  first  to  arrive,  and  there 
was  this  heathen  going  over  his  gods,  and 
two  sailors  and  the  man  who  had  charge 
of  the  birds  laughing  fit  to  split.  It  was 
a  rummy  way  of  losing  a  jewel,  come  to 
think  of  it.  The  man  in  charge  hadn't 
been  about  just  at  the  moment,  so  that  he 
didn't  know  which  bird  it  was.  Clean 
lost,  you  see.  I  didn't  feel  half  sorry,  to 
tell  you  the  truth.  The  beggar  had  been 
swaggering  over  his  blessed  diamond  ever 
since  he  came  aboard. 

"A  thing  like  that  goes  from  stem  to 
stern  of  a  ship  in  no  time.  Every  one 
was  talking  about  it.  Padishah  went 
below  to  hide  his  feelings.  At  dinner — 
he  pigged  at  a  table  by  himself,  him  and 


64         A  DEAL  IN  OSTRICHES 

two  other  Hindoos — the  captain  kind  of 
jeered  at  him  about  it,  and  he  got  very 
excited.  He  turned  round  and  talked 
into  my  ear.  He  would  not  buy  the 
birds ;  he  would  have  his  diamond.  He 
demanded  his  rights  as  a  British  subject. 
His  diamond  must  be  found.  He  was 
firm  upon  that.  He  would  appeal  to  the 
House  of  Lords.  The  man  in  charge  of 
the  birds  was  one  of  those  wooden-headed 
chaps  you  can't  get  a  new  idea  into  any- 
how. He  refused  any  proposal  to  inter- 
fere with  the  birds  by  way  of  medicine. 
His  instructions  were  to  feed  them  so-and- 
so  and  treat  them  so-and-so,  and  it  was  as 
much  as  his  place  was  worth  not  to  feed 
them  so-and-so  and  treat  them  so-and-so. 
Padishah  had  wanted  a  stomach-pump — 
though  you  can't  do  that  to  a  bird,  you 
know.  This  Padishah  was  full  of  bad 
law,  like  most  of  these  blessed  Bengalis, 
and  talked  of  having  a  lien  on  the  birds, 
and  so  forth.  But  an  old  boy,  who  said 
his  son  was  a  London  barrister,  argued 


A  DEAL  IN  OSTRICHES         65 

that  what  a  bird  swallowed  became  ipso 
facto  part  of  the  bird,  and  that  Padishah's 
only  remedy  lay  in  an  action  for  damages, 
and  even  then  it  might  be  possible  to 
show  contributory  negligence.  He  hadn't 
any  right  of  way  about  an  ostrich  that 
didn't  belong  to  him.  That  upset 
Padishah  extremely,  the  more  so  as  most 
of  us  expressed  an  opinion  that  that  was 
the  reasonable  view.  There  wasn't  any 
lawyer  aboard  to  settle  the  matter,  so  we 
all  talked  pretty  free.  At  last,  after  Aden, 
it  appears  that  he  came  round  to  the 
general  opinion,  and  went  privately  to  the 
man  in  charge  and  made  an  offer  for  all 
five  ostriches. 

"  The  next  morning  there  was  a  fine 
shindy  at  breakfast.  The  man  hadn't  any 
authority  to  deal  with  the  birds,  and  no- 
thing on  earth  would  induce  him  to  sell ; 
but  it  seems  he  told  Padishah  that  a 
Eurasian  named  Potter  had  already  made 
him  an  offer,  and  on  that  Padishah  de- 
nounced Potter  before  us  all.  But  I  think 
E 


66         A  DEAL  IN  OSTRICHES 

the  most  of  us  thought  it  rather  smart  of 
Potter,  and  I  know  that  when  Potter  said 
that  he'd  wired  at  Aden  to  London  to  buy 
the  birds,  and  would  have  an  answer  at 
Suez,  I  cursed  pretty  richly  at  a  lost 
opportunity. 

"  At  Suez,  Padishah  gave  way  to  tears 
— actual  wet  tears — when  Potter  became 
the  owner  of  the  birds,  and  offered  him 
two  hundred  and  fifty  right  off  for  the  five, 
being  more  than  two  hundred  per  cent  on 
what  Potter  had  given.  Potter  said  he'd 
be  hanged  if  he  parted  with  a  feather  of 
them — that  he  meant  to  kill  them  off  one 
by  one  and  find  the  diamond ;  but  after- 
wards, thinking  it  over,  he  relented  a  little. 
He  was  a  gambling  hound,  was  this  Potter, 
a  little  queer  at  cards,  and  this  kind  of 
prize-packet  business  must  Have  suited 
him  down  to  the  ground.  Anyhow,  he 
offered,  for  a  lark,  to  sell  the  birds  separ- 
ately to  separate  people  by  auction  at  a 
starting  price  of  ^"80  for  a  bird.  But  one 
of  them,  he  said,  he  meant  to  keep  for  luck. 


A  DEAL  IN  OSTRICHES         67 

"  You  must  understand  this  diamond 
was  a  valuable  one — a  little  Jew  chap,  a 
diamond  merchant,  who  was  with  us,  had 
put  it  at  three  or  four  thousand  when 
Padishah  had  shown  it  to  him — and  this 
idea  of  an  ostrich  gamble  caught  on. 
Now  it  happened  that  Pd  been  having  a 
few  talks  on  general  subjects  with  the  man 
who  looked  after  these  ostriches,  and  quite 
incidentally  he'd  said  one  of  the  birds  was 
ailing,  and  he  fancied  it  had  indigestion. 
It  had  one  feather  in  its  tail  almost  all 
white,  by  which  I  knew  it,  and  so  when, 
next  day,  the  auction  started  with  it,  I 
capped  Padishah's  eighty-five  by  ninety. 
I  fancy  I  was  a  bit  too  sure  and  eager 
with  my  bid,  and  some  of  the  others 
spotted  the  fact  that  I  was  in  the  know. 
And  Padishah  went  for  that  particular 
bird  like  an  irresponsible  lunatic.  At  last 
the  Jew  diamond  merchant  got  it  for 
^"175,  and  Padishah  said  ;£i8o  just  aftep- 
the  hammer  came  down — so  Potter  de- 
clared. At  any  rate  the  Jew  merchant 


68         A  DEAL  IN   OSTRICHES 

secured  it,  and  there  and  then  he  got  a 
gun  and  shot  it.  Potter  made  a  Hades  of 
a  fuss  because  he  said  it  would  injure  the 
sale  of  the  other  three,  and  Padishah,  of 
course,  behaved  like  an  idiot ;  but  all  of 
us  were  very  much  excited.  I  can  tell 
you  I  was  precious  glad  when  that  dissec- 
tion was  over,  and  no  diamond  had  turned 
up — precious  glad.  I'd  gone  to  one- forty 
on  that  particular  bird  myself. 

"  The  little  Jew  was  like  most  Jews — 
he  didn't  make  any  great  fuss  over  bad 
luck ;  but  Potter  declined  to  go  on  with 
the  auction  until  it  was  understood  that 
the  goods  could  not  be  delivered  until  the 
sale  was  over.  The  little  Jew  wanted  to 
argue  that  the  case  was  exceptional,  and 
as  the  discussion  ran  pretty  even,  the 
thing  was  postponed  until  the  next 
morning.  We  had  a  lively  dinner-table 
that  evening,  I  can  tell  you,  but  in  the 
end  Potter  got  his  way,  since  it  would 
stand  to  reason  he  would  be  safer  if  he 
stuck  to  all  the  birds,  and  that  we  owed 


A  DEAL  IN   OSTRICHES         69 

him  some  consideration  for  his  sportsman- 
like behaviour.  And  the  old  gentleman 
whose  son  was  a  lawyer  said  he'd  been 
thinking  the  thing  over  and  that  it  was 
very  doubtful  if,  when  a  bird  had  been 
opened  and  the  diamond  recovered,  it 
ought  not  to  be  handed  back  to  the  proper 
owner.  I  remember  I  suggested  it  came 
under  the  laws  of  treasure-trove — which 
was  really  the  truth  of  the  matter.  There 
was  a  hot  argument,  and  we  settled  it  was 
certainly  foolish  to  kill  the  bird  on  board 
the  ship.  Then  the  old  gentleman,  going 
at  large  through  his  legal  talk,  tried  to 
make  out  the  sale  was  a  lottery  and  illegal, 
and  appealed  to  the  captain  ;  but  Potter 
said  he  sold  the  birds  as  ostriches.  He 
didn't  want  to  sell  any  diamonds,  he  said, 
and  didn't  offer  that  as  an  inducement. 
The  three  birds  he  put  up,  to  the  best  of 
his  knowledge  and  belief,  did  not  contain 
a  diamond.  It  was  in  the  one  he  kept — 
so  he  hoped. 

"  Prices   ruled   high   next   day  all   the 


70         A  DEAL  IN  OSTRICHES 

same.  The  fact  that  now  there  were  four 
chances  instead  of  five  of  course  caused  a 
rise.  The  blessed  birds  averaged  227, 
and,  oddly  enough,  this  Padishah  didn't 
secure  one  of  'em — not  one.  He  made 
too  much  shindy,  and  when  he  ought  to 
have  been  bidding  he  was  talking  about 
liens,  and,  besides,  Potter  was  a  bit  down 
on  him.  One  fell  to  a  quiet  little  officer 
chap,  another  to  the  little  Jew,  and  the 
third  was  syndicated  by  the  engineers. 
And  then  Potter  seemed  suddenly  sorry 
for  having  sold  them,  and  said  he'd  flung 
away  a  clear  thousand  pounds,  and  that 
very  likely  he'd  draw  a  blank  and  that  he 
always  had  been  a  fool,  but  when  I  went 
and  had  a  bit  of  a  talk  to  him,  with  the 
idea  of  getting  him  to  hedge  on  his  last 
chance,  I  found  he'd  already  sold  the  bird 
he'd  reserved  to  a  political  chap  that  was 
on  board,  a  chap  who'd  been  studying 
Indian  morals  and  social  questions  in  his 
vacation.  That  last  was  the  three  hundred 
pounds  bird.  Well,  they  landed  three  of 


A  DEAL  IN  OSTRICHES         71 

the  blessed  creatures  at  Brindisi — though 
the  old  gentleman  said  it  was  a  breach  of 
the  Customs  regulations — and  Potter  and 
Padishah  landed  too.  The  Hindoo 
seemed  half  mad  as  he  saw  his  blessed 
diamond  going  this  way  and  that,  so  to 
speak.  He  kept  on  saying  he'd  get  an 
injunction — he  had  injunction  on  the  brain 
— and  giving  his  name  and  address  to  the 
chaps  who'd  bought  the  birds,  so  that 
they'd  know  where  to  send  the  diamond. 
None  of  them  wanted  his  name  and 
address,  and  none  of  them  would  give 
their  own.  It  was  a  fine  row  I  can  tell 
you — on  the  platform.  They  all  went  off 
by  different  trains.  I  came  on  to  South- 
ampton, and  there  I  saw  the  last  of  the 
birds,  as  I  came  ashore ;  it  was  the  one 
the  engineers  bought,  and  it  was  standing 
up  near  the  bridge,  in  a  kind  of  crate,  and 
looking  as  leggy  and  silly  a  setting  for  a 
valuable  diamond  as  ever  you  saw — if  it 
was  a  setting  for  a  valuable  diamond. 
"How  did  it  end?  Oh!  like  that. 


72         A  DEAL  IN  OSTRICHES 

Well — perhaps.  Yes,  there's  one  more 
thing  that  may  throw  light  on  it.  A  week 
or  so  after  landing  I  was  down  Regent- 
street  doing  a  bit  of  shopping,  and  who 
should  I  see  arm-in-arm  and  having  a 
purple  time  of  it  but  Padishah  and  Potter. 

If  you  come  to  think  of  it 

"Yes.  Tve  thought  that.  Only,  you 
see,  there's  no  doubt  the  diamond  was 
real.  And  Padishah  was  an  eminent 
Hindoo.  I've  seen  his  name  in  the  papers 
— often.  But  whether  the  bird  swallowed 
the  diamond  certainly  is  another  matter, 
as  you  say." 


THROUGH  A  WINDOW 

AFTER  his  legs  were  set,  they  carried 
Bailey  into  the  study  and  put  him 
on  a  couch  before  the  open  window. 
There  he  lay,  a  live — even  a  feverish 
man  down  to  the  loins,  and  below  that 
a  double-barrelled  mummy  swathed  in 
white  wrappings.  He  tried  to  read, 
even  tried  to  write  a  little,  but  most  of 
the  time  he  looked  out  of  the  window. 

He  had  thought  the  window  cheerful 
to  begin  with,  but  now  he  thanked  God 
for  it  many  times  a  day.  Within,  the 
room  was  dim  and  grey,  and  in  the  re- 
flected light  the  wear  of  the  furniture 
showed  plainly.  His  medicine  and  drink 
stood  on  the  little  table,  with  such  litter 
as  the  bare  branches  of  a  bunch  of  grapes 
or  the  ashes  of  a  cigar  upon  a  green  plate, 
or  a  day  old  evening  paper.  The  view 


73 


74        THROUGH  A  WINDOW 

outside  was  flooded  with  light,  and  across 
the  corner  of  it  came  the  head  of  the 
acacia,  and  at  the  foot  the  top  of  the 
balcony- railing  of  hammered  iron.  In 
the  foreground  was  the  weltering  silver 
of  the  river,  never  quiet  and  yet  never 
tiresome.  Beyond  was  the  reedy  bank, 
a  broad  stretch  of  meadow  land,  and  then 
a  dark  line  of  trees  ending  in  a  group  of 
poplars  at  the  distant  bend  of  the  river, 
and,  upstanding  behind  them,  a  square 
church  tower. 

Up  and  down  the  river,  all  day  long, 
things  were  passing.  Now  a  string  of 
barges  drifting  down  to  London,  piled 
with  lime  or  barrels  of  beer ;  then  a 
steam-launch,  disengaging  heavy  masses 
of  black  smoke,  and  disturbing  the  whole 
width  of  the  river  with  long  rolling 
waves ;  then  an  impetuous  electric  launch, 
and  then  a  boatload  of  pleasure-seekers, 
a  solitary  sculler,  or  a  four  from  some 
rowing  club.  Perhaps  the  river  was 
quietest  of  a  morning  or  late  at  night. 


THROUGH  A  WINDOW         75 

One  moonlight  night  some  people  drifted 
down  singing,  and  with  a  zither  play- 
ing— it  sounded  very  pleasantly  across 
the  water. 

In  a  few  days  Bailey  began  to  recog- 
nise some  of  the  craft;  in  a  week  he 
knew  the  intimate  history  of  half-a-dozen. 
The  launch  Luzon,  from  Fitzgibbon's, 
two  miles  up,  would  go  fretting  by, 
sometimes  three  or  four  times  a  day, 
conspicuous  with  its*colouring  of  Indian- 
red  and  yellow,  and  its  two  Oriental 
attendants ;  and  one  day,  to  Bailey's 
vast  amusement,  the  house-boat  Purple 
Emperor  came  to  a  stop  outside,  and 
breakfasted  in  the  most  shameless  domes- 
ticity. Then  one  afternoon,  the  captain 
of  a  slow-moving  barge  began  a  quarrel 
with  his  wife  as  they  came  into  sight 
from  the  left,  and  had  carried  it  to 
personal  violence  before  he  vanished 
behind  the  window-frame  to  the  right. 
Bailey  regarded  all  this  as  an  entertain- 
ment got  up  to  while  away  his  illness, 


;6         THROUGH  A  WINDOW 

and  applauded  all  the  more  moving  in- 
cidents. Mrs  Green,  coming  in  at  rare 
intervals  with  his  meals,  would  catch  him 
clapping  his  hands  or  softly  crying, 
"  Encore ! "  But  the  river  players  had 
other  engagements,  and  his  encore  went 
unheeded. 

"  I  should  never  have  thought  I  could 
take  such  an  interest  in  things  that  did 
not  concern  me,"  said  Bailey  to  Wilder- 
spin,  who  used  to  come  in  in  his  nervous, 
friendly  way  and  try  to  comfort  the 
sufferer  by  being  talked  to.  "I  thought 
this  idle  capacity  was  distinctive  of  little 
children  and  old .  maids.  But  it's  just 
circumstances.  I  simply  can't  work,  and 
things  have  to  drift ;  it's  no  good  to  fret 
and  struggle.  And  so  I  lie  here  and  am 
as  amused  as  a  baby  with  a  rattle,  at  this 
river  and  its  affairs. 

"  Sometimes,  of  course,  it  gets  a  bit 
dull,  but  not  often. 

"  I  would  give  anything,  Wilderspin, 
for  a  swamp — just  one  swamp — once. 


THROUGH   A  WINDOW         77 

Heads  swimming  and  a  steam  launch  to 
the  rescue,  and  a  chap  or  so  hauled  out 
with  a  boat-hook.  .  .  .  There  goes  Fitz- 
gibbon's  launch  !  They  have  a  new  boat- 
hook,  I  see,  and  the  little  blackie  is  still 
in  the  dumps.  I  don't  think  he's  very 
well,  Wilderspin.  He's  been  like  that 
for  two  or  three  days,  squatting  sulky- 
fashion  and  meditating  over  the  churning 
of  the  water.  Unwholesome  for  him  to 
be  always  staring  at  the  frothy  water 
running  away  from  the  stern." 

They  watched  the  little  steamer  fuss 
across  the  patch  of  sunlit  river,  suffer 
momentary  occultation  from  the  acacia, 
and  glide  out  of  sight  behind  the  dark 
window-frame. 

"  I'm  getting  a  wonderful  eye  for 
details,"  said  Bailey :  "  I  spotted  that 
new  boat-hook  at  once.  The  other 
nigger  is  a  funny  little  chap.  He  never 
used  to  swagger  with  the  old  boat-hook 
like  that." 

"  Malays,  aren't  they  ?  "  said  Wilderspin. 


;8         THROUGH  A  WINDOW 

"  Don't  know,"  said  Bailey.  "  I  thought 
one  called  all  that  sort  of  mariner  Lascar." 

Then  he  began  to  tell  Wilderspin 
what  he  knew  of  the  private  affairs  of  the 
houseboat,  Purple  Emperor.  "Funny," 
he  said,  "  how  these  people  come  from 
all  points  of  the  compass — from  Oxford 
and  Windsor,  from  Asia  and  Africa — 
and  gather  and  pass  opposite  the  window 
just  to  entertain  me.  One  man  floated 
out  of  the  infinite  the  day  before  yester- 
day, caught  one  perfect  crab  opposite, 
lost  and  recovered  a  scull,  and  passed 
on  again.  Probably  he  will  never  come 
into  my  life  again.  So  far  as  I  am  con- 
cerned, he  has  lived  and  had  his  little 
troubles,  perhaps  thirty — perhaps  forty — 
years  on  the  earth,  merely  to  make  an 
ass  of  himself  for  three  minutes  in  front 
of  my  window.  Wonderful  thing,  Wilder- 
spin,  if  you  come  to  think  of  it." 

"  Yes,"  said  Wilderspin  ;  "  isrit  it  ?  " 

A  day  or  two  after  this  Bailey  had  a 
brilliant  morning.  Indeed,  towards  the 


THROUGH  A  WINDOW         79 

end  of  the  affair,  it  became  almost  as 
exciting  as  any  window  show  very  well 
could  be.  We  will,  however,  begin  at 
the  beginning. 

Bailey  was  all  alone  in  the  house,  for 
his  housekeeper  had  gone  into  the  town 
three  miles  away  to  pay  bills,  and  the 
servant  had  her  holiday.  The  morning 
began  dull.  A  canoe  went  up  about  half- 
past  nine,  and  later  a  boat-load  of  camp- 
ing men  came  down.  But  this  was  mere 
margin.  Things  became  cheerful  about 
ten  o'clock, 

It  began  with  something  white  flutter- 
ing in  the  remote  distance  where  the 
three  poplars  marked  the  river  bend. 
"  Pocket  -  handkerchief,"  said  Bailey, 
when  he  saw  it.  "  No.  Too  big  !  Flag 
perhaps." 

However,  it  was  not  a  flag,  for  it 
jumped  about.  "  Man  in  whites  running 
fast,  and  this  way,"  said  Bailey.  "  That's 
luck !  But  his  whites  are  precious 
loose !  " 


8o        THROUGH  A  WINDOW 

Then  a  singular  thing  happened. 
There  was  a  minute  pink  gleam  among 
the  dark  trees  in  the  distance,  and  a 
little  puff  of  pale  grey  that  began  to 
drift  and  vanish  eastward.  The  man  in 
white  jumped  and  continued  running. 
Presently  the  report  of  the  shot  arrived. 

"What  the  devil!"  said  Bailey. 
"  Looks  as  if  someone  was  shooting  at 
him." 

He  sat  up  stiffly  and  stared  hard. 
The  white  figure  was  coming  along  the 
pathway  through  the  corn.  "It's  one  of 
those  niggers  from  the  Fitzgibbon's," 
said  Bailey;  "or  may  I  be  hanged!  I 
wonder  why  he  keeps  sawing  with  his 
arm." 

Then  three  other  figures  became  in- 
distinctly visible  against  the  dark  back- 
ground of  the  trees. 

Abruptly  on  the  opposite  bank  a  man 
walked  into  the  picture.  He  was  black- 
bearded,  dressed  in  flannels,  had  a  red 
belt,  and  a  vast  grey  felt  hat.  He 


THROUGH   A  WINDOW         81 

walked,  leaning  very  much  forward  and 
with  his  hands  swinging  before  him. 
Behind  him  one  could  see  the  grass 
swept  by  the  towing-rope  of  the  boat  he 
was  dragging.  He  was  steadfastly  re- 
garding the  white  figure  that  was  hurry- 
ing through  the  corn.  Suddenly  he 
stopped.  Then,  with  a  peculiar  gesture, 
Bailey  could  see  that  he  began  pulling 
in  the  tow-rope  hand  over  hand.  Over 
the  water  could  be  heard  the  voices  of 
the  people  in  the  still  invisible  boat. 

"What  are  you  after,  Hagshot?"  said 
someone. 

The  individual  with  the  red  belt 
shouted  something  that  was  inaudible, 
and  went  on  lugging  in  the  rope,  look- 
ing over  his  shoulder  at  the  advancing 
white  figure  as  he  did  so.  He  came 
down  the  bank,  and  the  rope  bent  a  lane 
among  the  reeds  and  lashed  the  water 
between  his  pulls. 

Then  just  the  bows  of  the  boat  came 
into  view,  with  the  towing-mast  and  a 
F 


82         THROUGH  A  WINDOW 

tall,  fair-haired  man  standing  up  and  try- 
ing to  see  over  the  bank.  The  boat 
bumped  unexpectedly  among  the  reeds, 
and  the  tall,  fair-haired  man  disappeared 
suddenly,  having  apparently  fallen  back 
into  the  invisible  part  of  the  boat.  There 
was  a  curse  and  some  indistinct  laughter. 
Hagshot  did  not  laugh,  but  hastily 
clambered  into  the  boat  and  pushed  off. 
Abruptly  the  boat  passed  out  of  Bailey's 
sight. 

But  it  was  still  audible.  The  melody 
of  voices  suggested  that  its  occupants 
were  busy  telling  each  other  what  to  do. 

The  running  figure  was  drawing  near 
the  bank.  Bailey  could  now  see  clearly 
that  it  was  one  of  Fitzgibbon's  Orientals, 
and  began  to  realise  what  the  sinuous 
thing  the  man  carried  in  his  hand  might 
be.  Three  other  men  followed  one  an- 
other through  the  corn,  and  the  foremost 
carried  what  was  probably  the  gun. 
They  were  perhaps  two  hundred  yards 
or  more  behind  the  Malay. 


THROUGH  A  WINDOW         83 

"It's  a  man  hunt,  by  all  that's  holy!" 
said  Bailey. 

The  Malay  stopped  for  a  moment  and 
surveyed  the  bank  to  the  right.  Then 
he  left  the  path,  and,  breaking  through 
the  corn,  vanished  in  that  direction.  The 
three  pursuers  followed  suit,  and  their 
heads  and  gesticulating  arms  above  the 
corn,  after  a  brief  interval,  also  went  out 
of  Bailey's  field  of  vision. 

Bailey  so  far  forgot  himself  as  to  swear. 
"Just  as  things  were  getting  lively!"  he 
said.  Something  like  a  woman's  shriek 
came  through  the  air.  Then  shouts,  a 
howl,  a  dull  whack  upon  the  balcony 
outside  that  made  Bailey  jump,  and  then 
the  report  of  a  gun. 

"  This  is  precious  hard  on  an  invalid," 
said  Bailey. 

But .  more  was  to  happen  yet  in  his 
picture.  In  fact,  a  great  deal  more. 
The  Malay  appeared  again,  running  now 
along  the  bank  up  stream.  His  stride 
had  more  swing  and  less  pace  in  it  than 


84        THROUGH  A  WINDOW 

before.  He  was  threatening  someone 
ahead  with  the  ugly  krees  he  carried. 
The  blade,  Bailey  noticed,  was  dull — it 
did  not  shine  as  steel  should. 

Then  came  the  tall,  fair  man,  brandish- 
ing a  boat-hook,  and  after  him  three  other 
men  in  boating  costume,  running  clumsily 
with  oars.  The  man  with  the  grey  hat 
and  red  belt  was  not  with  them.  After 
an  interval  the  three  men  with  the  gun 
reappeared,  still  in  the  corn,  but  now  near 
the  river  bank.  They  emerged  upon  the 
towing-path,  and  hurried  after  the  others. 
The  opposite  bank  was  left  blank  and 
desolate  again. 

The  sick-room  was  disgraced  by  more 
profanity.  "  I  would  give  my  life  to  see 
the  end  of  this,"  said  Bailey.  There 
were  indistinct  shouts  up  stream.  Once 
they  seemed  to  be  coming  nearer,  but 
they  disappointed  him. 

Bailey  sat  and  grumbled.  He  was 
still  grumbling  when  his  eye  caught 
something  black  and  round  among  the 


THROUGH  A  WINDOW         85 

waves.  "  Hullo  !  "  he  said.  He  looked 
narrowly  and  saw  two  triangular  black 
bodies  frothing  every  now  and  then 
about  a  yard  in  front  of  this. 

He  was  still  doubtful  when  the  little 
band  of  pursuers  came  into  sight  again, 
and  began  to  point  to  this  floating  object. 
They  were  talking  eagerly.  Then  the 
man  with  the  gun  took  aim. 

"He's  swimming  the  river,  by  George ! " 
said  Bailey. 

The  Malay  looked  round,  saw  the  gun, 
and  went  under.  He  came  up  so  close 
to  Bailey's  bank  of  the  river  that  one  of 
the  bars  of  the  balcony  hid  him  for  a 
moment.  As  he  emerged  the  man  with 
the  gun  fired.  The  Malay  kept  steadily 
onward — Bailey  could  see  the  wet  hair 
on  his  forehead  now  and  the  krees  be- 
tween his  teeth  —  and  was  presently 
hidden  by  the  balcony. 

This  seemed  to  Bailey  an  unendurable 
wrong.  The  man  was  lost  to  him  for 
ever  now,  so  he  thought  Why  couldn't 


86        THROUGH  A  WINDOW 

the  brute  have  got  himself  decently 
caught  on  the  opposite  bank,  or  shot  in 
the  water  ? 

"  It's  worse  than  Edwin  Drood,"  said 
Bailey. 

Over  the  river,  too,  things  had  become 
an  absolute  blank.  All  seven  men  had 
gone  down  stream  again,  probably  to 
get  the  boat  and  follow  across.  Bailey 
listened  and  waited.  There  was  silence. 
."  Surely  it's  not  over  like  this,"  said 
Bailey. 

Five  minutes  passed  —  ten  minutes. 
Then  a  tug  with  two  barges  went  up 
stream.  The  attitudes  of  the  men  upon 
these  were  the  attitudes  of  those  who  see 
nothing  remarkable  in  earth,  water,  or 
sky.  Clearly  the  whole  affair  had  passed 
out  of  sight  of  the  river.  Probably  the 
hunt  had  gone  into  the  beech  woods 
behind  the  house. 

"  Confound  it  !  "  said  Bailey.  "  To  be 
continued  again,  and  no  chance  this  time  of 
the  sequel.  But  this  is  hard  on  a  sick  man." 


THROUGH  A  WINDOW         87 

He  heard  a  step  on  the  staircase  behind 
him,  and  looking  round  saw  the  door  open. 
Mrs  Green  came  in  and  sat  down,  panting. 
She  still  had  her  bonnet  on,  her  purse  in 
her  hand,  and  her  little  brown  basket  upon 
her  arm.  "  Oh,  there  ! "  she  said,  and  left 
Bailey  to  imagine  the  rest. 

"  Have  a  little  whisky  and  water,  Mrs 
Green,  and  tell  me  about  it,"  said  Bailey. 

Sipping  a  little,  the  lady  began  to  re- 
cover her  powers  of  explanation. 

One  of  those  black  creatures  at  the 
Fitzgibbon's  had  gone  mad,  and  was 
running  about  with  a  big  knife,  stabbing 
people.  He  had  killed  a  groom,  and 
stabbed  the  under-butler,  and  almost  cut 
the  arm  off  a  boating  gentleman. 

"  Running  amuck  with  a  krees,"  said 
Bailey.  "  I  thought  that  was  it." 

And  he  was  hiding  in  the  wood  when 
she  came  through  it  from  the  town. 

"  What !  Did  he  run  after  you  ?  "  asked 
Bailey,  with  a  certain  touch  of  glee  in  his 
voice. 


88         THROUGH  A  WINDOW 

"  No,  that  was  the  horrible  part  of  it," 
Mrs  Green  explained.  She  had  been 
right  through  the  woods  and  had  never 
known  he  was  there.  It  was  only  when 
she  met  young  Mr  Fitzgibbon  carrying 
his  gun  in  the  shrubbery  that  she  heard 
anything  about  it.  Apparently,  what 
upset  Mrs  Green  was  the  lost  opportunity 
for  emotion.  She  was  determined,  how- 
ever, to  make  the  most  of  what  was  left 
her. 

"  To  think  he  was  there  all  the  time  !  " 
she  said,  over  and  over  again. 

Bailey  endured  this  patiently  enough 
for  perhaps  ten  minutes.  At  last  he 
thought  it  advisable  to  assert  himself. 
"  It's  twenty  past  one,  Mrs  Green,"  he 
said.  "  Don't  you  think  it  time  you  got 
me  something  to  eat  ?  " 

This  brought  Mrs  Green  suddenly  to 
her  knees. 

"  Oh  Lord,  sir  !  "  she  said.  "  Oh  !  don't 
go  making  me  go  out  of  this  room,  sir, 
till  I  know  he's  caught.  He  might  have 


THROUGH  A  WINDOW         89 

got  into  the  house,  sir.  He  might  be 
creeping,  creeping,  with  that  knife  of  his, 
along  the  passage  this  very " 

She  broke  off  suddenly  and  glared  over 
him  at  the  window.  Her  lower  jaw 
dropped.  Bailey  turned  his  head  sharply. 

For  the  space  of  half  a  second  things 
seemed  just  as  they  were.  There  was  the 
tree,  the  balcony,  the  shining  river,  the 
distant  church  tower.  Then  he  noticed 
that  the  acacia  was  displaced  about  a  foot 
to  the  right,  and  that  it  was  quivering, 
and  the  leaves  were  rustling.  The  tree 
was  shaken  violently,  and  a  heavy  panting 
was  audible. 

In  another  moment  a  hairy  brown  hand 
had  appeared  and  clutched  the  balcony 
railings,  and  in  another  the  face  of  the 
Malay  was  peering  through  these  at  the 
man  on  the  couch.  His  expression  was 
an  unpleasant  grin,  by  reason  of  the  krees 
he  held  between  his  teeth,  and  he  was 
bleeding  from  an  ugly  wound  in  his  cheek. 
His  hair  wet  to  drying  stuck  out  like 


90        THROUGH  A  WINDOW 

horns  from  his  head.  His  body  was  bare 
save  for  the  wet  trousers  that  clung  to  him. 
Bailey's  first  impulse  was  to  spring  from 
the  couch,  but  his  legs  reminded  him  that 
this  was  impossible. 

By  means  of  the  balcony  and  tree  the 
man  slowly  raised  himself  until  he  was 
visible,  to  Mrs  Green.  With  a  choking 
cry  she  made  for  the  door  and  fumbled 
with  the  handle. 

Bailey  thought  swiftly  and  clutched  a 
medicine  bottle  in  either  hand.  One  he 
flung,  and  it  smashed  against  the  acacia. 
Silently  and  deliberately,  and  keeping  his 
bright  eyes  fixed  on  Bailey,  the  Malay 
clambered  into  the  balcony.  Bailey,  still 
clutching  his  second  bottle,  but  with  a 
sickening,  sinking  feeling  about  his  heart, 
watched  first  one  leg  come  over  the  railing 
and  then  the  other. 

It  was  Bailey's  impression  that  the  Malay 
took  about  an  hour  to  get  his  second  leg 
over  the  rail.  The  period  that  elapsed 
before  the  sitting  position  was  changed  to 


THROUGH  A  WINDOW         91 

a  standing  one  seemed  enormous — days; 
weeks,  possibly  a  year  or  so.  Yet  Bailey 
had  no  clear  impression  of  anything  going 
on  in  his  mind  during  that  vast  period, 
except  a  vague  wonder  at  his  inability  to 
throw  the  second  medicine  bottle.  Sud- 
denly the  Malay  glanced  over  his  shoulder. 
There  was  the  crack  of  a  rifle.  He  flung 
up  his  arms  and  came  down  upon  the 
couch.  Mrs  Green  began  a  dismal  shriek 
that  seemed  likely  to  last  until  Doomsday. 
Bailey  stared  at  the  brown  body  with  its 
shoulder  blade  driven  in,  that  writhed 
painfully  across  his  legs  and  rapidly  stain- 
ing and  soaking  the  spotless  bandages. 
Then  he  looked  at  the  long  krees,  with 
the  reddish  streaks  upon  its  blade,  that 
lay  an  inch  beyond  the  trembling  brown 
fingers  upon  the  floor.  Then  at  Mrs 
Green,  who  had  backed  hard  against  the 
door  and  was  staring  at  the  body  and 
shrieking  in  gusty  outbursts  as  if  she 
would  wake  the  dead.  And  then  the  body 
was  shaken  by  one  last  convulsive  effort. 


92         THROUGH  A  WINDOW 

The  Malay  gripped  the  krees,  tried  to 
raise  himself  with  his  left  hand,  and  col- 
lapsed. Then  he  raised  his  head,  stared 
for  a  moment  at  Mrs  Green,  and  twisting 
his  face  round  looked  at  Bailey.  With  a 
gasping  groan  the  dying  man  succeeded 
in  clutching  the  bed  clothes  with  his  dis- 
abled hand,  and  by  a  violent  effort,  which 
hurt  Bailey's  legs  exceedingly,  writhed 
sideways  towards  what  must  be  his  last 
victim.  Then  something  seemed  released 
in  Bailey's  mind  and  he  brought  down  the 
second  bottle  with  all  his  strength  on  to 
the  Malay's  face.  The  krees  fell  heavily 
upon  the  floor. 

"  Easy  with  those  legs,"  said  Bailey,  as 
young  Fitzgibbon  and  one  of  the  boating 
party  lifted  the  body  off  him. 

Young  Fitzgibbon  was  very  white  in  the 
face.  "  I  didn't  mean  to  kill  him,"  he  said. 

"  It's  just  as  well,"  said  Bailey. 


THE  TEMPTATION  OF 
HARRINGAY 

IT  is  quite  impossible  to  say  whether 
this  thing  really  happened.  It  depends 
entirely  on  the  word  of  R.  M.  Harringay, 
who  is  an  artist. 

Following  his  version  of  the  affair,  the 
narrative  deposes  that  Harringay  went 
into  his  studio  about  ten  o'clock  to  see 
what  he  could  make  of  the  head  that 
he  had  been  working  at  the  day  before. 
The  head  in  question  was  that  of  an 
Italian  organ  -  grinder,  and  Harringay 
thought — but  was  not  quite  sure — that  the 
title  would  be  the  "  Vigil."  So  far  he  is 
frank,  and  his  narrative  bears  the  stamp  of 
truth.  He  had  seen  the  man  expectant 
for  pennies,  and  with  a  promptness  that 
suggested  genius,  had  had  him  in  at  once. 

"  Kneel.     Look    up   at   that    bracket," 


53 


94  THE  TEMPTATION 

said  Harringay.  "As  if  you  expected 
pennies." 

"  Don't  grin !  "  said  Harringay.  "  I 
don't  want  to  paint  your  gums.  Look  as 
though  you  were  unhappy." 

Now,  after  a  night's  rest,  the  picture 
proved  decidedly  unsatisfactory.  It's 
good  work,"  said  Harringay.  "  That 
little  bit  in  the  neck  .  .  .  But." 

He  walked  about  the  studio  and  looked 
at  the  thing  from  this  point  and  from  that 
Then  he  said  a  wicked  word.  In  the 
original  the  word  is  given. 

"  Painting,"  he  says  he  said  "  Just  a 
painting  of  an  organ-grinder — a  mere 
portrait.  If  it  was  a  live  organ-grinder 
I  wouldn't  mind.  But  somehow  I  never 
make  things  alive.  I  wonder  if  my 
imagination  is  wrong."  This,  too,  has  a 
truthful  air.  His  imagination  is  wrong. 

"  That  creative  touch !  To  take  canvas 
and  pigment  and  make  a  man — as  Adam 
was  made  of  red  ochre  !  But  this  thing  ! 
If  you  met  it  walking  about  the  streets 


OF  HARRINGAY  95 

you  would  know  it  was  only  a  studio  pro- 
duction. The  little  boys  would  tell  it  to 
'  Garnome  and  git  frimed.'  Some  little 
touch  .  .  .  Well — it  won't  do  as  it  is." 

He  went  to  the  blinds  and  began  to 
pull  them  down.  They  were  made  of 
blue  holland  with  the  rollers  at  the  bottom 
of  the  window,  so  that  you  pull  them 
down  to  get  more  light.  He  gathered 
his  palette,  brushes,  and  mahl  stick  from 
his  table.  Then  he  turned  to  the  picture 
and  put  a  speck  of  brown  in  the  corner 
of  the  mouth ;  and  shifted  his  attention 
thence  to  the  pupil  of  the  eye.  Then  he 
decided  that  the  chin  was  a  trifle  too 
impassive  for  a  vigil. 

Presently  he  put  down  his  impedimenta, 
and  lighting  a  pipe  surveyed  the  progress 
of  his  work.  "  I'm  hanged  if  the  thing 
isn't  sneering  at  me,"  said  Harringay,  and 
he  still  believes  it  sneered. 

The  animation  of  the  figure  had 
certainly  increased,  but  scarcely  in  the 
direction  he  wished.  There  was  no 


96  THE  TEMPTATION 

mistake  about  the  sneer.  "  Vigil  of  the 
Unbeliever,"  said  Harringay.  "  Rather 
subtle  and  clever  that !  But  the  left  eye- 
brow isn't  cynical  enough." 

He  went  and  dabbed  at  the  eyebrow, 
and  added  a  little  to  the  lobe  of  the  ear 
to  suggest  materialism.  Further  consid- 
eration ensued.  "Vigil's  off,  I'm  afraid," 
said  Harringay.  "  Why  not  Mephis- 
topheles  ?  But  that's  a  bit  too  common. 
'A  Friend  of  the  Doge,' — not  so  seedy. 
The  armour  won't  do,  though.  Too 
Camelot.  How  about  a  scarlet  robe  and 
call  him  '  One  of  the  Sacred  College '  ? 
Humour  in  that,  and  an  appreciation  of 
Middle  Italian  History." 

"  There's  always  Benvenuto  Cellini," 
said  Harringay ;  "  with  a  clever  sugges- 
tion of  a  gold  cup  in  one  corner.  But 
that  would  scarcely  suit  the  complexion." 

He  describes  himself  as  babbling  in  this 
way  in  order  to  keep  down  an  unaccount- 
ably unpleasant  sensation  of  fear.  The 
thing  was  certainly  acquiring  anything  but 


OF  HARRINGAY  97 

a  pleasing  expression.  Yet  it  was  as 
certainly  becoming-  far  more  of  a  living 
thing  than  it  had  been  —  if  a  sinister 
one — far  more  alive  than  anything  he 
had  ever  painted  before.  "  Call  it  '  Por- 
trait of  a  Gentleman,' "  said  Harringay  ; 
— "  A  Certain  Gentleman." 

"  Won't  do,"  said  Harringay,  still  keep- 
ing up  his  courage.  "  Kind  of  thing  they 
call  Bad  Taste.  That  sneer  will  have  to 
come  out.  That  gone,  and  a  little  more 
fire  in  the  eye — never  noticed  how  warm 
his  eye  was  before — and  he  might  do 
for —  ?  What  price  Passionate  Pilgrim  ? 
But  that  devilish  face  won't  do — this 
side  of  the  Channel. 

"  Some  little  inaccuracy  does  it,"  he 
said ;  "  eyebrows  probably  too  oblique," 
— therewith  pulling  the  blind  lower  to  get 
a  better  light,  and  resuming  palette  and 
brushes. 

The  face  on  the  -  canvas  seemed  ani- 
mated by  a  spirit  of  its  own.  Where 
the  expression  of  diablerie  came  in  he 
G 


98  THE  TEMPTATION 

found  impossible  to  discover.  Experi- 
ment was  necessary.  The  eyebrows — it 
could  scarcely  be  the  eyebrows  ?  But  he 
altered  them.  No,  that  was  no  better ; 
in  fact,  if  anything,  a  trifle  more  satanic. 
The  corner  of  the  mouth  ?  Pah !  more 
than  ever  a  leer — and  now,  retouched,  it 
was  ominously  grim.  The  eye,  then  ? 
Catastrophe !  he  had  filled  his  brush  with 
vermilion  instead  of  brown,  and  yet  he 
had  felt  sure  it  was  brown !  The  eye 
seemed  now  to  have  rolled  in  its  socket, 
and  was  glaring  at  him  an  eye  of  fire.  In 
a  flash  of  passion,  possibly  with  something 
of  the  courage  of  panic,  he  struck  the 
brush  full  of  bright  red  athwart  the  picture; 
and  then  a  very  curious'  thing,  a  very 
strange  thing  indeed,  occurred — if  it  did 
occur. 

The  diabolified  Italian  before  him  shut 
both  his  eyes,  pursed  his  mouth,  and  wiped 
the  colour  off  his  face  with  his  hand. 

Then  the  red  eye  opened  again,  with 
a  sound  like  the  opening  of  lips,  and  the 


OF  HARRINGAY  99 

face  smiled.     "  That  was  rather  hasty  of 
you,"  said  the  picture. 

Harringay  states  that,  now  that  the 
worst  had  happened,  his  self-possession 
returned.  He  had  a  saving  persuasion 
that  devils  were  reasonable  creatures. 

"Why  do  you  keep  moving  about 
then,"  he  said,  "  making  faces  and  all 
that — sneering  and  squinting,  while  I  am 
painting  you  ?  " 

"  I  don't,"  said  the  picture, 

"You  do,"  said  Harringay. 

"  It's  yourself,"  said  the  picture. 

"It's  not  myself,"  said  Harringay. 

"  It  is  yourself,"  said  the  picture.  "  No ! 
don't  go  hitting  me  with  paint  again,  be- 
cause it's  true.  You  have  been  trying 
to  fluke  an  expression  on  my  face  all 
the  morning.  Really,  you  haven't  an 
idea  what  your  picture  ought  to  look 
like." 

"  I  have,"  said  Harringay. 

"  You  have  not"  said  the  picture : 
"  You  never  have  with  your  pictures. 


ioo  THE  TEMPTATION 

You  always  start  with  the  vaguest  pre- 
sentiment of  what  you  are  going  to  do ; 
it  is  to  be  something  beautiful — you  are 
sure  of  that — and  devout,  perhaps,  or 
tragic  ;  but  beyond  that  it  is  all  experiment 
and  chance.  My  dear  fellow !  you  don't 
think  you  can  paint  a  picture  like  that  ?  " 

Now  it  must  be  remembered  that  for 
what  follows  we  have  only  Harringay's 
word. 

"  I  shall  paint  a  picture  exactly  as  I 
like,"  said  Harringay,  calmly. 

This  seemed  to  disconcert  the  picture 
a  little.  "  You  can't  paint  a  picture  with- 
out an  inspiration,"  it  remarked. 

"  But  I  had  an  inspiration — for  this." 

"  Inspiration  !  "  sneered  the  sardonic 
figure;  "a  fancy  that  came  from  your 
seeing  an  organ-grinder  looking  up  at 
a  window !  Vigil !  Ha,  ha !  You  just 
started  painting  on  the  chance  of  some- 
thing coming — that's  what  you  did.  And 
when  I  saw  you  at  it  I  came.  I  want 
a  talk  with  you  !  " 


OF  HARKING  AY  101 

"  Art,  with  you,"  said  the  picture, — 
"  it's  a  poor  business.  You  potter.  I 
don't  know  how  it  is,  but  you  don't  seem 
able  to  throw  your  soul  into  it  You 
know  too  much.  It  hampers  you.  In 
the  midst  of  your  enthusiasms  you  ask 
yourself  whether  something  like  this  has 
not  been  done  before.  And  ..." 

"  Look  here,"  said  Harringay,  who 
had  expected  something  better  than 
criticism  from  the  devil.  "  Are  you  going 
to  talk  studio  to  me?"  He  filled  his 
number  twelve  hoghair  with  red  paint. 

"The  true  artist,"  said  the  picture,  "is 
always  an  ignorant  man.  An  artist  who 
theorises  about  his  work  is  no  longer 
artist  but  critic.  Wagner  ...  I  say! 
—What's  that  red  paint  for?" 

"  I'm  going  to  paint  you  out,"  said 
Harringay.  "  I  don't  want  to  hear  all 
that  Tommy  Rot.  If  you  think  just 
because  I'm  an  artist  by  trade  I'm  going 
to  talk  studio  to  you,  you  make  a  precious 
mistake." 


THE  TEMPTATION 

"  One  minute,"  said  the  picture,  evi- 
dently alarmed.  "  I  want  to  make  you 
an  offer — a  genuine  offer.  It's  right 
what  I'm  saying.  You  lack  inspirations. 
Well.  No  doubt  you've  heard  of  the 
Cathedral  of  Cologne,  and  the  Devil's 
Bridge,  and " 

"  Rubbish,"  said  Harringay.  "  Do  you 
think  I  want  to  go  to  perdition  simply 
for  the  pleasure  of  painting  a  good 
picture,  and  getting  it  slated.  Take 
that." 

His  blood  was  up.  His  danger  only 
nerved  him  to  action,  so  he  says.  So 
he  planted  a  dab  of  vermilion  in  his 
creature's  mouth.  The  Italian  spluttered 
and  tried  to  wipe  it  off — evidently  horribly 
surprised.  And  then — according  to  Har- 
ringay— there  began  a  very  remarkable 
struggle,  Harrringay  splashing  away  with 
the  red  paint,  and  the  picture  wriggling 
about  and  wiping  it  off  as  fast  as  he 
put  it  on.  "  Two  masterpieces,"  said  the 
demon.  "  Two  indubitable  masterpieces 


OF  HARKING  AY  103 

for  a  Chelsea  artist's  soul.  It's  a  bargain  ?  " 
Harringay  replied  with  the  paint  brush. 

For  a  few  minutes  nothing  could  be 
heard  but  the  brush  going  and  the 
spluttering  and  ejaculations  of  the  Italian. 
A  lot  of  the  strokes  he  caught  on  his 
arm  and  hand,  though  Harringay  got 
over  his  guard  often  enough.  Presently 
the  paint  on  the  palette  gave  out  and 
the  two  antagonists  stood  breathless,  re- 
garding each  other.  The  picture  was  so 
smeared  with  red  that  it  looked  as  if  it 
had  been  rolling  about  a  slaughterhouse, 
and  it  was  painfully  out  of  breath  and 
very  uncomfortable  with  the  wet  paint 
trickling  down  its  neck.  Still,  the  first 
round  was  in  its  favour  on  the  whole. 
"  Think,"  it  said,  sticking  pluckily  to  its 
point,  "  two  supreme  masterpieces — in 
different  styles.  Each  equivalent  to  the 
Cathedral  .  .  ." 

"  7  know,"  said  Harringay,  and  rushed 
out  of  the  studio  and  along  the  passage 
towards  his  wife's  boudoir. 


104  THE  TEMPTATION 

In  another  minute  he  was  back  with 
a  large  tin  of  enamel — Hedge  Sparrow's 
Egg  Tint,  it  was,  and  a  brush.  At  the 
sight  of  that  the  artistic  devil  with  the 
red  eye  began  to  scream.  "  Three  master- 
pieces— culminating  masterpieces." 

Harringay  delivered  cut  two  across  the 
demon,  and  followed  with  a  thrust  in  the 
eye.  There  was  an  indistinct  rumbling. 
"Four  masterpieces,"  and  a  spitting 
sound. 

But  Harringay  had  the  upper  hand 
now  and  meant  to  keep  it.  With  rapid, 
bold  strokes  he  continued  to  paint  over 
the  writhing  canvas,  until  at  last  it  was 
a  uniform  field  of  shining  Hedge  Sparrow 
tint.  Once  the  mouth  reappeared  and 
got  as  far  as  "  Five  master — "  before 
he  filled  it  with  enamel ;  and  near  the  end 
the  red  eye  opened  and  glared  at  him 
indignantly.  But  at  last  nothing  re- 
mained save  a  gleaming  panel  of  drying 
enamel.  For  a  little  while  a  faint  stirring 
beneath  the  surface  puckered  it  slightly 


OF  HARRINGAY  105 

here  and  there,  but  presently  even  that 
died  away  and  the  thing  was  perfectly 
still. 

Then  Harringay — according  to  Harrin- 
gay's  account — lit  his  pipe  and  sat  down 
and  stared  at  the  enamelled  canvas,  and 
tried  to  make  out  clearly  what  had 
happened.  Then  he  walked  round  be- 
hind it,  to  see  if  the  back  of  it  was  at 
all  remarkable.  Then  it  was  he  began 
to  regret  he  had  not  photographed  the 
Devil  before  he  painted  him  out. 

This  is  Harringay's  story — not  mine. 
He  supports  it  by  a  small  canvas  (24 
by  20)  enamelled  a  pale  green,  and  by 
violent  asseverations.  It  is  also  true 
that  he  never  has  produced  a  master- 
piece, and  in  the  opinion  of  his  intimate 
friends  probably  never  will. 


THE  FLYING  MAN 

TH  E  Ethnologist  looked  at  the  bhimraj 
feather  thoughtfully.  "  They  seemed 
loth  to  part  with  it,"  he  said. 

"  It  is  sacred  to  the  Chiefs,"  said  the 
lieutenant ;  "just  as  yellow  silk,  you  know, 
is  sacred  to  the  Chinese  Emperor." 

The  Ethnologist  did  not  answer. ,  He 
hesitated.  Then  opening  the  topic 
abruptly,  "  What  on  earth  is  this  cock- 
and-bull  story  they  have  of  a  flying 
man  ?  " 

The  lieutenant  smiled  faintly.  "  What 
did  they  tell  you  ?  " 

"  I  see,"  said  the  Ethnologist,  "  that  you 
know  of  your  fame." 

The  lieutenant  rolled  himself  a  cigarette. 
"  I  don't  mind  hearing  about  it  once  more. 
How  does  it  stand  at  present  ?  " 

"  It's  so  confoundedly  childish,"  said  the 


1 06 


THE  FLYING  MAN  107 

Ethnologist,  becoming  irritated.  "  How 
did  you  play  it  off  upon  them  ?  " 

The  lieutenant  made  no  answer,  but 
lounged  back  in  his  folding-chair,  still 
smiling. 

"  Here  am  I,  come  four  hundred  miles 
out  of  my  way  to  get  what  is  left  of  the 
folk-lore  of  these  people,  before  they  are 
utterly  demoralised  by  missionaries  and 
the  military,  and  all  I  find  are  a  lot  of 
impossible  legends  about  a  sandy-haired 
scrub  of  an  infantry  lieutenant.  How  he 
is  invulnerable — how  he  can  jump  over 
elephants — how  he  can  fly.  That's  the 
toughest  nut.  One  old  gentleman  de- 
scribed your  wings,  said  they  had  black 
plumage  and  were  not  quite  as  long  as  a 
mule.  Said  he  often  saw  you  by  moon- 
light hovering  over  the  crests  out  towards 
the  Shendu  country. — Confound  it,  man  ! " 

The  lieutenant  laughed  cheerfully. 
"  Go  on,"  he  said.  "  Go  on. " 

The  Ethnologist  did.  At  last  he 
wearied.  "  To  trade  so,"  he  said,  "on 


io8  THE  FLYING  MAN 

these  unsophisticated  children  of  the 
mountains.  How  could  you  bring  your- 
self to  do  it,  man  ?  " 

"  I'm  sorry,"  said  the  lieutenant,  "  but 
truly  the  thing  was  forced  upon  me.  I 
can  assure  you  I  was  driven  to  it  And 
at  the  time  I  had  not  the  faintest  idea  of 
how  the  Chin  imagination  would  take  it 
Or  curiosity.  I  can  only  plead  it  was 
an  indiscretion  and  not  malice  that  made 
me  replace  the  folk-lore  by  a  new  legend. 
But  as  you  seem  aggrieved,  I  will  try  and 
explain  the  business  to  you. 

"It  was  in  the  time  of  the  last  Lushai 
expedition  but  one,  and  Walters  thought 
these  people  you  have  been  visiting  were 
friendly.  So,  with  an  airy  confidence  in 
my  capacity  for  taking  care  of  myself,  he 
sent  me  up  the  gorge — fourteen  miles  of 
it — with  three  of  the  Derbyshire  men  and 
half  a  dozen  Sepoys,  two  mules,  and  his 
blessing,  to  see  what  popular  feeling  was 
like  at  that  village  you  visited.  A  force 
of  ten — not  counting  the  mules — fourteen 


THE  FLYING  MAN  109 

miles,  and  during  a  war  !     You  saw  the 
road  ? " 

"  Road  !  "  said  the  Ethnologist 

"It's  better  now  than  it  was.  When 
we  went  up  we  had  to  wade  in  the  river 
for  a  mile  where  the  valley  narrows,  with 
a  smart  stream  frothing  round  our  knees 
and  the  stones  as  slippery  as  ice.  There 
it  was  I  dropped  my  rifle.  Afterwards 
the  Sappers  blasted  the  cliff  with  dyna- 
mite and  made  the  convenient  way  you 
came  by.  Then  below,  where  those  very 
high  cliffs  come,  we  had  to  keep  on 
dodging  across  the  river — I  should  say 
we  crossed  it  a  dozen  times  in  a  couple  of 
miles. 

"  We  got  in  sight  of  the  place  early  the 
next  morning.  You  know  how  it  lies,  on 
a  spur  halfway  between  the  big  hills, 
and  as  we  began  to  appreciate  how 
wickedly  quiet  the  village  lay  under  the 
sunlight,  we  came  to  a  stop  to  consider. 

*'  At  that  they  fired  a  lump  of  filed  brass 
idol  at  us,  just  by  way  of  a  welcome. 


i  io  THE  FLYING  MAN 

It  came  twanging  down  the  slope  to  the 
right  of  us  where  the  boulders  are,  missed 
my  shoulder  by  an  inch  or  so,  and 
plugged  the  mule  that  carried  all  the 
provisions  and  utensils.  I  never  heard 
such  a  death-rattle  before  or  since.  And 
at  that  we  became  aware  of  a  number 
of  gentlemen  carrying  matchlocks,  and 
dressed  in  things  like  plaid  dusters, 
dodging  about  along  the  neck  between 
the  village  and  the  crest  to  the  east 

"  '  Right  about  face,'  I  said.  '  Not  too 
close  together.' 

"  And  with  that  encouragement  my 
expedition  of  ten  men  came  round  and  set 
off  at  a  smart  trot  down  the  valley  again 
hitherward.  We  did  not  wait  to  save 
anything  our  dead  had  carried,  but  we 
kept  the  second  mule  with  us — he  carried 
my  tent  and  some  other  rubbish — out  of 
a  feeling  of  friendship. 

"  So  ended  the  battle  —  ingloriously. 
Glancing  back,  I  saw  the  valley  dotted 
with  the  victors,  shouting  and  firing  at  us. 


THE  FLYING  MAN  in 

But  no  one  was  hit.  These  Chins  and 
their  guns  are  very  little  good  except  at 
a  sitting  shot.  They  will  sit  and  finick 
over  a  boulder  for  hours  taking  aim,  and 
when  they  fire  running  it  is  chiefly  for 
stage  effect.  Hooker,  one  of  the  Derby- 
shire men,  fancied  himself  rather  with  the 
rifle,  and  stopped  behind  for  half  a  minute 
to  try  his  luck  as  we  turned  the  bend. 
But  he  got  nothing. 

"  I'm  not  a  Xenophon  to  spin  much  of 
a  yarn  about  my  retreating  army.  We 
had  to  pull  the  enemy  up  twice  in  the 
next  two  miles  when  he  became  a  bit 
pressing,  by  exchanging  shots  with  him, 
but  it  was  a  fairly  monotonous  affair — 
hard  breathing  chiefly — until  we  got  near 
the  place  where  the  hills  run  in  towards 
the  river  and  pinch  the  valley  into  a  gorge. 
And  there  we  very  luckily  caught  a  glimpse 
of  half  a  dozen  round  black  heads  coming 
slanting-ways  over  the  hill  to  the  left  of 
us — the  east  that  is — and  almost  parallel 
with  us. 


ii2  THE  FLYING  MAN 

"At  that  I  called  a  halt.  '  Look  here/ 
says  I  to  Hooker  and  the  other  English- 
men ;  '  what  are  we  to  do  now  ? '  and  I 
pointed  to  the  heads. 

"'Headed  orf,  or  I'm  a  nigger/  said 
one  of  the  men. 

" '  We  shall  be/  said  another.  '  You 
know  the  Chin  way,  George  ? ' 

" '  They  can  pot  every  one  of  us  at  fifty 
yards/  says  Hooker,  '  in  the  place  where 
the  river  is  narrow.  It's  just  suicide  to 
go  on  down.' 

"  I  looked  at  the  hill  to  the  right  of  us. 
It  grew  steeper  lower  down  the  valley, 
but  it  still  seemed  climbable.  And  all  the 
Chins  we  had  seen  hitherto  had  been  on 
the  other  side  of  the  stream. 

" '  It's  that  or  stopping/  says  one  of 
the  Sepoys. 

"  So  we  started  slanting  up  the  hill. 
There  was  something  faintly  suggestive 
of  a  road  running  obliquely  up  the  face  of 
it,  and  that  we  followed.  Some  Chins 
presently  came  into  view  up  the  valley, 


THE  FLYING  MAN  113 

and  I  heard  some  shots.  Then  I  saw 
one  of  the  Sepoys  was  sitting  down  about 
thirty  yards  below  us.  He  had  simply 
sat  down  without  a  word,  apparently  not 
wishing  to  give  trouble.  At  that  I  called 
a  halt  again  ;  I  told  Hooker  to  try  another 
shot,  and  went  back  and  found  the  man 
was  hit  in  the  leg.  I  took  him  up,  carried 
him  along  to  put  him  on  the  mule — already 
pretty  well  laden  with  the  tent  and  other 
things  which  we  had  no  time  to  take  off. 
When  I  got  up  to  the  rest  with  him, 
Hooker  had  his  empty  Martini  in  his 
hand,  and  was  grinning  and  pointing  to  a 
motionless  black  spot  up  the  valley.  All 
the  rest  of  the  Chins  were  behind  boulders 
or  back  round  the  bend.  '  Five  hundred 
yards,'  says  Hooker,  '  if  an  inch.  And 
I'll  swear  I  hit  him  in  the  head.' 

"  I  told  him  to  go  and  do  it  again,  and 
with  that  we  went  on  again. 

"  Now  the  hillside  kept  getting  steeper 
as  we  pushed  on,  and  the  road  we  were 
following  more  and  more  of  a  shelf.  At 
H 


ii4  THE  FLYING  MAN 

last  it  was  mere  cliff  above  and  below  us. 
'  It's  the  best  road  I  have  seen  yet  in  Chin 
Lushai  land,'  said  I  to  encourage  the  men, 
though  I  had  a  fear  of  what  was  coming, 

"And  in  a  few  minutes  the  way  bent 
round  a  corner  of  the  cliff.  Then,  finis ! 
the  ledge  came  to  an  end. 

"  As  soon  as  he  grasped  the  position 
one  of  the  Derbyshire  men  fell  a-swear- 
ing  at  the  trap  we  had  fallen  into.  The 
Sepoys  halted  quietly.  Hooker  grunted 
and  reloaded,  and  went  back  to  the  bend. 

"  Then  two  of  the  Sepoy  chaps  helped 
their  comrade  down  and  began  to  unload 
the  mule. 

"  Now,  when  I  came  to  look  about  me, 
I  began  to  think  we  had  not  been  so  very 
unfortunate  after  all.  We  were  on  a  shelf 
perhaps  ten  yards  across  it  at  widest. 
Above  it  the  cliff  projected  so  that  we 
could  not  be  shot  down  upon,  and  below 
was  an  almost  sheer  precipice  of  perhaps 
two  or  three  hundred  feet.  Lying  down 
we  were  invisible  to  anyone  across  the 


THE  FLYING  MAN  115 

ravine.  The  only  approach  was  along  the 
ledge,  and  on  that  one  man  was  as  good 
as  a  host.  We  were  in  a  natural  strong- 
hold, with  only  one  disadvantage,  our  sole 
provision  against  hunger  and  thirst  was 
one  live  mule.  Still  we  were  at  most 
eight  or  nine  miles  from  the  main  expedi- 
tion, and  no  doubt,  after  a  day  or  so,  they 
would  send  up  after  us  if  we  did  not  return. 

"  After  a  day  or  so  .  .  ." 

The  lieutenant  paused.  "  Ever  been 
thirsty,  Graham  ?  " 

"  Not  that  kind,"  said  the  Ethnologist. 

"  H'm.  We  had  the  whole  of  that  day, 
the  night,  and  the  next  day  of  it,  and  only 
a  trifle  of  dew  we  wrung  out  of  our  clothes 
and  the  tent.  And  below  us  was  the 
river  going  giggle,  giggle,  round  a  rock  in 
mid  stream.  I  never  knew  such  a  barren- 
ness of  incident,  or  such  a  quantity  of 
sensation.  The  sun  might  have  had 
Joshua's  command  still  upon  it  for  all  the 
motion  one  could  see ;  and  it  blazed  like 
a  near  furnace.  Towards  the  evening  of 


n6  THE  FLYING  MAN 

the  first  day  one  of  the  Derbyshire  men 
said  something — nobody  heard  what — 
and  went  off  round  the  bend  of  the  cliff. 
We  heard  shots,  and  when  Hooker  looked 
round  the  corner  he  was  gone.  And  in  the 
morning  the  Sepoy  whose  leg  was  shot 
was  in  delirium,  and  jumped  or  fell  over 
the  cliff.  Then  we  took  the  mule  and 
shot  it,  and  that  must  needs  go  over  the 
cliff  too  in  its  last  struggles,  leaving 
eight  of  us. 

"  We  could  see  the  body  of  the  Sepoy 
down  below,  with  the  head  in  the  water. 
He  was  lying  face  downwards,  and  so  far 
as  I  could  make  out  was  scarcely  smashed 
at  all.  Badly  as  the  Chins  might  covet 
his  head,  they  had  the  sense  to  leave  it 
alone  until  the  darkness  came. 

"At  first  we  talked  of  all  the  chances 
there  were  of  the  main  body  hearing  the 
firing,  and  reckoned  whether  they  would 
begin  to  miss  us,  and  all  that  kind  of  thing, 
but  we  dried  up  as  the  evening  came  on. 
The  Sepoys  played  games  with  bits  of 


THE  FLYING  MAN  117 

stone  among  themselves,  and  afterwards 
told  stories.  The  night  was  rather  chilly. 
The  second  day  nobody  spoke.  Our  lips 
were  black  and  our  throats  afire,  and  we 
lay  about  on  the  ledge  and  glared  at  one 
another.  Perhaps  it's  as  well  we  kept 
our  thoughts  to  ourselves.  One  of  the 
British  soldiers  began  writing  some  blas- 
phemous rot  on  the  rock  with  a  bit  of 
pipeclay,  about  his  last  dying  will,  until  I 
stopped  it.  As  I  looked  over  the  edge 
down  into  the  valley  and  saw  the  river 
rippling  I  was  nearly  tempted  to  go  after 
the  Sepoy.  It  seemed  a  pleasant  and 
desirable  thing  to  go  rushing  down  through 
the  air  with  something  to  drink — or  no 
more  thirst  at  any  rate — at  the  bottom.  I 
remembered  in  time,  though,  that  I  was 
the  officer  in  command,  and  my  duty  to 
set  a  good  example,  and  that  kept  me 
from  any  such  foolishness. 

"  Yet,  thinking  of  that,  put  an  idea  into 
my  head.  I  got  up  and  looked  at  the 
tent  and  tent  ropes,  and  wondered  why  I 


fi8  THE  FLYING  MAN 

had  not  thought  of  it  before.  Then  I 
came  and  peered  over  the  cliff  again. 
This  time  the  height  seemed  greater  and 
the  pose  of  the  Sepoy  rather  more  painful. 
But  it  was  that  or  nothing.  And  to  cut  it 
short,  I  parachuted. 

"  I  got  a  big  circle  of  canvas  out  of 
the  tent,  about  three  times  the  size  of  that 
table-cover,  and  plugged  the  hole  in  the 
centre,  and  I  tied  eight  ropes  round  it  to 
meet  in  the  middle  and  make  a  parachute. 
The  other  chaps  lay  about  and  watched 
me  as  though  they  thought  it  was  a  new 
kind  of  delirium.  Then  I  explained  my 
notion  to  the  two  British  soldiers  and  how 
I  meant  to  do  it,  and  as  soon  as  the  short 
dusk  had  darkened  into  night,  I  risked  it. 
They  held  the  thing  high  up,  and  I  took 
a  run  the  whole  length  of  the  ledge.  The 
thing  filled  with  air  like  a  sail,  but  at  the 
edge  I  will  confess  I  funked  and  pulled 
up. 

"  As  soon  as  I  stopped  I  was  ashamed 
of  myself — as  well  I  might  be  in  front  of 


THE  FLYING  MAN  119 

privates  —  and  went  back  and  started 
again.  Off  I  jumped  this  time — with  a 
kind  of  sob,  I  remember — clean  into  the 
air,  with  the  big  white  sail  bellying  out 
above  me. 

"  I  must  have  thought  at  a  frightful 
pace.  It  seemed  a  long  time  before  I 
was  sure  that  the  thing  meant  to  keep 
steady.  At  first  it  heeled  sideways. 
Then  I  noticed  the  face  of  the  rock  which 
seemed  to  be  streaming  up  past  me,  and 
me  motionless.  Then  I  looked  down  and 
saw  in  the  darkness  the  river  and  the 
dead  Sepoy  rushing  up  towards  me.  But 
in  the  indistinct  light  I  also  saw  three 
Chins,  seemingly  aghast  at  the  sight  of 
me,  and  that  the  Sepoy  was  decapitated. 
At  that  I  wanted  to  go  back  again. 

"  Then  my  boot  was  in  the  mouth  of 
one,  and  in  a  moment  he  and  I  were  in  a 
heap  with  the  canvas  fluttering  down  on 
the  top  of  us.  I  fancy  I  dashed  out  his 
brains  with  my  foot.  I  expected  nothing 
more  than  to  be  brained  myself  by  the 


120  THE  FLYING  MAN 

other  two,  but  the  poor  heathen  had  never 
heard  of  Baldwin,  and  incontinently  bolted. 

"  I  struggled  out  of  the  tangle  of  dead 
Chin  and  canvas,  and  looked  round. 
About  ten  paces  off  lay  the  head  of  the 
Sepoy  staring  in  the  moonlight.  Then  I 
saw  the  water  and  went  and  drank. 
There  wasn't  a  sound  in  the  world  but 
the  footsteps  of  the  departing  Chins,  a 
faint  shout  from  above,  and  the  gluck  of 
the  water.  So  soon  as  I  had  drunk  my 
full  I  started  off  down  the  river. 

"  That  about  ends  the  explanation  of 
the  flying  man  story.  I  never  met  a  soul 
the  whole  eight  miles  of  the  way.  I  got 
to  Walters'  camp  by  ten  o'clock,  and  a 
born  idiot  of  a  sentinel  had  the  cheek  to 
fire  at  me  as  I  came  trotting  out  of  the 
darkness.  So  soon  as  I  had  hammered 
my  story  into  Winter's  thick  skull,  about 
fifty  men  started  up  the  valley  to  clear  the 
Chins  out  and  get  our  men  down.  But 
for  my  own  part  I  had  too  good  a  thirst 
to  provoke  it  by  going  with  them. 


THE  FLYING  MAN  121 

"  You  have  heard  what  kind  of  a  yarn 
the  Chins  made  of  it.  Wings  as  long  as 
a  mule,  eh  ? — And  black  feathers !  The 
gay  lieutenant  bird  !  Well,  well." 

The  lieutenant  meditated  cheerfully  for 
a  moment.  Then  he  added,  "  You  would 
scarcely  credit  it,  but  when  they  got  to 
the  ridge  at  last,  they  found  two  more  of 
the  Sepoys  had  jumped  over." 

"  The  rest  were  all  right  ?  "  asked  the 
Ethnologist. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  lieutenant ;  "  the  rest 
were  all  right,  barring  a  certain  thirst, 
you  know." 

And  at  the  memory  he  helped  himself 
to  soda  and  whisky  again. 


THE  DIAMOND  MAKER 

SOME  business  had  detained  me  in 
Chancery  Lane  until  nine  in  the 
evening,  and  thereafter,  having  some  ink- 
ling of  a  headache,  I  was  disinclined  either 
for  entertainment  or  further  work.  So 
much  of  the  sky  as  the  high  cliffs  of  that 
narrow  canon  of  traffic  left  visible  spoke  of 
a  serene  night,  and  I  determined  to  make 
my  way  down  to  the  Embankment,  and 
rest  my  eyes  and  cool  my  head  by  watch- 
ing the  variegated  lights  upon  the  river. 
Beyond  comparison  the  night  is  the  best 
time  for  this  place ;  a  merciful  darkness 
hides  the  dirt  of  the  waters,  and  the  lights 
of  this  transition  age,  red,  glaring  orange, 
gas-yellow,  and  electric  white,  are  set  in 
shadowy  outlines  of  every  possible  shade 
between  grey  and  deep  purple.  Through 
the  arches  of  Waterloo  Bridge  a  hundred 


THE  DIAMOND  MAKER       123 

points  of  light  mark  the  sweep  of  the 
Embankment,  and  above  its  parapet  rise 
the  towers  of  Westminster,  warm  grey 
against  the  starlight.  The  black  river 
goes  by  with  only  a  rare  ripple  break- 
ing its  silence,  and  disturbing  the  reflec- 
tions of  the  lights  that  swim  upon  its 
surface. 

"  A  warm  night,"  said  a  voice  at  my 
side. 

I  turned  my  head,  and  saw  the  profile 
of  a  man  who  was  leaning  over  the 
parapet  beside  me.  It  was  a  refined  face, 
not  unhandsome,  though  pinched  and  pale 
enough,  and  the  coat  collar  turned  up  and 
pinned  round  the  throat  marked  his  status 
in  life  as  sharply  as  a  uniform.  I  felt  I 
was  committed  to  the  price  of  a  bed  and 
breakfast  if  I  answered  him. 

I  looked  at  him  curiously.  Would  he 
have  anything  to  tell  me  worth  the  money, 
or  was  he  the  common  incapable — 
incapable  even  of  telling  his  own  story  ? 
There  was  a  quality  of  intelligence  in  his 


I24       THE  DIAMOND  MAKER 

forehead  and  eyes,  and  a  certain  tremulous- 
ness  in  his  nether  lip  that  decided  me. 

"  Very  warm,"  said  I ;  "  but  not  too 
warm  for  us  here." 

"  No,"  he  said,  still  looking  across  the 
water,  "it  is  pleasant  enough  here  .  .  . 
just  now." 

"It  is  good,"  he  continued  after  a  pause, 
"to  find  anything  so  restful  as  this  in 
London.  After  one  has  been  fretting 
about  business  all  day,  about  getting  on, 
meeting  obligations,  and  parrying  dangers, 
I  do  not  know  what  one  would  do  if  it 
were  not  for  such  pacific  corners."  He 
spoke  with  long  pauses  between  the 
sentences.  "  You  must  know  a  little  of 
the  irksome  labour  of  the  world,  or  you 
would  not  be  here.  But  I  doubt  if  you 
can  be  so  brain-weary  and  footsore  as  I 
am  .  .  .  Bah !  Sometimes  I  doubt  if  the 
game  is  worth  the  candle.  I  feel  inclined 
to  throw  the  whole  thing  over — name, 
wealth,  and  position — and  take  to  some 
modest  trade.  But  I  know  if  I  abandoned 


THE  DIAMOND  MAKER       125 

my  ambition — hardly  as  she  uses  me — I 
should  have  nothing  but  remorse  left  for 
the  rest  of  my  days." 

He  became  silent.  I  looked  at  him  in 
astonishment.  If  ever  I  saw  a  man  hope- 
lessly hard-up  it  was  the  man  in  front  of 
me.  He  was  ragged  and  he  was  dirty,  un- 
shaven and  unkempt ;  he  looked  as  though 
he  had  been  left  in  a  dust-bin  for  a  week. 
And  he  was  talking  to  me  of  the  irksome 
worries  of  a  large  business.  I  almost 
laughed  outright  Either  he  was  mad  or 
playing  a  sorry  jest  on  his  own  poverty. 

"If  high  aims  and  high  positions,"  said 
I,  "have  their  drawbacks  of  hard  work 
and  anxiety,  they  have  their  compensa- 
tions. Influence,  the  power  of  doing  good, 
of  assisting  those  weaker  and  poorer  than 
ourselves ;  and  there  is  even  a  certain 
gratification  in  display.  .  .  .  ' 

My  banter  under  the  circumstances  was 
in  very  vile  taste.  I  spoke  on  the  spur  of 
the  contrast  of  his  appearance  and  speech. 
I  was  sorry  even  while  I  was  speaking. 


126       THE  DIAMOND  MAKER 

He  turned  a  haggard  but  very  com- 
posed face  upon  me.  Said  he  :  "I  forget 
myself.  Of  course  you  would  not  under- 
stand." 

He  measured  me  for  a  moment.  "  No 
doubt  it  is  very  absurd.  You  will  not 
believe  me  even  when  I  tell  you,  so 
that  it  is  fairly  safe  to  tell  you.  And  it 
will  be  a  comfort  to  tell  someone.  I  really 
have  a  big  business  in  hand,  a  very  big 
business.  But  there  are  troubles  just  now. 
The  fact  is  ...  I  make  diamonds." 

"I  suppose,"  said  I,  "you  are  out  of 
work  just  at  present  ?  " 

"  I  am  sick  of  being  disbelieved,"  he 
said  impatiently,  and  suddenly  unbuttoning 
his  wretched  coat  he  pulled  out  a  little 
canvas  bag  that  was  hanging  by  a  cord 
round  his  neck.  From  this  he  produced 
a  brown  pebble.  "  I  wonder  if  you  know 
enough  to  know  what  that  is?"  He 
handed  it  to  me. 

Now,  a  year  or  so  ago,  I  had  occupied  my 
leisure  in  taking  a  London  science  degree, 


THE  DIAMOND  MAKER       127 

so  that  I  have  a  smattering  of  physics  and 
mineralogy.  The  thing  was  not  unlike  an 
uncut  diamond  of  the  darker  sort,  though 
far  too  large,  being  almost  as  big  as  the 
top  of  my  thumb.  I  took  it,  and  saw  it 
had  the  form  of  a  regular  octahedron,  with 
the  curved  faces  peculiar  to  the  most 
precious  of  minerals.  I  took  out  my 
penknife  and  tried  to  scratch  it — vainly. 
Leaning  forward  towards  the  gas-lamp,  I 
tried  the  thing  on  my  watch-glass,  and 
scored  a  white  line  across  that  with  the 
greatest  ease. 

I  looked  at  my  interlocutor  with  rising 
curiosity.  "  It  certainly  is  rather  like  a 
diamond.  But,  if  so,  it  is  a  Behemoth  of 
diamonds.  Where  did  you  get  it  ?  " 

"  I  tell  you  I  made  it,"  he  said.  "  Give 
it  back  to  me." 

He  replaced  it  hastily  and  buttoned  his 
jacket.  "  I  will  sell  it  you  for  one  hundred 
pounds,"  he  suddenly  whispered  eagerly. 
With  that  my  suspicions  returned.  The 
thing  might,  after  all,  be  merely  a  lump 


128       THE  DIAMOND  MAKER 

of  that  almost  equally  hard  substance, 
corundum,  with  an  accidental  resemblance 
in  shape  to  the  diamond.  Or  if  it  was  a 
diamond,  how  came  he  by  it,  and  why 
should  he  offer  it  at  a  hundred  pounds  ? 

We  looked  into  one  another's  eyes. 
He  seemed  eager,  but  honestly  eager. 
At  that  moment  I  believed  it  was  a 
diamond  he  was  trying  to  sell.  Yet  I  am 
a  poor  man,  a  hundred  pounds  would  leave 
a  visible  gap  in  my  fortunes  and  no  sane 
man  would  buy  a  diamond  by  gaslight 
from  a  ragged  tramp  on  his  personal 
warranty  only.  Still,  a  diamond  that  size 
conjured  up  a  vision  of  many  thousands  of 
pounds.  Then,  thought  I,  such  a  stone 
could  scarcely  exist  without  being  men- 
tioned in  every  book  on  gems,  and  again 
I  called  to  mind  the  stories  of  contra- 
band and  light-fingered  Kaffirs  at  the 
Cape.  I  put  the  question  of  purchase  on 
one  side. 

"  How  did  you  get  it? "  said  I. 

"  I  made  it." 


THE  DIAMOND  MAKER       129 

I  had  heard  something  of  Moissan,  but 
I  knew  his  artificial  diamonds  were  very 
small.  I  shook  my  head. 

"  You  seem  to  know  something  of  this 
kind  of  thing.  I  will  tell  you  a  little  about 
myself.  Perhaps  then  you  may  think 
better  of  the  purchase."  He  turned  round 
with  his  back  to  the  river,  and  put  his 
hands  in  his  pockets.  He  sighed.  "  I 
know  you  will  not  believe  me." 

"  Diamonds,"  he  began  —  and  as  he 
spoke  his  voice  lost  its  faint  flavour  of  the 
tramp  and  assumed  something  of  the  easy 
tone  of  an  educated  man — "are  to  be 
made  by  throwing  carbon  out  of  combina- 
tion in  a  suitable  flux  and  under  a  suitable 
pressure ;  the  carbon  crystallises  out,  not 
as  black-lead  or  charcoal-powder,  but  as 
small  diamonds.  So  much  has  been 
known  to  chemists  for  years,  but  no  one 
yet  has  hit  upon  exactly  the  right  flux  in 
which  to  melt  up  the  carbon,  or  exactly 
the  right  pressure  for  the  best  results. 
Consequently  the  diamonds  made  by 


i3o      THE  DIAMOND  MAKER 

chemists  are  small  and  dark,  and  worth- 
less as  jewels.  Now  I,  you  know,  have 
given  up  my  life  to  this  problem — given 
my  life  to  it. 

"  I  began  to  work  at  the  conditions  of 
diamond  making  when  I  was  seventeen, 
and  now  I  am  thirty-two.  It  seemed  to 
me  that  it  might  take  all  the  thought  and 
energies  of  a  man  for  ten  years,  or  twenty 
years,  but,  even  if  it  did,  the  game  was 
still  worth  the  candle.  Suppose  one  to 
have  at  last  just  hit  the  right  trick,  before 
the  secret  got  out  and  diamonds  became 
as  common  as  coal,  one  might  realise 
millions.  Millions ! " 

He  paused  and  looked  for  my  sympathy. 
His  eyes  shone  hungrily.  "  To  think," 
said  he,  "  that  I  am  on  the  verge  of  it  all, 
and  here ! 

"  I  had,"  he  proceeded,  "  about  a 
thousand  pounds  when  I  was  twenty-one, 
and  this,  I  thought,  eked  out  by  a  little 
teaching,  would  keep  my  researches  going. 
A  year  or  two  was  spent  in  study,  at 


THE  DIAMOND  MAKER       131 

Berlin  chiefly,  and  then  I  continued  on  my 
own  account.  The  trouble  was  the  secrecy. 
You  see,  if  once  I  had  let  out  what  I  was 
doing,  other  men  might  have  been  spurred 
on  by  my  belief  in  the  practicability  of  the 
idea ;  and  I  do  not  pretend  to  be  such  a 
genius  as  to  have  been  sure  of  coming  in 
first,  in  the  case  of  a  race  for  the  discovery. 
And  you  see  it  was  important  that  if  I 
really  meant  to  make  a  pile,  people  should 
not  know  it  was  an  artificial  process  and 
capable  of  turning  out  diamonds  by  the 
ton.  So  I  had  to  work  all  alone.  At  first 
I  had  a  little  laboratory,  but  as  my 
resources  began  to  run  out  I  had  to 
conduct  my  experiments  in  a  wretched 
unfurnished  room  in  Kentish  Town,  where 
I  slept  at  last  on  a  straw  mattress  on  the 
floor  among  all  my  apparatus.  The 
money  simply  flowed  away.  I  grudged 
myself  everything  except  scientific  appli- 
ances. I  tried  to  keep  things  going  by  a 
little  teaching,  but  I  am  not  a  very  good 
teacher,  and  I  have  no  university  degree, 


I32       THE  DIAMOND  MAKER 

nor  very  much  education  except  in  chem- 
istry, and  I  found  I  had  to  give  a  lot  of 
time  and  labour  for  precious  little  money. 
But  I  got  nearer  and  nearer  the  thing. 
Three  years  ago  I  settled  the  problem  of 
the  composition  of  the  flux,  and  got  near 
the  pressure  by  putting  this  flux  of  mine 
and  a  certain  carbon  composition  into  a 
closed-up  gun-barrel,  filling  up  with  water, 
sealing  tightly,  and  heating." 

He  paused. 

"  Rather  risky,"  said  I. 

"Yes.  It  burst,  and  smashed  all  my 
windows  and  a  lot  of  my  apparatus ;  but 
I  got  a  kind  of  diamond  powder  neverthe- 
less. Following  out  the  problem  of  getting 
a  big  pressure  upon  the  molten  mixture 
from  which  the  things  were  to  crystallise, 
I  hit  upon  some  researches  of  Daubree's 
at  the  Paris  Laboratorie  des  Poudres  et 
Salpfores.  He  exploded  dynamite  in  a 
tightly  screwed  steel  cylinder,  too  strong 
to  burst,  and  I  found  he  could  crush  rocks 
into  a  muck  not  unlike  the  South  African 


THE  DIAMOND  MAKER       133 

bed  in  which  diamonds  are  found.  It  was 
a  tremendous  strain  on  my  resources,  but 
I  got  a  steel  cylinder  made  for  my  purpose 
after  his  pattern.  I  put  in  all  my  stuff 
and  my  explosives,  built  up  a  fire  in  my 
furnace,  put  the  whole  concern  in,  and — 
went  out  for  a  walk." 

I  could  not  help  laughing  at  his  matter- 
of-fact  manner.  "  Did  you  not  think  it 
would  blow  up  the  house?  Were  there 
other  people  in  the  place  ?  " 

"  It  was  in  the  interest  of  science,"  he 
said,  ultimately.  "  There  was  a  coster- 
monger  family  on  the  floor  below,  a 
begging-letter  writer  in  the  room  behind 
mine,  and  two  flower-women  were  up- 
stairs. Perhaps  it  was  a  bit  thought- 
less. But  possibly  some  of  them  were 
out. 

"  When  I  came  back  the  thing  was  just 
where  I  left  it,  among  the  white-hot  coals. 
The  explosive  hadn't  burst  the  case.  And 
then  I  had  a  problem  to  face.  You  know 
time  is  an  important  element  in  crystallisa- 


i34       THE  DIAMOND  MAKER 

tion.  If  you  hurry  the  process  the  crystals 
are  small — it  is  only  by  prolonged  standing 
that  they  grow  to  any  size.  I  resolved  to 
let  this  apparatus  cool  for  two  years, 
letting  the  temperature  go  down  slowly 
during  that  time.  And  I  was  now  quite 
out  of  money  ;  and  with  a  big  fire  and  the 
rent  of  my  room,  as  well  as  my  hunger  to 
satisfy,  I  had  scarcely  a  penny  in  the  world. 
"  I  can  hardly  tell  you  all  the  shifts 
I  was  put  to  while  I  was  making  the 
diamonds.  I  have  sold  newspapers,  held 
horses,  opened  cab-doors.  For  many 
weeks  I  addressed  envelopes.  I  had  a 
place  as  assistant  to  a  man  who  owned  a 
barrow,  and  used  to  call  down  one  side  of 
the  road  while  he  called  down  the  other. 
Once  for  a  week  I  had  absolutely  nothing 
to  do,  and  I  begged.  What  a  week  that 
was !  One  day  the  fire  was  going  out 
and  I  had  eaten  nothing  all  day,  and  a 
little  chap  taking  his  girl  out,  gave  me 
sixpence — to  show-off.  Thank  heaven  for 
vanity  !  How  the  fish-shops  smelt !  But 


THE  DIAMOND  MAKER       135 

I  went  and  spent  it  all  on  coals,  and  had 

the  furnace  bright  red  again,  and  then 

Well,  hunger  makes  a  fool  of  a  man. 

"  At  last,  three  weeks  ago,  I  let  the  fire 
out.  I  took  my  cylinder  and  unscrewed 
it  while  it  was  still  so  hot  that  it  punished 
my  hands,  and  I  scraped  out  the  crumbling 
lava-like  mass  with  a  chisel,  and  hammered 
it  into  a  powder  upon  an  iron  plate.  And 
I  found  three  big  diamonds  and  five  small 
ones.  As  I  sat  on  the  floor  hammering, 
my  door  opened,  and  my  neighbour,  the 
begging-letter  writer,  came  in.  He  was 
drunk — as  he  usually  is.  '  'Nerchist,'  said 
he.  'You're  drunk,'  said  I.  ''Structive 
scoundrel,'  said  he.  '  Go  to  your  father,' 
said  I,  meaning  the  Father  of  Lies. 
'  Never  you  mind,'  said  he,  and  gave  me 
a  cunning  wink,  and  hiccuped,  and  leaning 
up  against  the  door,  with  his  other  eye 
against  the  door-post,  began  to  babble  of 
how  he  had  been  prying  in  my  room,  and 
how  he  had  gone  to  the  police  that  morn- 
ing, and  how  they  had  taken  down  every- 


136       THE   DIAMOND  MAKER 

thing  he  had  to  say — '  'siffiwas  a  ge'm,' 
said  he.  Then  I  suddenly  realised  I  was 
in  a  hole.  Either  I  should  have  to  tell 
these  police  my  little  secret,  and  get  the 
whole  thing  blown  upon,  or  be  lagged  as 
an  Anarchist.  So  I  went  up  to  my  neigh- 
bour and  took  him  by  the  collar,  and 
rolled  him  about  a  bit,  and  then  I  gathered 
up  my  diamonds  and  cleared  out.  The 
evening  newspapers  called  my  den  the 
Kentish-Town  Bomb  Factory.  And  now 
I  cannot  part  with  the  things  for  love  or 
money. 

"  If  I  go  in  to  respectable  jewellers  they 
ask  me  to  wait,  and  go  and  whisper  to  a 
clerk  to  fetch  a  policeman,  and  then  I  say 
I  cannot  wait.  And  I  found  out  a  receiver 
of  stolen  goods,  and  he  simply  stuck  to 
the  one  I  gave  him  and  told  me  to 
prosecute  if  I  wanted  it  back.  I  am 
going  about  now  with  several  hundred 
thousand  pounds-worth  of  diamonds  round 
my  neck,  and  without  either  food  or 
shelter.  You  are  the  first  person  I  have 


THE  DIAMOND  MAKER       137 

taken  into  my  confidence.  But  I  like 
your  face  and  I  am  hard-driven." 

He  looked  into  my  eyes 

"It  would  be  madness,"  said  I,  "for 
me  to  buy  a  diamond  under  the  circum- 
stances. Besides,  I  do  not  carry  hundreds 
of  pounds  about  in  my  pocket.  Yet  I 
more  than  half  believe  your  story.  I  will, 
if  you  like,  do  this  :  come  to  my  office 
to-morrow.  ..." 

'"You  think  I  am  a  thief!"  said  he 
keenly.  "  You  will  tell  the  police.  I  am 
not  coming  into  a  trap." 

"  Somehow  I  am  assured  you  are  no 
thief.  Here  is  my  card.  Take  that,  any- 
how. You  need  not  come  to  any  appoint- 
ment. Come  when  you  will." 

He  took  the  card,  and  an  earnest  ot 
my  good-will. 

"  Think  better  of  it  and  come,"  said  I. 

He  shook  his  head  doubtfully.  "  I 
will  pay  back  your  half-crown  with  in- 
terest some  day — such  interest  as  will 
amaze  you,"  said  he.  "Anyhow,  you 


138       THE  DIAMOND  MAKER 

will  keep  the  secret  ?  .  .  .  Don't  follow 
me." 

He  crossed  the  road  and  went  into  the 
darkness  towards  the  little  steps  under  the 
archway  leading  into  Essex  Street,  and  I 
let  him  go.  And  that  was  the  last  I  ever 
saw  of  him. 

Afterwards  I  had  two  letters  from 
him  asking  me  to  send  bank-notes — not 
cheques — to  certain  addresses.  I  weighed 
the  matter  over,  and  took  what  I  conceived 
to  be  the  wisest  course.  Once  he  called 
upon  me  when  I  was  out.  My  urchin 
described  him  as  a  very  thin,  dirty,  and 
ragged  man,  with  a  dreadful  cough.  He 
left  no  message.  That  was  the  finish  of 
him  so  far  as  my  story  goes.  I  wonder 
sometimes  what  has  become  of  him.  Was 
he  an  ingenious  monomaniac,  or  a  fraudu- 
lent dealer  in  pebbles,  or  has  he  really 
made  diamonds  as  he  asserted  ?  The 
latter  is  just  sufficiently  credible  to  make 
me  think  at  times  that  I  have  missed  the 
most  brilliant  opportunity  of  my  life.  He 


THE  DIAMOND  MAKER       139 

may  of  course  be  dead,  and  his  diamonds 
carelessly  thrown  aside — one,  I  repeat, 
was  almost  as  big  as  my  thumb.  Or  he 
may  be  still  wandering  about  trying  to  sell 
the  things.  It  is  just  possible  he  may  yet 
emerge  upon  society,  and,  passing  athwart 
my  heavens  in  the  serene  altitude  sacred 
to  the  wealthy  and  the  well-advertised, 
reproach  me  silently  for  my  want  oi 
enterprise.  I  sometimes  think  I  might  at 
least  have  risked  five  pounds. 


^PYORNIS  ISLAND 

THE  man  with  the  scarred  face  leant 
over  the  table  and  looked  at  my 
bundle. 

"  Orchids  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  A  few,"  I  said. 

"  Cypripediums,"  he  said. 

"  Chiefly,"  said  I. 

"  Anything  new  ?  I  thought  not.  7 
did  these  islands  twenty-five — twenty- 
seven  years  ago.  If  you  find  anything 
new  here — well  it's  brand  new.  I  didn't 
leave  much." 

"I'm  not  a  collector,"  said  I. 

"  I  was  young  then,"  he  went  on. 
"  Lord !  how  I  used  to  fly  round."  He 
seemed  to  take  my  measure.  "  I  was  in 
the  East  Indies  two  years,  and  in  Brazil 

seven.     Then  I  went  to  Madagascar." 
140 


&PYORNIS  ISLAND  141 

"  I  know  a  few  explorers  by  name,"  I 
said,  anticipating  a  yarn.  "  Whom  did  you 
collect  for  ? " 

"  Dawsons.  I  wonder  if  you've  heard 
the  name  of  Butcher  ever  ?  " 

"  Butcher — Butcher? "  The  name  seemed 
vaguely  present  in  my  memory ;  then  I 
recalled  Butcher  v.  Dawson.  "  Why  !  " 
said  I,  "you  are  the  man  who  sued  them 
for  four  years'  salary — got  cast  away  on  a 
desert  island  ..." 

"  Your  servant,"  said  the  man  with  the 
scar,  bowing.  "  Funny  case,  wasn't  it  ? 
Here  was  me,  making  a  little  fortune  on 
that  island,  doing  nothing  for  it  neither, 
and  them  quite  unable  to  give  me  notice. 
It  often  used  to  amuse  me  thinking  over 
it  while  I  was  there.  I  did  calculations  of 
it  —  big  —  all  over  the  blessed  atoll  in 
ornamental  figuring." 

"  How  did  it  happen  ? "  said  I.  "I 
don't  rightly  remember  the  case." 

"  Well.  .  .  .  You've  heard  of  the 
ornis  ? " 


142  .EPYORNIS  ISLAND 

"  Rather.  Andrews  was  telling  me  of 
a  new  species  he  was  working  on  only  a 
month  or  so  ago.  Just  before  I  sailed. 
They've  got  a  thigh  bone,  it  seems,  nearly 
a  yard  long.  Monster  the  thing  must 
have  been ! " 

"  I  believe  you,"  said  the  man  with  the 
scar.  "  It  was  a  monster.  Sinbad's  roc 
was  just  a  legend  of  'em.  But  when  did 
they  find  these  bones  ? " 

"Three  or  four  years  ago — '91,  I  fancy. 
Why  ?  " 

"  Why  ?  Because  /  found  'em — Lord  ! 
— it's  nearly  twenty  years  ago.  If  Daw- 
sons  hadn't  been  silly  about  that  salary 
they  might  have  made  a  perfect  ring  in 
'em.  .  .  .  /  couldn't  help  the  infernal  boat 
going  adrift." 

He  paused.  "  I  suppose  it's  the  same 
place.  A  kind  of  swamp  about  ninety 
miles  north  of  Antananarivo.  Do  you 
happen  to  know?  You  have  to  go  to 
it  along  the  coast  by  boats.  You  don't 
happen  to  remember,  perhaps  ?  " 


jEPYORNIS  ISLAND  143 

"  I  don't.  I  fancy  Andrews  said  some- 
thing about  a  swamp." 

"It  must  be  the  same.  It's  on  the  east 
coast.  And  somehow  there's  something 
in  the  water  that  keeps  things  from  decay- 
ing. Like  creosote  it  smells.  It  re- 
minded me  of  Trinidad.  Did  they  get 
any  more  eggs?  Some  of  the  eggs  I 
found  were  a  foot-and-a-half  long.  The 
swamp  goes  circling  round,  you  know, 
and  cuts  off  this  bit.  It's  mostly  salt,  too. 

Well What  a  time  I  had  of  it !  I 

found  the  things  quite  by  accident.  We 
went  for  eggs,  me  and  two  native  chaps, 
in  one  of  those  rum  canoes  all  tied  to- 
gether, and  found  the  bones  at  the  same 
time.  We  had  a  tent  and  provisions  for 
four  days,  and  we  pitched  on  one  of  the 
firmer  places.  To  think  of  it  brings  that 
odd  tarry  smell  back  even  now.  It's 
funny  work.  You  go  probing  into  the 
mud  with  iron  rods,  you  know.  Usually 
the  egg  gets  smashed.  I  wonder  how 
long  it  is  since  these  ^Epyornises  really 


144  uEPYORNIS  ISLAND 

lived.  The  missionaries  say  the  natives 
have  legends  about  when  they  were  alive, 
but  I  never  heard  any  such  stories  my- 
self.* But  certainly  those  eggs  we  got 
were  as  fresh  as  if  they  had  been  new 
laid.  Fresh !  Carrying  them  down  to 
the  boat  one  of  my  nigger  chaps  dropped 
one  on  a  rock  and  it  smashed.  How  I 
lammed  into  the  beggar !  But  sweet  it 
was,  as  if  it  was  new  laid,  not  even  smelly, 
and  its  mother  dead  these  four  hundred 
years,  perhaps.  Said  a  centipede  had  bit 
him.  However,  I'm  getting  off  the 
straight  with  the  story.  It  had  taken  us 
all  day  to  dig  into  the  slush  and  get  these 
eggs  out  unbroken,  and  we  were  all 
covered  with  beastly  black  mud,  and 
naturally  I  was  cross.  So  far  as  I  knew 
they  were  the  only  eggs  that  have  ever 
been  got  out  not  even  cracked.  I  went 
afterwards  to  see  the  ones  they  have  at 

*  No  European  is  known  to  have  seen  a  live  ^pyornis, 
with  the  doubtful  exception  of  MacAndrew,  who  visited 
Madagascar  in  1745. — H.  G.  W. 


JEPYORNIS  ISLAND  145 

the  Natural  History  Museum  in  London  ; 
all  of  them  were  cracked  and  just  stuck 
together  like  a  mosaic,  and  bits  missing. 
Mine  were  perfect,  and  I  meant  to  blow 
them  when  I  got  back.  Naturally  I  was 
annoyed  at  the  silly  duffer  dropping  three 
hours'  work  just  on  account  of  a  centipede. 
I  hit  him  about  rather." 

The  man  with  the  scar  took  out  a  clay 
pipe.  I  placed  my  pouch  before  him. 
He  filled  up  absent-mindedly. 

"  How  about  the  others  ?  Did  you  get 
those  home  ?  I  don't  remember — " 

"That's  the  queer  part  of  the  story. 
I  had  three  others.  Perfectly  fresh  eggs. 
Well,  we  put  'em  in  the  boat,  and  then  I 
went  up  to  the  tent  to  make  some  coffee, 
leaving  my  two  heathens  down  by  the 
beach  —  the  one  fooling  about  with  his 
sting  and  the  other  helping  him.  It 
never  occurred  to  me  that  the  beggars 
would  take  advantage  of  the  peculiar 
position  I  was  in  to  pick  a  quarrel.  But 
I  suppose  the  centipede  poison  and  the 
K 


1 46  ^PYORNIS  ISLAND 

kicking  I  had  given  him  had  upset  the 
one — he  was  always  a  cantankerous  sort — 
and  he  persuaded  the  other. 

"  I  remember  I  was  sitting  and  smoking 
and  boiling  up  the  water  over  a  spirit- 
lamp  business  I  used  to  take  on  these 
expeditions.  Incidentally  I  was  admiring 
the  swamp  under  the  sunset.  All  black 
and  blood-red  it  was,  in  streaks — a  beau- 
tiful sight.  And  up  beyond  the  land  rose 
grey  and  hazy  to  the  hills,  and  the  sky 
behind  them  red,  like  a  furnace  mouth. 
And  fifty  yards  behind  the  back  of  me 
was  these  blessed  heathen — quite  regard- 
less of  the  tranquil  air  of  things — plotting 
to  cut  off  with  the  boat  and  leave  me  all 
alone  with  three  days'  provisions  and  a 
canvas  tent,  and  nothing  to  drink  what- 
soever, beyond  a  little  keg  of  water.  I 
heard  a  kind  of  yelp  behind  me,  and  there 
they  were  in  this  canoe  affair — it  wasn't 
properly  a  boat — and,  perhaps,  twenty 
yards  from  land  I  realised  what  was  up 
in  a  moment  My  gun  was  in  the  tent, 


jEPYORNIS  ISLAND  147 

and,  besides,  I  had  no  bullets — only  duck 
shot  They  knew  that  But  I  had  a 
little  revolver  in  my  pocket,  and  I  pulled 
that  out  as  I  ran  down  to  the  beach. 

"'Come  back!'  says   I,   flourishing1  it. 

"They  jabbered  something  at  me,  and 
the  man  that  broke  the  egg  jeered.  I 
aimed  at  the  other — because  he  was  un- 
wounded  and  had  the  paddle,  and  I 
missed.  They  laughed.  However,  I 
wasn't  beat.  I  knew  I  had  to  keep 
cool,  and  I  tried  him  again  and  made  him 
jump  with  the  whang  of  it.  He  didn't 
laugh  that  time.  The  third  time  I  got  his 
head,  and  over  he  went,  and  the  paddle 
with  him.  It  was  a  precious  lucky  shot 
for  a  revolver.  I  reckon  it  was  fifty 
yards.  He  went  right  under.  I  don't 
know  if  he  was  shot,  or  simply  stunned 
and  drowned.  Then  I  began  to  shout  to- 
the  other  chap  to  come  back,  but  he 
huddled  up  in  the  canoe  and  refused  to 
answer.  So  I  fired  out  my  revolver  at 
him  and  never  got  near  him. 


148  JEPYORNIS  ISLAND 

"  I  felt  a  precious  fool,  I  can  tell  you. 
There  I  was  on  this  rotten,  black  beach, 
flat  swamp  all  behind  me,  and  the  flat  sea, 
cold  after  the  sunset,  and  just  this  black 
canoe  drifting  steadily  out  to  sea.  I  tell 
you  I  damned  Dawsons  and  Jamrachs  and 
Museums  and  all  the  rest  of  it  just  to 
rights.  I  bawled  to  this  nigger  to  come 
back,  until  my  voice  went  up  into  a 
scream. 

"  There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  swim 
after  him  and  take  my  luck  with  the  sharks. 
So  I  opened  my  clasp-knife  and  put  it  in 
my  mouth,  and  took  off  my  clothes  and 
waded  in.  As  soon  as  I  was  in  the  water 
I  lost  sight  of  the  canoe,  but  I  aimed,  as  I 
judged,  to  head  it  off.  I  hoped  the  man 
in  it  was  too  bad  to  navigate  it,  and  that 
it  would  keep  on  drifting  in  the  same 
direction.  Presently  it  came  up  over  the 
horizon  again  to  the  south-westward 
about  The  afterglow  of  sunset  was  well 
over  now  and  the  dim  of  night  creeping 
up.  The  stars  were  coming  through  the 


jEPYORNIS  ISLAND  149 

blue.     I  swum  like  a  champion,  though 
my  legs  and  arms  were  soon  aching. 

"  However,  I  came  up  to  him  by  the 
time  the  stars  were  fairly  out.  As  it  got 
darker  I  began  to  see  all  manner  of  glow- 
ing things  in  the  water — phosphorescence, 
you  know.  At  times  it  made  me  giddy. 
I  hardly  knew  which  was  stars  and  which 
was  phosphorescence,  and  whether  I  was 
swimming  on  my  head  or  my  heels.  The 
canoe  was  as  black  as  sin,  and  the  ripple 
under  the  bows  like  liquid  fire.  I  was 
naturally  chary  of  clambering  up  into  it. 
I  was  anxious  to  see  what  he  was  up  to 
first.  He  seemed  to  be  lying  cuddled  up 
in  a  lump  in  the  bows,  and  the  stern  was 
all  out  of  water.  The  thing  kept  turning 
round  slowly  as  it  drifted — kind  of  waltz- 
ing, don't  you  know.  I  went  to  the  stern 
and  pulled  it  down,  expecting  him  to  wake 
up.  Then  I  began  to  clamber  in  with  my 
knife  in  my  hand,  and  ready  for  a  rush. 
But  he  never  stirred.  So  there  I  sat  in  the 
stern  of  the  little  canoe,  drifting  away  over 


150  ^IPYORNIS  ISLAND 

the  calm  phosphorescent  sea,  and  with  all 
the  host  of  the  stars  above  me,  waiting  for 
something  to  happen. 

"After  a  long  time  I  called  him  by 
name,  but  he  never  answered.  I  was  too 
tired  to  take  any  risks  by  going  along  to 
him.  So  we  sat  there.  I  fancy  I  dozed 
once  or  twice.  When  the  dawn  came  I 
saw  he  was  as  dead  as  a  doornail  and  all 
puffed  up  and  purple.  My  three  eggs  and 
the  bones  were  lying  in  the  middle  of  the 
canoe,  and  the  keg  of  water  and  some 
coffee  and  biscuits  wrapped  in  a  Cape 
Argus  by  his  feet,  and  a  tin  of  methylated 
spirit  underneath  him.  There  was  no 
paddle,  nor,  in  fact,  anything  except  the 
spirit-tin  that  one  could  use  as  one,  so  I 
settled  to  drift  until  I  was  picked  up.  I 
held  an  inquest  on  him,  brought  in  a  ver- 
dict against  some  snake,  scorpion,  or  centi- 
pede unknown,  and  sent  him  overboard. 

"  After  that  I  had  a  drink  of  water  and 
a  few  biscuits,  and  took  a  look  round.  I 
suppose  a  man  low  down  as  I  was  don't 


^PYORNIS   ISLAND  151 

see  very  far;  leastways,  Madagascar  was 
clean  out  of  sight,  and  any  trace  of  land  at 
all.  I  saw  a  sail  going  south-westward — 
looked  like  a  schooner,  but  her  hull  never 
came  up.  Presently  the  sun  got  high  in 
the  sky  and  began  to  beat  down  upon  me. 
Lord !  It  pretty  near  made  my  brains 
boil.  I  tried  dipping  my  head  in  the  sea, 
but  after  a  while  my  eye  fell  on  the  Cape 
Argus,  and  I  lay  down  flat  in  the  canoe 
and  spread  this  over  me.  Wonderful 
things  these  newspapers !  I  never  read 
one  through  thoroughly  before,  but  it's  odd 
what  you  get  up  to  when  you're  alone,  as 
I  was.  I  suppose  I  read  that  blessed  old 
Cape  Argus  twenty  times.  The  pitch  in 
the  canoe  simply  reeked  with  the  heat  and 
rose  up  into  big  blisters. 

"  I  drifted  ten  days,"  said  the  man  with 
the  scar.  "  It's  a  little  thing  in  the  telling, 
isn't  it?  Every  day  was  like  the  last. 
Except  in  the  morning  and  the  evening  I 
never  kept  a  look-out  even — the  blaze  was 
so  infernal.  I  didn't  see  a  sail  after  the 


1 52  JEPYORNIS  ISLAND 

first  three  days,  and  those  I  saw  took  no 
notice  of  me.     About   the  sixth  night   a 
ship  went  by  scarcely  half  a   mile  away 
from  me,  with  all  its  lights  ablaze  and  its 
ports    open,    looking    like   a   big    firefly. 
There  was  music  aboard.     I  stood  up  and 
shouted  and  screamed  at  it.     The  second 
day  I  broached  one  of  the  yEpyornis  eggs, 
scraped  the  shell  away  at  the  end  bit  by 
bit,  and  tried  it,  and  I  was  glad  to  find  it 
was  good  enough  to  eat.     A  bit  flavoury 
— not  bad,  I  mean — but  with  something  of 
the  taste  of  a  duck's  egg.     There  was  a 
kind  of  circular   patch,  about   six    inches 
across,  on  one  side  of  the  yolk,  and  with 
streaks  of  blood  and  a  white  mark  like  a 
ladder  in  it  that  I  thought  queer,  but  I  did 
not  understand  what   this  meant   at   the 
time,  and  I  wasn't  inclined  to  be  particu- 
lar.    The  egg  lasted  me  three  days,  with 
biscuits  and  a  drink  of  water.     I  chewed 
coffee  berries  too — invigorating  stuff.    The 
second  egg  I  opened  about  the  eighth  day, 
and  it  scared  me." 


^EPYORNIS  ISLAND  153 

The  man  with  the  scar  paused.  "  Yes," 
he  said,  "  developing." 

"  I  dare  say  you  find  it  hard  to  believe. 
/  did,  with  the  thing  before  me.  There 
the  egg  had  been,  sunk  in  that  cold  black 
mud,  perhaps  three  hundred  years.  But 
there  was  no  mistaking  it.  There  was  the 
— what  is  it  ? — embryo,  with  its  big  head 
and  curved  back,  and  its  heart  beating 
under  its  throat,  and  the  yolk  shrivelled  up 
and  great  membranes  spreading  inside  of 
the  shell  and  all  over  the  yolk.  Here  was 
I  hatching  out  the  eggs  of  the  biggest 
of  all  extinct  birds,  in  a  little  canoe  in 
the  midst  of  the  Indian  Ocean.  If  old 
Dawson  had  known  that !  It  was  worth 
four  years'  salary.  What  do  you  think  ? 

"  However,  I  had  to  eat  that  precious 
thing  up,  every  bit  of  it,  before  I  sighted 
the  reef,  and  some  of  the  mouthfuls  were 
beastly  unpleasant.  I  left  the  third  one 
alone.  I  held  it  up  to  the  light,  but 
the  shell  was  too  thick  for  me  to  get 
any  notion  of  what  might  be  happening 


154  jEPYORNIS  ISLAND 

inside;  and  though  I  fancied  I  heard 
blood  pulsing,  it  might  have  been  the 
rustle  in  my  own  ears,  like  what  you  listen 
to  in  a  seashell. 

"Then  came  the  atoll.  Came  out  of 
the  sunrise,  as  it  were,  suddenly,  close  up 
to  me.  I  drifted  straight  towards  it  until 
I  was  about  half  a  mile  from  shore,  not 
more,  and  then  the  current  took  a  turn, 
and  I  had  to  paddle  as  hard  as  I  could 
with  my  hands  and  bits  of  the  ./Epyornis 
shell  to  make  the  place.  However,  I  got 
there.  It  was  just  a  common  atoll  about 
four  miles  round,  with  a  few  trees  growing 
and  a  spring  in  one  place,  and  the  lagoon 
full  of  parrot-fish.  I  took  the  egg  ashore 
and  put  it  in  a  good  place  well  above  the 
tide  lines  and  in  the  sun,  to  give  it  all  the 
chance  I  could,  and  pulled  the  canoe  up 
safe,  and  loafed  about  prospecting.  It's 
rum  how  dull  an  atoll  is.  As  soon  as  I 
had  found  a  spring  all  the  interest  seemed 
to  vanish.  When  I  was  a  kid  I  thought 
nothing  could  be  finer  or  more  adven- 


^PYORNIS   ISLAND  155 

turous  than  the  Robinson  Crusoe  business, 
but  that  place  was  as  monotonous  as  a 
book  of  sermons.  I  went  round  finding 
eatable  things  and  generally  thinking  ;  but 
I  tell  you  I  was  bored  to  death  before  the 
first  day  was  out.  It  shows  my  luck — 
the  very  day  I  landed  the  weather 
changed.  A  thunderstorm  went  by  to 
the  north  and  flicked  its  wing  over  the 
island,  and  in  the  night  there  came  a 
drencher  and  a  howling  wind  slap  over  us. 
It  wouldn't  have  taken  much,  you  know, 
to  upset  that  canoe. 

"  I  was  sleeping  under  the  canoe,  and 
the  egg  was  luckily  among  the  sand  higher 
up  the  beach,  and  the  first  thing  I  re- 
member was  a  sound  like  a  hundred 
pebbles  hitting  the  boat  at  once,  and  a 
rush  of  water  over  my  body.  I'd  been 
dreaming  of  Antananarivo,  and  I  sat  up 
and  holloaed  to  Intoshi  to  ask  her  what 
the  devil  was  up,  and  clawed  out  at  the 
chair  where  the  matches  used  to  be. 
Then  I  remembered  where  I  was.  There 


i56  ^PYORNIS  ISLAND 

were  phosphorescent  waves  rolling  up  as  if 
they  meant  to  eat  me,  and  all  the  rest  of 
the  night  as  black  as  pitch.  The  air  was 
simply  yelling.  The  clouds  seemed  down 
on  your  head  almost,  and  the  rain  fell  as  if 
heaven  was  sinking  and  they  were  baling 
out  the  waters  above  the  firmament  One 
great  roller  came  writhing  at  me,  like 
a  fiery  serpent,  and  I  bolted.  Then  I 
thought  of  the  canoe,  and  ran  down  to  it 
as  the  water  went  hissing  back  again ;  but 
the  thing  had  gone.  I  wondered  about 
the  egg  then,  and  felt  my  way  to  it.  It 
was  all  right  and  well  out  of  reach  of 
the  maddest  waves,  so  I  sat  down  beside 
it  and  cuddled  it  for  company.  Lord ! 
what  a  night  that  was  ! 

"  The  storm  was  over  before  the  morn- 
ing. There  wasn't  a  rag  of  cloud  left  in 
the  sky  when  the  dawn  came,  and  all 
along  the  beach  there  were  bits  of  plank 
scattered — which  was  the  disarticulated 
skeleton,  so  to  speak,  of  my  canoe.  How- 
ever, that  gave  me  something  to  do,  for, 


^EPYORNIS  ISLAND  157 

taking  advantage  of  two  of  the  trees  being 
together,  I  rigged  up  a  kind  of  storm- 
shelter  with  these  vestiges.  And  that 
day  the  egg  hatched. 

"  Hatched,  sir,  when  my  head  was 
pillowed  on  it  and  I  was  asleep.  I  heard 
a  whack  and  felt  a  jar  and  sat  up,  and 
there  was  the  end  of  the  egg  pecked  out 
and  a  rum  little  brown  head  looking  out  at 
me.  '  Lord ! '  I  said,  '  you're  welcome ' ; 
and  with  a  little  difficulty  he  came  out. 

11  He  was  a  nice  friendly  little  chap,  at 
first,  about  the  size  of  a  small  hen — very 
much  like  most  other  young  birds,  only 
bigger.  His  plumage  was  a  dirty  brown 
to  begin  with,  with  a  sort  of  grey  scab  that 
fell  off  it  very  soon,  and  scarcely  feathers 
— a  kind  of  downy  hair.  I  can  hardly  ex- 
press how  pleased  I  was  to  see  him.  I 
tell  you,  Robinson  Crusoe  don't  make 
near  enough  of  his  loneliness.  But  here 
was  interesting  company.  He  looked  at  me 
and  winked  his  eye  from  the  front  back- 
wards, like  a  hen,  and  gave  a  chirp  and 


158  ^PYORNIS  ISLAND 

began  to  peck  about  at  once,  as  though 
being  hatched  three  hundred  years  too 
late  was  just  nothing.  '  Glad  to  see  you, 
Man  Friday!'  says  I,  for  I  had  naturally 
settled  he  was  to  be  called  Man  Friday  if 
ever  he  was  hatched,  as  soon  as  ever  I 
found  the  egg  in  the  canoe  had  developed. 
I  was  a  bit  anxious  about  his  feed,  so 
I  gave  him  a  lump  of  raw  parrot-fish  at 
once.  He  took  it,  and  opened  his  beak 
for  more.  I  was  glad  of  that,  for,  under 
the  circumstances,  if  he'd  been  at  all  fanci- 
ful, I  should  have  had  to  eat  him  after  all. 
"You'd  be  surprised  what  an  interest- 
ing bird  that  ^Epyornis  chick  was.  He 
followed  me  about  from  the  very  begin- 
ning. He  used  to  stand  by  me  and  watch 
while  I  fished  in  the  lagoon,  and  go  shares 
in  anything  I  caught  And  he  was  sen- 
sible, too.  There  were  nasty  green  warty 
things,  like  pickled  gherkins,  used  to  lie 
about  on  the  beach,  and  he  tried  one  of 
these  and  it  upset  him.  He  never  even 
looked  at  any  of  them  again. 


jEPYORNIS  ISLAND  159 

"  And  he  grew.  You  could  almost  see 
him  grow.  And  as  I  was  never  much  of 
a  society  man  his  quiet,  friendly  ways 
suited  me  to  a  T.  For  nearly  two  years 
we  were  as  happy  as  we  could  be  on  that 
island.  I  had  no  business  worries,  for  I 
knew  my  salary  was  mounting  up  at 
Dawsons'.  We  would  see  a  sail  now  and 
then,  but  nothing  ever  came  near  us.  I 
amused  myself,  too,  by  decorating  the 
island  with  designs  worked  in  sea-urchins 
and  fancy  shells  of  various  kinds.  I  put 
^PYORNIS  ISLAND  all  round  the  place 
very  nearly,  in  big  letters,  like  what  you 
see  done  with  coloured  stones  at  railway 
stations  in  the  old  country,  and  mathe- 
matical calculations  and  drawings  of  various 
sorts.  And  I  used  to  lie  watching  the 
blessed  bird  stalking  round  and  growing, 
growing ;  and  think  how  I  could  make  a 
living  out  of  him  by  showing  him  about 
if  I  ever  got  taken  off.  After  his  first 
moult  he  began  to  get  handsome,  with  a 
crest  and  a  blue  wattle,  and  a  lot  of 


160  ^EPYORNIS  ISLAND 

green  feathers  at  the  behind  of  him.  And 
then  I  used  to  puzzle  whether  Dawsons 
had  any  right  to  claim  him  or  not. 
Stormy  weather  and  in  the  rainy  season 
we  lay  snug  under  the  shelter  I  had  made 
out  of  the  old  canoe,  and  I  used  to  tell 
him  lies  about  my  friends  at  home.  And 
after  a  storm  we  would  go  round  the 
island  together  to  see  if  there  was  any 
drift.  It  was  a  kind  of  idyll,  you  might 
say.  If  only  I  had  had  some  tobacco  it 
would  have  been  simply  just  like  Heaven. 
"It  was  about  the  end  of  the  second 
year  our  little  paradise  went  wrong. 
Friday  was  then  about  fourteen  feet  high 
to  the  bill  of  him,  with  a  big,  broad  head 
like  the  end  of  a  pickaxe,  and  two  huge 
brown  eyes  with  yellow  rims,  set  together 
like  a  man's — not  out  of  sight  of  each 
other  like  a  hen's.  His  plumage  was  fine 
— none  of  the  half-mourning  style  of  your 
ostrich — more  like  a  cassowary  as  far  as 
colour  and  texture  go.  And  then  it  was 
he  began  to  cock  his  comb  at  me  and 


JEPYORNIS  ISLAND  161 

give  himself  airs,  and  show  signs  of  a 
nasty  temper.  .  .  . 

"  At  last  came  a  time  when  my  fishing 
had  been  rather  unlucky,  and  he  began  to 
hang  about  me  in  a  queer,  meditative  way. 
I  thought  he  might  have  been  eating  sea- 
cucumbers  or  something,  but  it  was  really 
just  discontent  on  his  part.  I  was  hungry 
too,  and  when  at  last  I  landed  a  fish  I 
wanted  it  for  myself.  Tempers  were 
short  that  morning  on  both  sides.  He 
pecked  at  it  and  grabbed  it,  and  I  gave 
him  a  whack  on  the  head  to  make  him 
leave  go.  And  at  that  he  went  for  me. 
Lord!  .  .  . 

"He  gave  me  this  in  the  face."  The 
man  indicated  his  scar.  "  Then  he  kicked 
me.  It  was  like  a  cart-horse.  I  got  up, 
and  seeing  he  hadn't  finished,  I  started 
off  full  tilt  with  my  arms  doubled  up  over 
my  face.  But  he  ran  on  those  gawky 
legs  of  his  faster  than  a  racehorse,  and 
kept  landing  out  at  me  with  sledge 
hammer  kicks,  and  bringing  his  pickaxe 
L 


1 62  ^EPYORNIS  ISLAND 

down  on  the  back  of  my  head.  I  made 
for  the  lagoon,  and  went  in  up  to  my  neck. 
He  stopped  at  the  water,  for  he  hated 
getting  his  feet  wet,  and  began  to  make  a 
shindy,  something  like  a  peacock's,  only 
hoarser.  He  started  strutting  up  and 
down  the  beach.  I'll  admit  I  felt  small  to 
see  this  blessed  fossil  lording  it  there.  And 
my  head  and  face  were  all  bleeding,  and — 
well,  my  body  just  one  jelly  of  bruises. 

"  I  decided  to  swim  across  the  lagoon 
and  leave  him  alone  for  a  bit,  until  the 
affair  blew  over.  I  shinned  up  the  tallest 
palm-tree,  and  sat  there  thinking  of  it  all. 
I  don't  suppose  I  ever  felt  so  hurt  by 
anything  before  or  since.  It  was  the  brutal 
ingratitude  of  the  creature.  I'd  been  more 
than  a  brother  to  him.  I'd  hatched  him, 
educated  him.  A  great  gawky,  out-of- 
date  bird !  And  me  a  human  being — 
heir  of  the  ages  and  all  that 

"  I  thought  after  a  time  he'd  begin  to 
see  things  in  that  light  himself,  and  feel  a 
little  sorry  for  his  behaviour.  I  thought 


^EPYORNIS  ISLAND  163 

if  I  was  to  catch  some  nice  little  bits  of 
fish,  perhaps,  and  go  to  him  presently  in 
a  casual  kind  of  way,  and  offer  them  to 
him,  he  might  do  the  sensible  thing.  It 
took  me  some  time  to  learn  how  unfor- 
giving and  cantankerous  an  extinct  bird 
can  be.  Malice ! 

"  I  won't  tell  you  all  the  little  devices  I 
tried  to  get  that  bird  round  again.  I 
simply  can't.  It  makes  my  cheek  burn 
with  shame  even  now  to  think  of  the 
snubs  and  buffets  I  had  from  this  infernal 
curiosity.  I  tried  violence.  I  chucked 
lumps  of  coral  at  him  from  a  safe  distance, 
but  he  only  swallowed  them.  I  shied  my 
open  knife  at  him  and  almost  lost  it, 
though  it  was  too  big  for  him  to  swallow. 
I  tried  starving  him  out  and  struck  fishing, 
but  he  took  to  picking  along  the  beach  at 
low  water  after  worms,  and  rubbed  along 
on  that.  Half  my  time  I  spent  up  to  my 
neck  in  the  lagoon,  and  the  rest  up  the 
palm-trees.  One  of  them  was  scarcely 
high  enough,  and  when  he  caught  me  up 


164  JEPYORNIS  ISLAND 

it  he  had  a  regular  Bank  Holiday  with 
the  calves  of  my  legs.  It  got  unbearable. 
I  don't  know  if  you  have  ever  tried  sleep- 
ing up  a  palm-tree.  It  gave  me  the  most 
horrible  nightmares.  Think  of  the  shame 
of  it,  too !  Here  was  this  extinct  animal 
mooning  about  my  island  like  a  sulky 
duke,  and  me  not  allowed  to  rest  the  sole 
of  my  foot  on  the  place.  1  used  to  cry 
with  weariness  and  vexation.  I  told  him 
straight  that  I  didn't  mean  to  be  chased 
about  a  desert  island  by  any  damned 
anachronisms.  I  told  him  to  go  and  peck 
a  navigator  of  his  own  age.  But  he  only 
snapped  his  beak  at  me.  Great  ugly  bird 
— all  legs  and  neck  ! 

"  I  shouldn't  like  to  say  how  long  that 
went  on  altogether.  I'd  have  killed  him 
sooner  if  I'd  known  how.  However,  I 
hit  on  a  way  of  settling  him  at  last  It  is 
a  South  American  dodge.  I  joined  all 
my  fishing-lines  together  with  stems  of 
seaweed  and  things  and  made  a  stoutish 
string,  perhaps  twelve  yards  in  length  or 


^PYORNIS  ISLAND  165 

more,  and  I  fastened  two  lumps  of  coral 
rock  to  the  ends  of  this.  It  took  me  some 
time  to  do,  because  every  now  and  then  I 
had  to  go  into  the  lagoon  dr  up  a  tree 
as  the  fancy  took  me.  This  I  whirled 
rapidly  round  my  head,  and  then  let  it  go 
at  him.  The  first  time  I  missed,  but  the 
next  time  the  string  caught  his  legs 
beautifully,  and  wrapped  round  them 
again  and  again.  Over  he  went.  I 
threw  it  standing  waist-deep  in  the 
lagoon,  and  as  scon  as  he  went  down  I 
was  out  of  the  water  and  sawing  at  his 
neck  with  my  knife  .  .  . 

"  I  don't  like  to  think  of  that  even  now. 
I  felt  like  a  murderer  while  I  did  it,  though 
my  anger  was  hot  against  him.  When  I 
stood  over  him  and  saw  him  bleeding  on 
the  white  sand,  and  his  beautiful  great  legs 
and  neck  writhing  in  his  last  agony  .  .  . 
Pah! 

"  With  that  tragedy  loneliness  came  upon 
me  like  a  curse.  Good  Lord !  you  can't 
imagine  how  I  missed  that  bird.  I  sat  by 


1 66  ^EPYORNIS  ISLAND 

his  corpse  and  sorrowed  over  him,  and 
shivered  as  I  looked  round  the  desolate, 
silent  reef.  I  thought  of  what  a  jolly 
little  bird  he  had  been  when  he  was 
hatched,  and  of  a  thousand  pleasant  tricks 
he  had  played  before  he  went  wrong.  I 
thought  if  I'd  only  wounded  him  I  might 
have  nursed  him  round  into  a  better 
understanding.  If  I'd  had  any  means  of 
digging  into  the  coral  rock  I'd  have  buried 
him.  I  felt  exactly  as  if  he  was  human. 
As  it  was,  I  couldn't  think  of  eating  him, 
so  I  put  him  in  the  lagoon,  and  the  little 
fishes  picked  him  clean.  I  didn't  even 
save  the  feathers.  Then  one  day  a  chap 
cruising  about  in  a  yacht  had  a  fancy  to 
see  if  my  atoll  still  existed. 

"He  didn't  come  a  moment  too  soon, 
for  I  was  about  sick  enough  of  the  desola- 
tion of  it,  and  only  hesitating  whether  I 
should  walk  out  into  the  sea  and  finish  up 
the  business  that  way,  or  fall  back  on  the 
green  things.  .  .  . 

"  I    sold   the   bones*  to  a  man   named 


^PYORNIS  ISLAND  167 

Winslow  —  a  dealer  near  the  British 
Museum,  and  he  says  he  sold  them  to  old 
Havers.  It  seems  Havers  didn't  under- 
stand they  were  extra  large,  and  it  was 
only  after  his  death  they  attracted  at- 
tention. They  called  'em  y£pyornis — 
what  was  it  ?  " 

"sEpyornis  vastus"  said  I.  "It's  funny, 
the  very  thing  was .  mentioned  to  me 
by  a  friend  of  mine.  When  they  found  an 
y£pyornis,  with  a  thigh  a  yard  long,  they 
thought  they  had  reached  the  top  of  the 
scale,  and  called  him  ^.pyornis  maximus. 
Then  someone  turned  up  another  thigh- 
bone four  feet  six  or  more,  and  that  they 
called  Aipyornis  Titan.  Then  your  vastus 
was  found  after  old  Havers  died,  in  his  col- 
lection, and  then  a  vastissimus  turned  up." 

"Winslow  was  telling  me  as  much," 
said  the  man  with  the  scar.  "If  they  get 
any  more  -^Epyornises,  he  reckons  some 
scientific  swell  will  go  and  burst  a  blood- 
vessel. But  it  was  a  queer  thing  to 
happen  to  a  man  ;  .wasn't  it — altogether  ?  " 


THE     REMARKABLE     CASE     OF 
DAVIDSON'S  EYES 

THE  transitory  mental  aberration 
of  Sidney  Davidson,  remarkable 
enough  in  itself,  is  still  more  remarkable 
if  Wade's  explanation  is  to  be  credited. 
It  sets  one  dreaming  of  the  oddest  pos- 
sibilities of  intercommunication  in  the 
future,  of  spending  an  intercalary  five 
minutes  on  the  other  side  of  the  world,  or 
being  watched  in  our  most  secret  opera- 
tions by  unsuspected  eyes.  It  happened 
that  I  was  the  immediate  witness  of 
Davidson's  seizure,  and  so  it  falls  naturally 
to  me  to  put  the  story  upon  paper. 

When  I  say  that  I  was  the  immediate 
witness  of  his  seizure,  I  mean  that  I  was 
the  first  on  the  scene.  The  thing  happened 
at  the  Harlow  Technical  College,  just 
beyond  the  Highgate  Archway.  He  was 


1 63 


CASE  OF  DAVIDSON'S  EYES     169 

alone  in  the  larger  laboratory  when  the 
thing  happened.  I  was  in  a  smaller  room, 
where  the  balances  are,  writing  up  some 
notes.  The  thunderstorm  had  completely 
upset  my  work,  of  course.  It  was  just 
after  one  of  the  louder  peals  that  I  thought 
I  heard  some  glass  smash  in  the  other 
room.  I  stopped  writing,  and  turned  round 
to  listen.  For  a  moment  I  heard  nothing ; 
the  hail  was  playing  the  devil's  tattoo  on 
the  corrugated  zinc  of  the  roof.  Then 
came  another  sound,  a  smash — no  doubt 
of  it  this  time.  Something  heavy  had 
been  knocked  off  the  bench.  I  jumped 
up  at  once  and  went  and  opened  the  door 
leading  into  the  big  laboratory. 

I  was  surprised  to  hear  a  queer  sort  of 
laugh,  and  saw  Davidson  standing  un- 
steadily in  the  middle  of  the  room,  with 
a  dazzled  look  on  his  face.  My  first 
impression  was  that  he  was  drunk.  He 
did  not  notice  me.  He  was  clawing  out 
at  something  invisible  a  yard  in  front  of 
his  face.  He  put  out  his  hand,  slowly, 


1 70    THE  REMARKABLE  CASE 

rather  hesitatingly,  and  then  clutched 
nothing.  "  What's  come  to  it  ?  "  he  said. 
He  held  up  his  hands  to  his  face,  fingers 
spread  out.  "  Great  Scot ! "  he  said. 
The  thing  happened  three  or  four  years 
ago,  when  everyone  swore  by  that  per- 
sonage. Then  he  began  raising  his  feet 
clumsily,  as  though  he  had  expected  to 
find  them  glued  to  the  floor. 

"Davidson!"  cried  I.  "What's  the 
matter  with  you  ?  "  He  turned  round  in 
my  direction  and  looked  about  for  me. 
He  looked  over  me  and  at  me  and  on 
either  side  of  me,  without  the  slightest  sign 
of  seeing  me.  "Waves,"  he  said;  "and 
a  remarkably  neat  schooner.  I'd  swear 
that  was  Bellows'  voice.  Hullo  \ "  He 
shouted  suddenly  at  the  top  of  his  voice. 

I  thought  he  was  up  to  some  foolery. 
Then  I  saw  littered  about  his  feet  the 
shattered  remains  of  the  best  of  our 
electrometers.  "  What's  up,  man  ?  "  said 
I.  "  You've  smashed  the  electrometer !  " 

"  Bellows  again  ! "  said  he.     "  Friends 


OF  DAVIDSON'S  EYES         171 

left,  if  my  hands  are  gone.  Something 
about  electrometers.  Which  way  are  you, 
Bellows  ?  "  He  suddenly  came  staggering 
towards  me.  "  The  damned  stuff  cuts  like 
butter,"  he  said.  He  walked  straight  into 
the  bench  and  recoiled.  "  None  so  buttery 
that ! "  he  said,  and  stood  swaying. 

I  felt  scared.  "  Davidson,"  said  I, 
"  what  on  earth's  come  over  you  ?  " 

He  looked  round  him  in  every  direction. 
"  I  could  swear  that  was  Bellows.  Why 
don't  you  show  yourself  like  a  man, 
Bellows  ?  " 

It  occurred  to  me  that  he  must  be 
suddenly  struck  blind.  I  walked  round 
the  table  and  laid  my  hand  upon  his  arm. 
I  never  saw  a  man  more  startled  in  my 
life.  He  jumped  away  from  me,  and  came 
round  into  an  attitude  of  self-defence,  his 
face  fairly  distorted  with  terror.  "  Good 
God  ! "  he  cried.  "  What  was  that  ?  " 

"  It's  I — Bellows.  Confound  it,  David- 
son ! " 

He  jumped  when  I  answered  him  and 


172     THE  REMARKABLE  CASE 

stared — how  can  I  express  it  ? — right 
through  me.  He  began  talking,  not  to 
me,  but  to  himself.  "  Here  in  broad  day- 
light on  a  clear  beach.  Not  a  place  to 
hide  in."  He  looked  about  him  wildly. 
"Here!  I'm  off"  He  suddenly  turned 
and  ran  headlong  into  the  big  electro- 
magnet— so  violently  that,  as  we  found 
afterwards,  he  bruised  his  shoulder  and 
jawbone  cruelly.  At  that  he  stepped 
back  a  pace,  and  cried  out  with  almost  a 
whimper,  "  What,  in  heaven's  name,  has 
come  over  me  ? "  He  stood,  blanched 
with  terror  and  trembling  violently,  with 
his  right  arm  clutching  his  left,  where  that 
had  collided  with  the  magnet. 

By  that  time  I  was  excited  and  fairly 
scared.  "  Davidson,"  said  I,  "  don't  be 
afraid." 

He  was  startled  at  my  voice,  but  not 
so  excessively  as  before.  I  repeated  my 
words  in  as  clear  and  firm  a  tone  as  I 
could  assume.  "  Bellows,"  he  said,  "  is 
that  you  ?  " 


OF  DAVIDSON'S  EYES         173 

"  Can't  you  see  it's  me  ? " 

He  laughed.  "  I  can't  even  see  it's 
myself.  Where  the  devil  are  we  ?  " 

"  Here,"  said  I,  "in  the  laboratory." 

"  The  laboratory ! "  he  answered,  in  a 
puzzled  tone,  and  put  his  hand  to  his 
forehead.  "  I  was  in  the  laboratory — 
till  that  flash  came,  but  I'm  hanged  if  I'm 
there  now.  What  ship  is  that  ?  " 

"  There's  no  ship,"  said  I.  "  Do  be 
sensible,  old  chap." 

"No  ship!"  he  repeated,  and  seemed 
to  forget  my  denial  forthwith.  "  I  sup- 
pose," said  he,  slowly,  "  we're  both  dead. 
But  the  rummy  part  is  I  feel  just  as 
though  I  still  had  a  body.  Don't  get 
used  to  it  all  at  once,  I  suppose.  The 
old  shop  was  struck  by  lightning,  I  sup- 
pose. Jolly  quick  thing,  Bellows — eigh  ?  " 

"  Don't  talk  nonsense.  You're  very 
much  alive.  You  are  in  the  laboratory, 
blundering  about.  You've  just  smashed 
a  new  electrometer.  I  don't  envy  you 
when  Boyce  arrives." 


'74 


THE  REMARKABLE  CASE 


He  stared  away  from  me  towards  the 
diagrams  of  cryohydrates.  "  I  must  be 
deaf,"  said  he.  "  They've  fired  a  gun,  for 
there  goes  the  puff  of  smoke,  and  I  never 
heard  a  sound." 

I  put  my  hand  on  his  arm  again,  and 
this  time  he  was  less  alarmed.  "We  seem 
to  have  a  sort  of  invisible  bodies,"  said  he. 
"  By  Jove !  there's  a  boat  coming  round 
the  headland.  It's  very  much  like  the 
old  life  after  all — in  a  different  climate." 

I  shook  his  arm.  "  Davidson,"  I  cried, 
"  wake  up  !  " 

II. 

It  was  just  then  that  Boyce  came  in. 
So  soon  as  he  spoke  Davidson  exclaimed  : 
"  Old  Boyce  !  Dead  too  !  What  a  lark !  " 
I  hastened  to  explain  that  Davidson  was 
in  a  kind  of  somnambulistic  trance.  Boyce 
was  interested  at  once.  We  both  did  all 
we  could  to  rouse  the  fellow  out  of  his 
extraordinary  state.  He  answered  our 
questions,  and  asked  us  some  of  his  own, 


OF  DAVIDSON'S  EYES         175 

but  his  attention  seemed  distracted  by  his 
hallucination  about  a  beach  and  a  ship. 
He  kept  interpolating  observations  con- 
cerning some  boat  and  the  davits  and 
sails  filling  with  the  wind.  It  made  one 
feel  queer,  in  the  dusky  laboratory,  to 
hear  him  saying  such  things. 

He  was  blind  and  helpless.  We  had  to 
walk  him  down  the  passage,  one  at  each 
elbow,  to  Boyce's  private  room,  and  while 
Boyce  talked  to  him  there,  and  humoured 
him  about  this  ship  idea,  I  went  along  the 
corridor  and  asked  old  Wade  to  come  and 
look  at  him.  The  voice  of  our  Dean 
sobered  him  a  little,  but  not  very  much. 
He  asked  where  his  hands  were,  and  why 
he  had  to  walk  about  up  to  his  waist 
in  the  ground.  Wade  thought  over  him 
a  long  time — you  know  how  he  knits 
his  brows — and  then  made  him  feel  the 
couch,  guiding  his  hands  to  it.  "  That's  a 
couch,"  said  Wade.  "  The  couch  in  the 
private  room  of  Professor  Boyce.  Horse- 
hair stuffing." 


1 76     THE  REMARKABLE  CASE 

Davidson  felt  about,  and  puzzled  over 
it,  and  answered  presently  that  he  could 
feel  it  all  right,  but  he  couldn't  see  it. 

"  What  do  you  see  ? "  asked  Wade. 
Davidson  said  he  could  see  nothing  but  a 
lot  of  sand  and  broken-up  shells.  Wade 
gave  him  some  other  things  to  feel,  telling 
him  what  they  were,  and  watching  him 
keenly. 

"  The  ship  is  almost  hull  down,"  said 
Davidson,  presently,  apropos  of  nothing. 

"  Never  mind  the  ship,"  said  Wade. 
"  Listen  to  me,  Davidson.  Do  you  know 
what  hallucination  means  ?  " 

"  Rather,"  said  Davidson. 

"  Well,  everything  you  see  is  hallucina- 
tory." 

"  Bishop  Berkeley,"  said  Davidson. 

"  Don't  mistake  me,"  said  Wade.  "  You 
are  alive  and  in  this  room  of  Boyce's.  But 
something  has  happened  to  your  eyes. 
You  cannot  see ;  you  can  feel  and  hear, 
but  not  see.  Do  you  follow  me  ?  " 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  I  see  too  much." 


OF  DAVIDSON'S  EYES         177 

Davidson  rubbed  his  knuckles  into  his 
eyes.  "Well?"  he  said. 

"That's  all.  Don't  let  it  perplex  you. 
Bellows,  here,  and  I  will  take  you  home 
in  a  cab." 

"Wait a  bit."  Davidson  thought.  "Help 
me  to  sit  down,"  said  he,  presently  ;  "and 
now — I'm  sorry  to  trouble  you — but  will 
you  tell  me  all  that  over  again  ?  " 

Wade  repeated  it  very  patiently.  David- 
son shut  his  eyes,  and  pressed  his  hands 
upon  his  forehead.  "  Yes,"  said  he.  "  It's 
quite  right.  Now  my  eyes  are  shut  I 
know  you're  right.  That's  you,  Bellows, 
sitting  by  me  on  the  couch.  I'm  in 
England  again.  And  we're  in  the  dark." 

Then  he  opened  his  eyes,  "  And  there," 
said  he,  "  is  the  sun  just  rising,  and  the 
yards  of  the  ship,  and  a  tumbled  sea,  and 
a  couple  of  birds  flying.  I  never  saw 
anything  so  real.  And  I'm  sitting  up  to 
my  neck  in  a  bank  of  sand." 

He  bent  forward  and  covered  his  face 
with  his  hands.  Then  he  opened  his  eyes 
If 


178     THE  REMARKABLE  CASE 

again.  "  Dark  sea  and  sunrise  !  And  yet 
I'm  sitting  on  a  sofa  in  old  Boyce's  room ! 
.  .  .  God  help  me  !  " 

III. 

That  was  the  beginning.  For  three 
weeks  this  strange  affection  of  Davidson's 
eyes  continued  unabated.  It  was  far  worse 
than  being  blind.  He  was  absolutely 
helpless,  and  had  to  be  fed  like  a  newly- 
hatched  bird,  and  led  about  and  undressed. 
If  he  attempted  to  move  he  fell  over  things 
or  stuck  himself  against  walls  or  doors. 
After  a  day  or  so  he  got  used  to  hearing 
our  voices  without  seeing  us,  and  willingly 
admitted  he  was  at  home,  and  that  Wade 
was  right  in  what  he  told  him.  My  sister, 
to  whom  he  was  engaged,  insisted  on 
coming  to  see  him,  and  would  sit  for 
hours  every  day  while  he  talked  about 
this  beach  of  his.  Holding  her  hand 
seemed  to  comfort  him  immensely.  He 
explained  that  when  we  left  the  College 


OF  DAVIDSON'S  EYES         179 

and  drove  home — he  lived  in  Hampstead 
village — it  appeared  to  him  as  if  we  drove 
right  through  a  sandhill — it  was  perfectly 
black  until  he  emerged  again — and  through 
rocks  and  trees  and  solid  obstacles,  and 
when  he  was  taken  to  his  own  room  it 
made  him  giddy  and  almost  frantic  with 
the  fear  of  falling,  because  going  upstairs 
seemed  to  lift  him  thirty  or  forty  feet 
above  the  rocks  of  his  imaginary  island. 
He  kept  saying  he  should  smash  all  the 
eggs.  The  end  was  that  he  had  to  be 
taken  down  into  his  father's  consulting 
room  and  laid  upon  a  couch  that  stood 
there. 

He  described  the  island  as  being  a 
bleak  kind  of  place  on  the  whole,  with 
very  little  vegetation,  except  some  peaty 
stuff,  and  a  lot  of  bare  rock.  There  were 
multitudes  of  penguins,  and  they  made  the 
rocks  white  and  disagreeable  to  see.  The 
sea  was  often  rough,  and  once  there  was 
a  thunderstorm,  and  he  lay  and  shouted 
at  the  silent  flashes.  Once  or  twice  seals 


i8o     THE  REMARKABLE  CASE 

pulled  up  on  the  beach,  but  only  on  the 
first  two  or  three  days.  He  said  it  was 
very  funny  the  way  in  which  the  penguins 
used  to  waddle  right  through  him,  and 
how  he  seemed  to  lie  among  them  with- 
out disturbing  them. 

I  remember  one  odd  thing,  and  that 
was  when  he  wanted  very  badly  to  smoke. 
We  put  a  pipe  in  his  hands — he  almost 
poked  his  eye  out  with  it — and  lit  it. 
But  he  couldn't  taste  anything.  I've 
since  found  it's  the  same  with  me — I 
don't  know  if  it's  the  usual  case — that  I 
cannot  enjoy  tobacco  at  all  unless  I  can 
see  the  smoke. 

But  the  queerest  part  of  his  vision  came 
when  Wade  sent  him  out  in  a  bath-chair 
to  get  fresh  air.  The  Davidsons  hired  a 
chair,  and  got  that  deaf  and  obstinate 
dependent  of  theirs,  Widgery,  to  attend 
to  it.  Widgery 's  ideas  of  healthy  expedi- 
tions were  peculiar.  My  sister,  who  had 
been  to  the  Dogs'  Home,  met  them  in 
Camden  Town,  towards  King's  Cross, 


OF  DAVIDSON'S  EYES         181 

Widgery  trotting  along  complacently,  and 
Davidson  evidently  most  distressed,  try- 
ing in  his  feeble,  blind  way  to  attract 
Widgery's  attention. 

He  positively  wept  when  my  sister 
spoke  to  him.  "  Oh,  get  me  out  of  this 
horrible  darkness ! "  he  said,  feeling  for 
her  hand  "  I  must  get  out  of  it,  or  I 
shall  die."  He  was  quite  incapable  of 
explaining  what  was  the  matter,  but  my 
sister  decided  he  must  go  home,  and 
presently,  as  they  went  up  hill  towards 
Hampstead,  the  horror  seemed  to  drop 
from  him.  He  said  it  was  good  to  see 
the  stars  again,  though  it  was  then  about 
noon  and  a  blazing  day. 

"It  seemed,"  he  told  me  afterwards, 
"as  if  I  was  being  carried  irresistibly 
towards  the  water.  I  was  not  very  much 
alarmed  at  first.  Of  course  it  was  night 
there — a  lovely  night." 

"  Of  course  ? "  I  asked,  for  that  struck 
me  as  odd. 

"  Of  course,"   said   he.       "  It's   always 


1 82     THE  REMARKABLE  CASE 

night  there  when  it  is  day  here.  .  .  . 
Well,  we  went  right  into  the  water,  which 
was  calm  and  shining  under  the  moon- 
light— just  a  broad  swell  that  seemed  to 
grow  broader  and  flatter  as  I  came  down 
into  it.  The  surface  glistened  just  like  a 
skin — it  might  have  been  empty  space 
underneath  for  all  I  could  tell  to  the  con- 
trary. Very  slowly,  for  I  rode  slanting 
into  it,  the  water  crept  up  to  my  eyes. 
Then  I  went  under  and  the  skin  seemed 
to  break  and  heal  again  about  my  eyes. 
The  moon  gave  a  jump  up  in  the  sky 
and  grew  green  and  dim,  and  fish,  faintly 
glowing,  came  darting  round  me — and 
things  that  seemed  made  of  luminous 
glass,  and  I  passed  through  a  tangle  of 
seaweeds  that  shone  with  an  oily  lustre. 
And  so  I  drove  down  into  the  sea,  and 
the  stars  went  out  one  by  one,  and  the 
moon  grew  greener  and  darker,  and  the 
seaweed  became  a  luminous  purple-red. 
It  was  all  very  faint  and  mysterious,  and 
everything  seemed  to  quiver.  And  all 


OF  DAVIDSON'S  EYES         183 

the  while  I  could  hear  the  wheels  of  the 
bath-chair  creaking,  and  the  footsteps  of 
people  going  by,  and  a  man  in  the  dis- 
tance selling  the  special  Pall  Mall. 

"  I  kept  sinking  down  deeper  and  deeper 
into  the  water.  It  became  inky  black 
about  me,  not  a  ray  from  above  came 
down  into  that  darkness,  and  the  phos- 
phorescent things  grew  brighter  and 
brighter.  The  snaky  branches  of  the 
deeper  weeds  flickered  like  the  flames  of 
spirit  lamps ;  but,  after  a  time,  there  were 
no  more  weeds.  The  fishes  came  staring 
and  gaping  towards  me,  and  into  me  and 
through  me.  I  never  imagined  such  fishes 
before.  They  had  lines  of  fire  along  the 
sides  of  them  as  though  they  had  been 
outlined  with  a  luminous  pencil.  And 
there  was  a  ghastly  thing  swimming  back- 
wards with  a  lot  of  twining  arms.  And 
then  I  saw,  coming  very  slowly  towards 
me  through  the  gloom,  a  hazy  mass  of 
light  that  resolved  itself  as  it  drew  nearer 
into  multitudes  of  fishes,  struggling  and 


1 84     THE  REMARKABLE  CASE 

darting  round  something  that  drifted.  I 
drove  on  straight  towards  it,  and  presently 
I  saw  in  the  midst  of  the  tumult,  and  by 
the  light  of  the  fish,  a  bit  of  splintered 
spar  looming  over  me,  and  a  dark  hull 
tilting  over,  and  some  glowing  phosphor- 
escent forms  that  were  shaken  and  writhed 
as  the  fish  bit  at  them.  Then  it  was  I 
began  to  try  to  attract  Widgery's  attention. 
A  horror  came  upon  me.  Ugh  !  I  should 
have  driven  right  into  those  half-eaten 

things.    If  your  sister  had  not  come  ! 

They  had  great  holes  in  them,  Bellows,  and 
.  .  .  Never  mind.  But  it  was  ghastly ! " 

IV. 

For  three  weeks  Davidson  remained  in 
this  singular  state,  seeing  what  at  the  time 
we  imagined  was  an  altogether  phantasmal 
world,  and  stone  blind  to  the  world  around 
him.  Then,  one  Tuesday,  when  I  called 
I  met  old  Davidson  in  the  passage.  "He 
can  see  his  thumb ! "  the  old  gentleman 
said,  in  a  perfect  transport.  He  was 


OF  DAVIDSON'S  EYES         185 

struggling  into  his  overcoat  "He  can 
see  his  thumb,  Bellows ! "  he  said,  with 
the  tears  in  his  eyes.  "  The  lad  will  be 
all  right  yet." 

I  rushed  in  to  Davidson.  He  was 
holding  up  a  little  book  before  his  face, 
and  looking  at  it  and  laughing  in  a  weak 
kind  of  way. 

"  It's  amazing,"  said  he.  "  There's  a 
kind  of  patch  come  there."  He  pointed 
with  his  finger.  "  I'm  on  the  rocks  as 
usual,  and  the  penguins  are  staggering 
and  flapping  about  as  usual,  and  there's 
been  a  whale  showing  every  now  and 
then,  but  it's  got  too  dark  now  to  make 
him  out.  But  put  something  there,  and  I 
see  it — I  do  see  it.  It's  very  dim  and 
broken  in  places,  but  I  see  it  all  the  same, 
like  a  faint  spectre  of  itself.  I  found  it 
out  this  morning  while  they  were  dress- 
ing me.  It's  like  a  hole  in  this  infernal 
phantom  world.  Just  put  your  hand  by 
mine.  No — not  there.  Ah  !  Yes !  I  see 
it  The  base  of  your  thumb  and  a  bit  of 


1 86     THE  REMARKABLE  CASE 

cuff!  It  looks  like  the  ghost  of  a  bit  of 
your  hand  sticking  out  of  the  darkling 
sky.  Just  by  it  there's  a  group  of  stars 
like  a  cross  coming  out." 

From  that  time  Davidson  began  to 
mend.  His  account  of  the  change,  like 
his  account  of  the  vision,  was  oddly  con- 
vincing. Over  patches  of  his  field  of 
vision,  the  phantom  world  grew  fainter, 
grew  transparent,  as  it  were,  and  through 
these  translucent  gaps  he  began  to  see 
dimly  the  real  world  about  him.  The 
patches  grew  in  size  and  number,  ran 
together  and  spread  until  only  here  and 
there  were  blind  spots  left  upon  his  eyes. 
He  was  able  to  get  up  and  steer  himself 
about,  feed  himself  once  more,  read,  smoke, 
and  behave  like  an  ordinary  citizen  again. 
At  first  it  was  very  confusing  to  him  to 
have  these  two  pictures  overlapping  each 
other  like  the  changing  views  of  a  lantern, 
but  in  a  little  while  he  began  to  distinguish 
the  real  from  the  illusory. 

At  first  he  was  unfeignedly  glad,  and 


OF  DAVIDSON'S  EYES         187 

seemed  only  too  anxious  to  complete  his 
cure  by  taking  exercise  and  tonics.  But 
as  that  odd  island  of  his  began  to  fade 
away  from  him,  he  became  queerly  in- 
terested in  it.  He  wanted  particularly  to 
go  down  into  the  deep  sea  again,  and 
would  spend  half  his  time  wandering 
about  the  low  lying  parts  of  London,  try- 
ing to  find  the  water-logged  wreck  he  had 
seen  drifting.  The  glare  of  real  daylight 
very  soon  impressed  him  so  vividly  as  to 
blot  out  everything  of  his  shadowy  world, 
but  of  a  night  time,  in  a  darkened  room, 
he  could  still  see  the  white-splashed  rocks 
of  the  island,  and  the  clumsy  penguins 
staggering  to  and  fro.  But  even  these 
grew  fainter  and  fainter,  and,  at  last,  soon 
after  he  married  my  sister,  he  saw  them 
for  the  last  time. 

V. 

And  now  to  tell  of  the  queerest  thing 
of  all.  About  two  years  after  his  cure 
I  dined  with  the  Davidsons,  and  after 


1 88     THE  REMARKABLE  CASE 

dinner  a  man  named  Atkins  called  in. 
He  is  a  lieutenant  in  the  Royal  Navy, 
and  a  pleasant,  talkative  man.  He  was 
on  friendly  terms  with  my  brother-in-law, 
and  was  soon  on  friendly  terms  with  me. 
It  came  out  that  he  was  engaged  to 
Davidson's  cousin,  and  incidentally  he 
took  out  a  kind  of  pocket  photograph  case 
to  show  us  a  new  rendering  of  \\\s>  fiancte. 
"And,  by-the-by,"  said  he,  "here's  the  old 
Fulmar" 

Davidson  looked  at  it  casually.  Then 
suddenly  his  face  lit  up.  "  Good  heavens!" 
said  he.  "  I  could  almost  swear " 

"  What  ? "  said  Atkins. 

"  That  I  had  seen  that  ship  before." 

"  Don't  see  how  you  can  have.  She 
hasn't  been  out  of  the  South  Seas  for  six 
years,  and  before  then " 

"  But,"  began  Davidson,  and  then, 
"Yes — that's  the  ship  I  dreamt  of,  I'm 
sure  that's  the  ship  I  dreamt  of.  She 
was  standing  off  an  island  that  swarmed 
with  penguins,  and  she  fired  a  gun." 


OF  DAVIDSON'S  EYES         189 

"Good  Lord!"  said  Atkins,  .who  had 
now  heard  the  particulars  of  the  seizure. 
"  How  the  deuce  could  you  dream  that  ? " 

And  then,  bit  by  bit,  it  came  out  that 
on  the  very  day  Davidson  was  seized, 
H.M.S.  Fulmar  had  actually  been  off  a 
little  rock  to  the  south  of  Antipodes 
Island.  A  boat  had  landed  overnight  to 
get  penguins'  eggs,  had  been  delayed,  and 
a  thunderstorm  drifting  up,  the  boat's  crew 
had  waited  until  the  morning  before  re- 
joining the  ship.  Atkins  had  been  one  of 
them,  and  he  corroborated,  word  for  word, 
the  descriptions  Davidson  had  given  of 
the  island  and  the  boat.  There  is  not 
the  slightest  doubt  in  any  of  our  minds 
that  Davidson  has  really  seen  the  place. 
In  some  unaccountable  way,  while  he 
moved  hither  and  thither  in  London,  his 
sight  moved  hither  and  thither  in  a 
manner  that  corresponded,  about  this 
distant  island.  How  is  absolutely  a 
mystery. 

That  completes  the  remarkable  story  of 


190     THE  REMARKABLE  CASE 

Davidson's  eyes.  It's  perhaps  the  best 
authenticated  case  in  existence  of  a  real 
vision  at  a  distance.  Explanation  there  is 
none  forthcoming,  except  what  Professor 
Wade  has  thrown  out  But  his  explana- 
tion invokes  the  Fourth  Dimension,  and  a 
dissertation  on  theoretical  kinds  of  space. 
To  talk  of  there  being  "  a  kink  in  space  " 
seems  mere  nonsense  to  me ;  it  may  be 
because  I  am  no  mathematician.  When  I 
said  that  nothing  would  alter  the  fact  that 
the  place  is  eight  thousand  miles  away,  he 
answered  that  two  points  might  be  a  yard 
away  on  a  sheet  of  paper  and  yet  be 
brought  together  by  bending  the  paper 
round.  The  reader  may  grasp  his  argu- 
ment, but  I  certainly  do  not.  His  idea 
seems  to  be  that  Davidson,  stooping  be- 
tween the  poles  of  the  big  electro-magnet, 
had  some  extraordinary  twist  given  to  his 
retinal  elements  through  the  sudden  change 
in  the  field  of  force  due  to  the  lightning. 

He  thinks,   as  a   consequence  of  this, 
that  it  may  be  possible  to  live  visually  in 


OF  DAVIDSON'S  EYES         191 

one  part  of  the  world,  while  one  lives 
bodily  in  another.  He  has  even  made 
some  experiments  in  support  of  his  views ; 
but,  so  far,  he  has  simply  succeeded  in 
blinding  a  few  dogs.  I  believe  that  is  the 
net  result  of  his  work,  though  I  have  not 
seen  him  for  some  weeks.  Latterly  I  have 
been  so  busy  with  my  work  in  connection 
with  the  Saint  Pancras  installation  that  I 
have  had  little  opportunity  of  calling  to 
see  him.  But  the  whole  of  his  theory 
seems  fantastic  to  me.  The  facts  concern- 
ing Davidson  stand  on  an  altogether  dif- 
ferent footing,  and  I  can  testify  personally 
to  the  accuracy  of  every  detail  I  have 
given. 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  DYNAMOS 

THE  chief  attendant  of  the  three 
dynamos  that  buzzed  and  rattled  at 
Camberwell,  and  kept  the  electric  rail- 
way going,  came  out  of  Yorkshire,  and 
his  name  was  James  Holroyd.  He  was  a 
practical  electrician,  but  fond  of  whisky, 
a  heavy,  red-haired  brute  with  irregular 
teeth.  He  doubted  the  existence  of  the 
deity,  but  accepted  Carnot's  cycle,  and  he 
had  read  Shakespeare  and  found  him  weak 
in  chemistry.  His  helper  came  out  of  the 
mysterious  East,  and  his  name  was  Azuma- 
zi.  But  Holroyd  called  him  Pooh-bah. 
Holroyd  liked  a  nigger  help  because  he 
would  stand  kicking  —  a  habit  with 
Holroyd — and  did  not  pry  into  the 
machinery  and  try  to  learn  the  ways  of 
it.  Certain  odd  possibilities  of  the  negro 
mind  brought  into  abrupt  contact  with  the 


192 


LORD  OF  THE  DYNAMOS     193 

crown  of  our  civilisation  Holroyd  never 
fully  realised,  though  just  at  the  end  he 
got  some  inkling  of  them. 

To  define  Azuma-zi  was  beyond  ethno- 
logy. He  was,  perhaps,  more  negroid 
than  anything  else,  though  his  hair  was 
curly  rather  than  frizzy,  and  his  nose  had 
a  bridge.  Moreover,  his  skin  was  brown 
rather  than  black,  and  the  whites  of  his 
eyes  were  yellow.  His  broad  cheek-bones 
and  narrow  chin  gave  his  face  something 
of  the  viperine  V.  His  head,  too,  was 
broad  behind,  and  low  and  narrow  at  the 
forehead,  as  if  his  brain  had  been  twisted 
round  in  the  reverse  way  to  a  European's. 
He  was  short  of  stature  and  still  shorter 
of  English.  In  conversation  he  made 
numerous  odd  noises  of  no  known  market- 
able value,  and  his  infrequent  words  were 
carved  and  wrought  into  heraldic  grotesque- 
ness.  Holroyd  tried  to  elucidate  his 
religious  beliefs,  and  —  especially  after 
whiskey — lectured  to  him  against  supersti- 
tion and  missionaries.  Azuma-zi,  however, 

N 


i94     LORD  OF  THE  DYNAMOS 

shirked  the  discussion  of  his  gods,  even 
though  he  was  kicked  for  it. 

Azuma-zi  had  come,  clad  in  white  but 
insufficient  raiment,  out  of  the  stoke-hole 
of  the  Lord  Clive,  from  the  Straits  Settle- 
ments, and  beyond,  into  London.  He 
had  heard  even  in  his  youth  of  the 
greatness  and  riches  of  London,  where 
all  the  women  are  white  and  fair,  and 
even  the  beggars  in  the  streets  are  white, 
and  he  had  arrived,  with  newly-earned 
gold  coins  in  his  pocket,  to  worship  at  the 
shrine  of  civilisation.  The  day  of  his 
landing  was  a  dismal  one ;  the  sky  was 
dun,  and  a  wind-worried  drizzle  filtered 
down  to  the  greasy  streets,  but  he  plunged 
boldly  into  the  delights  of  Shadwell,  and 
was  presently  cast  up,  shattered  in  health, 
civilised  in  costume,  penniless,  and,  except 
in  matters  of  the  direst  necessity,  practically 
a  dumb  animal,  to  toil  for  James  Holroyd 
and  to  be  bullied  by  him  in  the  dynamo 
shed  at  Camberwell.  And  to  James 
Holroyd  bullying  was  a  labour  of  love. 


LORD  OF  THE  DYNAMOS     195 

There  were  three  dynamos  with  their 
engines  at  Camberwell.  The  two  that 
have  been  there  since  the  beginning  are 
small  machines  ;  the  larger  one  was  new. 
The  smaller  machines  made  a  reasonable 
noise  ;  their  straps  hummed  over  the 
drums,  every  now  and  then  the  brushes 
buzzed  and  fizzled,  and  the  air  churned 
steadily,  whoo !  whoo  !  whoo  !  between 
their  poles.  One  was  loose  in  its  founda- 
tions and  kept  the  shed  vibrating.  But 
the  big  dynamo  drowned  these  little  noises 
altogether  with  the  sustained  drone  of  its 
iron  core,  which  somehow  set  part  of  the 
ironwork  humming.  The  place  made  the 
visitor's  head  reel  with  the  throb,  throb, 
throb  of  the  engines,  the  rotation  of  the 
big  wheels,  the  spinning  ball-valves,  the 
occasional  spittings  of  the  steam,  and  over 
all  the  deep,  unceasing,  surging  note  of 
the  big  dynamo.  This  last  noise  was  from 
an  engineering  point  of  view  a  defect,  but 
Azuma-zi  accounted  it  unto  the  monster 
for  mightiness  and  pride. 


1 96    LORD  OF  THE  DYNAMOS 

If  it  were  possible  we  would  have  the 
noises  of  that  shed  always  about  the 
reader  as  he  reads,  we  would  tell  all  our 
story  to  such  an  accompaniment.  It  was 
a  steady  stream  of  din,  from  which  the  ear 
picked  out  first  one  thread  and  then 
another  ;  there  was  the  intermittent 
snorting,  panting,  and  seething  of  the 
steam  engines,  the  suck  and  thud  of  their 
pistons,  the  dull  beat  on  the  air  as  the 
spokes  of  the  great  driving-wheels  came 
round,  a  note  the  leather  straps  made  as 
they  ran  tighter  and  looser,  and  a  fretful 
tumult  from  the  dynamos  ;  and  over  all, 
sometimes  inaudible,  as  the  ear  tired  of  it, 
and  then  creeping  back  upon  the  senses 
again,  was  this  trombone  note  of  the  big 
machine.  The  floor  never  felt  steady  and 
quiet  beneath  one's  feet,  but  quivered  and 
jarred.  It  was  a  confusing,  unsteady 
place,  and  enough  to  send  anyone  s 
thoughts  jerking  into  odd  zigzags.  And 
for  three  months,  while  the  big  strike  of 
the  engineers  was  in  progress,  Holroyd, 


LORD  OF  THE  DYNAMOS     197 

xvho  was  a  blackleg,  and  Azuma-zi,  who 
was  a  mere  black,  were  never  out  of  the 
stir  and  eddy  of  it,  but  slept  and  fed  in  the 
little  wooden  shanty  between  the  shed  and 
the  gates. 

Holroyd  delivered  a  theological  lecture 
on  the  text  of  his  big  machine  soon  after 
Azuma-zi  came.  He  had  to  shout  to  be 
heard  in  the  din.  "  Look  at  that,"  said 
Holroyd ;  "  where's  your  'eathen  idol  to 
match  'im  ?  "  And  Azuma-zi  looked.  For 
a  moment  Holroyd  was  inaudible,  and 
then  Azuma-zi  heard  :  "  Kill  a  hundred 
men.  Twelve  per  cent,  on  the  ordinary 
shares,"  said  Holroyd,  "and  that's  some- 
thing like  a  Gord  ! " 

Holroyd  was  proud  of  his  big  dynamo, 
and  expatiated  upon  its  size  and  power  to 
Azuma-zi  until  heaven  knows  what  odd 
currents  of  thought  that  and  the  incessant 
whirling  and  shindy  set  up  within  the 
curly  black  cranium.  He  would  explain 
in  the  most  graphic  manner  the  dozen  or 
so  ways  in  which  a  man  might  be  killed  by 


198     LORD  OF  THE  DYNAMOS 

it,  and  once  he  gave  Azuma-zi  a  shock  as 
a  sample  of  its  quality.  After  that,  in  the 
breath  ing- times  of  his  labour — it  was 
heavy  labour,  being  not  only  his  own,  but 
most  of  Holroyd's — Azuma-zi  would  sit 
and  watch  the  big  machine.  Now  and 
then  the  brushes  would  sparkle  and  spit 
blue  flashes,  at  which  Holroyd  would 
swear,  but  all  the  rest  was  as  smooth  and 
rhythmic  as  breathing.  The  band  ran 
shouting  over  the  shaft,  and  ever  behind 
one  as  one  watched  was  the  complacent 
thud  of  the  piston.  So  it  lived  all  day  in 
this  big  airy  shed,  with  him  and  Holroyd 
to  wait  upon  it ;  not  prisoned  up  and 
slaving  to  drive  a  ship  as  the  other  engines 
he  knew — mere  captive  devils  of  the 
British  Solomon — had  been,  but  a  machine 
enthroned.  Those  two  smaller  dynamos, 
Azuma-zi  by  force  of  contrast  despised ; 
the  large  one  he  privately  christened  the 
Lord  of  the  Dynamos.  They  were  fretful 
and  irregular,  but  •  the  big  dynamo  was 
steady.  How  great  it  was  !  How  serene 


LORD  OF  THE  DYNAMOS     199 

and  easy  in  its  working !  Greater  and 
calmer  even  than  the  Buddahs  he  had 
seen  at  Rangoon,  and  yet  not  motionless, 
but  living !  The  great  black  coils  spun, 
spun,  spun,  the  rings  ran  round  under  the 
brushes,  and  the  deep  note  of  its  coil 
steadied  the  whole.  It  affected  Azuma-zi 
queerly. 

Azuma-zi  was  not  fond  of  labour.  He 
would  sit  about  and  watch  the  Lord  of 
the  Dynamos  while  Holroyd  went  away 
to  persuade  the  yard  porter  to  get  whiskey, 
although  his  proper  place  was  not  in  the 
dynamo  shed  but  behind  the  engines,  and, 
moreover,  if  Holroyd  caught  him  skulking 
he  got  hit  for  it  with  a  rod  of  stout  copper 
wire.  He  would  go  and  stand  close  to  the 
colossus  and  look  up  at  the  great  leather 
band  running  overhead.  There  was  a 
black  patch  on  the  band  that  came  round, 
and  it  pleased  him  somehow  among  all 
the  clatter  to  watch  this  return  again  and 
again.  Odd  thoughts  spun  with  the 
whirl  of  it.  Scientific  people  tell  us  that 


200     LORD  OF  THE  DYNAMOS 

savages  give  souls  to  rocks  and  trees — and 
a  machine  is  a  thousand  times  more  alive 
than  a  rock  or  a  tree.  And  Azuma-zi 
was  practically  a  savage  still ;  the  veneer 
of  civilisation  lay  no  deeper  than  his  slop 
suit,  his  bruises,  and  the  coal  grime  on  his 
face  and  hands.  His  father  before  him 
had  worshipped  a  meteoric  stone,  kindred 
blood  it  may  be  had  splashed  the  broad 
wheels  of  Juggernaut. 

He  took  every  opportunity  Holroyd 
gave  him  of  touching  and  handling  the 
great  dynamo  that  was  fascinating  him. 
He  polished  and  cleaned  it  until  the  metal 
parts  were  blinding  in  the  sun.  He  felt  a 
mysterious  sense  of  service  in  doing  this. 
He  would  go  up  to  it  and  touch  its 
spinning  coils  gently.  The  gods  he  had 
worshipped  were  all  far  away.  The 
people  in  London  hid  their  gods. 

At  last  his  dim  feelings  grew  more 
distinct,  and  took  shape  in  thoughts  and 
at  last  in  acts.  When  he  came  into  the 
roaring  shed  one  morning  he  salaamed  to 


LORD  OF  THE  DYNAMOS     201 

the  Lord  of  the  Dynamos,  and  then,  when 
Holroyd  was  away,  he  went  and  whispered 
to  the  thundering  machine  that  he  was  its 
servant,  and  prayed  it  to  have  pity  on 
him  and  save  him  from  Holroyd.  As  he 
did  so  a  rare  gleam  of  light  came  in 
through  the  open  archway  of  the  throbbing 
machine-shed,  and  the  Lord  of  the 
Dynamos,  as  he  whirled  and  roared,  was 
radiant  with  pale  gold.  Then  Azuma-zi 
knew  that  his  service  was  acceptable  to 
his  Lord.  After  that  he  did  not  feel  so 
lonely  as  he  had  done,  and  he  had  indeed 
been  very  much  alone  in  London.  And 
even  when  his  work  time  was  over,  which 
was  rare,  he  loitered  about  the  shed. 

Then,  the  next  time  Holroyd  mal- 
treated him,  Azuma-zi  went  presently  to 
the  Lord  of  the  Dynamos  and  whispered, 
"Thou  seest,  O  my  Lord!"  and  the 
angry  whirr  of  the  machinery  seemed 
to  answer  him.  Thereafter  it  appeared 
to  him  that  whenever  Holroyd  came  into 
the  shed  a  different  note  came  into  the 


202     LORD  OF  THE  DYNAMOS 

sounds  of  the  dynamo.  "  My  Lord  bides 
his  time,"  said  Azuma-zi  to  himself. 
"  The  iniquity  of  the  fool  is  not  yet 
ripe."  And  he  waited  and  watched  for 
the  day  of  reckoning.  One  day  there 
was  evidence  of  short  circuiting,  and 
Holroyd,  making  an  unwary  examination 
— it  was  in  the  afternoon — got  a  rather 
severe  shock.  Azuma-zi  from  behind  the 
engine  saw  him  jump  off  and  curse  at  the 
peccant  coil. 

"  He  is  warned,"  said  Azuma-zi  to 
himself.  "Surely  my  Lord  is  very 
patient." 

Holroyd  had  at  first  initiated  his 
"  mgger "  m*o  such  elementary  concep- 
tions of  the  dynamo's  working  as  would 
enable  him  to  take  temporary  charge  of 
the  shed  in  his  absence.  But  when  he 
noticed  the  manner  in  which  Azuma-zi 
hung  about  the  monster  he  became  sus- 
picious. He  dimly  perceived  his  assistant 
was  "up  to  something,"  and  connecting 
him  with  the  anointing  of  the  coils  with 


LORD  OF  THE  DYNAMOS     203 

oil  that  had  rotted  the  varnish  in  one 
place,  he  issued  an  edict,  shouted  above 
the  confusion  of  the  machinery,  "  Don't 
'ee  go  nigh  that  big  dynamo  any  more, 
Pooh-bah,  or  a'll  take  thy  skin  off!" 
Besides,  if  it  pleased  Azuma-zi  to  be 
near  the  big  machine,  it  was  plain  sense 
and  decency  to  keep  him  away  from  it. 

Azuma-zi  obeyed  at  the  time,  but  later 
he  was  caught  bowing  before  the  Lord 
of  the  Dynamos.  At  which  Holroyd 
twisted  his  arm  and  kicked  him  as  he 
turned  to  go  away.  As  Azuma-zi  pre- 
sently stood  behind  the  engine  and  glared 
at  the  back  of  the  hated  Holroyd,  the 
noises  of  the  machinery  took  a  new 
rhythm,  and  sounded  like  four  words  in 
his  native  tongue. 

It  is  hard  to  say  exactly  what  madness 
is.  I  fancy  Azuma-zi  was  mad.  The 
incessant  din  and  whirl  of  the  dynamo 
shed  may  have  churned  up  his  little  store 
of  knowledge  and  big  store  of  super- 
stitious fancy,  at  last,  into  something  akin 


204     LORD  OF  THE  DYNAMOS 

to  frenzy.  At  any  rate,  when  the  idea 
of  making  Holroyd  a  sacrifice  to  the 
Dynamo  Fetich  was  thus  suggested  to 
him,  it  filled  him  with  a  strange  tumult 
of  exultant  emotion. 

That  night  the  two  men  and  their 
black  shadows  were  alone  in  the  shed 
together.  The  shed  was  lit  with  one 
big  arc  light  that  winked  and  flickered 
purple.  The  shadows  lay  black  behind 
the  dynamos,  the  ball  governors  of  the 
engines  whirled  from  light  to  darkness, 
and  their  pistons  beat  loud  and  steady. 
The  world  outside  seen  through  the  open 
end  of  the  shed  seemed  incredibly  dim 
and  remote.  It  seemed  absolutely  silent, 
too,  since  the  riot  of  the  machinery 
drowned  every  external  sound.  Far 
away  was  the  black  fence  of  the  yard 
with  grey  shadowy  houses  behind,  and 
above  was  the  deep  blue  sky  and  the 
pale  little  stars.  Azuma-zi  suddenly 
walked  across  the  centre  of  the  shed 
above  which  the  leather  bands  were 


LORD  OF  THE  DYNAMOS    205 

running,  and  went  into  the  shadow  by 
the  big  dynamo.  Holroyd  heard  a  click, 
and  the  spin  of  the  armature  changed. 

"What  are  you  dewin'  with  that 
switch  ?  "  he  bawled  in  surprise.  "  Han't 
I  told  you " 

Then  he  saw  the  set  expression  of 
Azuma-zi's  eyes  as  the  Asiatic  came  out 
of  the  shadow  towards  him. 

In  another  moment  the  two  men  were 
grappling  fiercely  in  front  of  the  great 
dynamo. 

"  You  coffee-headed  fool ! "  gasped 
Holroyd,  with  a  brown  hand  at  his 
throat.  "  Keep  off  those  contact  rings." 
In  another  moment  he  was  tripped  and 
reeling  back  upon  the  Lord  of  the 
Dynamos.  He  instinctively  loosened 
his  grip  upon  his  antagonist  to  save 
himself  from  the  machine. 

The  messenger,  sent  in  furious  haste 
from  the  station  to  find  out  what  had 
happened  in  the  dynamo  shed,  met 


206     LORD  OF  THE  DYNAMOS 

Azuma-zi  at  the  porter's  lodge  by  the 
gate.  Azuma-zi  tried  to  explain  some- 
thing, but  the  messenger  could  make 
nothing  of  the  black's  incoherent  English, 
and  hurried  on  to  the  shed  The 
machines  were  all  noisily  at  work, 
and  nothing  seemed  to  be  disarranged. 
There  was,  however,  a  queer  smell  of 
singed  hair.  Then  he  saw  an  odd-look- 
ing crumpled  mass  clinging  to  the  front 
of  the  big  dynamo,  and,  approaching, 
recognised  the  distorted  remains  of 
Holroyd. 

The  man  stared  and  hesitated  a  moment. 
Then  he  saw  the  face,  and  shut  his  eyes 
convulsively.  He  turned  on  his  heel 
before  he  opened  them,  so  that  he  should 
not  see  Holroyd  again,  and  went  out  of 
the  shed  to  get  advice  and  help. 

When  Azuma-zi  saw  Holroyd  die  in 
the  grip  of  the  Great  Dynamo  he  had 
been  a  little  scared  about  the  conse- 
quences of  his  act.  Yet  he  felt  strangely 
elated,  and  knew  that  the  favour  of  the 


LORD  OF  THE  DYNAMOS     207 

Lord  Dynamo  was  upon  him.  His  plan 
was  already  settled  when  he  met  the  man 
coming  from  the  station,  and  the  scientific 
manager  who  speedily  arrived  on  the 
scene  jumped  at  the  obvious  conclusion 
of  suicide.  This  expert  scarcely  noticed 
Azuma-zi,  except  to  ask  a  few  questions. 
Did  he  see  Holroyd  kill  himself? 
Azuma-zi  explained  he  had  been  out  of 
sight  at  the  engine  furnace  until  he  heard 
a  difference  in  the  noise  from  the  dynamo. 
It  was  not  a  difficult  examination,  being 
untinctured  by  suspicion. 

The  distorted  remains  of  Holroyd, 
which  the  electrician  removed  from  the 
machine,  were  hastily  covered  by  the 
porter  with  a  coffee-stained  tablecloth. 
Somebody,  by  a  happy  inspiration,  fetched 
a  medical  man.  The  expert  was  chiefly 
anxious  to  get  the  machine  at  work  again, 
for  seven  or  eight  trains  had  stopped  mid- 
way in  the  stuffy  tunnels  of  the  electric 
railway.  Azuma-zi,  answering  or  mis- 
understanding the  questions  of  the  people 


208     LORD  OF  THE  DYNAMOS 

who  had  by  authority  or  impudence  come 
into  the  shed,  was  presently  sent  back  to 
the  stoke-hole  by  the  scientific  manager. 
Of  course  a  crowd  collected  outside  the 
gates  of  the  yard — a  crowd,  for  no  known 
reason,  always  hovers  for  a  day  or  two 
near  the  scene  of  a  sudden  death  in 
London — two  or  three  reporters  per- 
colated somehow  into  the  engine-shed, 
and  one  even  got  to  Azuma-zi ;  but  the 
scientific  expert  cleared  them  out  again, 
being  himself  an  amateur  journalist. 

Presently  the  body  was  carried  away, 
and  public  interest  departed  with  it. 
Azuma-zi  remained  very  quietly  at  his 
furnace,  seeing  over  and  over  again  in 
the  coals  a  figure  that  wriggled  violently 
and  became  still.  An  hour  after  the 
murder,  to  anyone  coming  into  the  shed 
it  would  have  looked  exactly  as  if  nothing 
remarkable  had  ever  happened  there. 
Peeping  presently  from  his  engine-room 
the  black  saw  the  Lord  Dynamo  spin 
and  whirl  beside  his  little  brothers,  and 


LORD  OF  THE  DYNAMOS    209 

the  driving  wheels  were  beating  round, 
and  the  steam  in  the  pistons  went  thud, 
thud,  exactly  as  it  had  been  earlier  in  the 
evening.  After  all,  from  the  mechanical 
point  of  view,  it  had  been  a  most  insig- 
nificant incident — the  mere  temporary 
deflection  of  a  current.  But  now  the 
slender  form  and  slender  shadow  of  the 
scientific  manager  replaced  the  sturdy 
outline  of  Holroyd  travelling  up  and 
down  the  lane  of  light  upon  the  vibrat- 
ing floor  under  the  straps  between  the 
engines  and  the  dynamos. 

"  Have  I  not  served  my  Lord  ? "  said 
Azuma-zi  inaudibly,  from  his  shadow,  and 
the  note  of  the  great  dynamo  rang  out 
full  and  clear.  As  he  looked  at  the  big 
whirling  mechanism  the  strange  fascina- 
tion of  it  that  had  been  a  little  in  abey- 
ance since  Holroyd's  death  resumed  its 
sway. 

Never  had  Azuma-zi  seen  a  man  killed 
so  swiftly  and  pitilessly.  The  big  hum- 
ming machine  had  slain  its  victim  with- 
o 


210     LORD  OF  THE  DYNAMOS 

out  wavering  for  a  second  from  its  steady 
beating.  It  was  indeed  a  mighty  god. 

The  unconscious  scientific  manager 
stood  with  his  back  to  him,  scribbling 
on  a  piece  of  paper.  His  shadow  lay 
at  the  foot  of  the  monster. 

"  Was  the  Lord  Dynamo  still  hungry  ? 
His  servant  was  ready." 

Azuma-zi  made  a  stealthy  step  forward  ; 
then  stopped.  The  scientific  manager 
suddenly  stopped  writing,  and  walked 
down  the  shed  to  the  endmost  of  the 
dynamos,  and  began  to  examine  the 
brushes. 

Azuma-zi  hesitated,  and  then  slipped 
across  noiselessly  into  the  shadow  by  the 
switch.  There  he  waited.  Presently 
the  manager's  footsteps  could  be  heard 
returning.  He  stopped  in  his  old  posi- 
tion, unconscious  of  the  stoker  crouching 
ten  feet  away  from  him.  Then  the  big 
dynamo  suddenly  fizzled,  and  in  another 
moment  Azuma-zi  had  sprung  out  of  the 
darkness  upon  him. 


LORD  OF  THE  DYNAMOS     211 

First,  the  scientific  manager  was  gripped 
round  the  body  and  swung  towards  the 
big  dynamo,  then,  kicking  with  his  knee 
and  forcing  his  antagonist's  head  down 
with  his  hands,  he  loosened  the  grip  on 
his  waist  and  swung  round  away  from 
the  machine.  Then  the  black  grasped  him 
again,  putting  a  curly  head  against  his 
chest,  and  they  swayed  and  panted  as 
it  seemed  for  an  age  or  so.  Then  the 
scientific  manager  was  impelled  to  catch 
a  black  ear  in  his  teeth  and  bite  furiously. 
The  black  yelled  hideously. 

They  rolled  over  on  the  floor,  and  the 
black,  who  had  apparently  slipped  from 
the  vice  of  the  teeth  or  parted  with  some 
ear  —  the  scientific  manager  wondered 
which  at  the  time — tried  to  throttle  him. 
The  scientific  manager  was  making  some 
ineffectual  efforts  to  claw  something  with 
his  hands  and  to  kick,  when  the  welcome 
sound  of  quick  footsteps  sounded  on  the 
floor.  The  next  moment  Azuma-zi  had 
left  him  and  darted  towards  the  big" 


212     LORD  OF  THE  DYNAMOS 

dynamo.  There  was  a  splutter  amid  the 
roar. 

The  officer  of  the  company  who  had 
entered,  stood  staring  as  Azuma-zi  caught 
the  naked  terminals  in  his  hands,  gave 
one  horrible  convulsion,  and  then  hung 
motionless  from  the  machine,  his  face 
violently  distorted. 

"  I'm  jolly  glad  you  came  in  when  you 
did,"  said  the  scientific  manager,  still 
sitting  on  the  floor. 

He  looked  at  the  still  quivering  figure. 
"  It  is  not  a  nice  death  to  die,  apparently 
— but  it  is  quick." 

The  official  was  still  staring  at  the 
body.  He  was  a  man  of  slow  appre- 
hension. 

There  was  a  pause. 

The  scientific  manager  got  up  on  his 
feet  rather  awkwardly.  He  ran  his 
fingers  along  his  collar  thoughtfully,  and 
moved  his  head  to  and  fro  several  times. 

"  Poor  Holroyd !  I  see  now."  Then 
almost  mechanically  he  went  towards  the 


LORD  OF  THE  DYNAMOS     213 

switch  in  the  shadow  and  turned  the 
current  into  the  railway  circuit  again. 
As  he  did  so  the  singed  body  loosened 
its  grip  upon  the  machine  and  fell  for- 
ward on  its  face.  The  core  of  the 
dynamo  roared  out  loud  and  clear,  and 
the  armature  beat  the  air. 

So  ended  prematurely  the  Worship  of 
the  Dynamo  Deity,  perhaps  the  most 
short-lived  of  all  religions.  Yet  withal 
it  could  at  least  boast  a  Martyrdom  and 
a  Human  Sacrifice. 


THE  HAMMERPOND  PARK 
BURGLARY 

IT  is  a  moot  point  whether  burglary  is 
to  be  considered  as  a  sport,  a  trade,  or 
an  art.  For  a  trade,  the  technique  is 
scarcely  rigid  enough,  and  its  claims  to 
be  considered  an  art  are  vitiated  by  the 
mercenary  element  that  qualifies  its 
triumphs.  On  the  whole  it  seems  to  be 
most  justly  ranked  as  sport,  a  sport  for 
which  no  rules  are  at  present  formulated, 
and  of  which  the  prizes  are  distributed  in 
an  extremely  informal  manner.  It  was 
this  informality  of  burglary  that  led  to  the 
regrettable  extinction  of  two  promising 
beginners  at  Hammerpond  Park. 

The  stakes  offered  in  this  affair  consisted 
chiefly  of  diamonds  and  other  personal 
bric-a-brac  belonging  to  the  newly  married 
Lady  Aveling.  Lady  Aveling,  as  the 


HAMMERPOND  PARK         215 

reader  will  remember,  was  the  only 
daughter  of  Mrs  Montague  Pangs,  the 
well-known  hostess.  Her  marriage  to 
Lord  Aveling  was  extensively  advertised 
in  the  papers,  the  quantity  and  quality  of 
her  wedding  presents,  and  the  fact  that 
the  honeymoon  was  to  be  spent  at 
Hammerpond.  The  announcement  of 
these  valuable  prizes  created  a  consider- 
able sensation  in  the  small  circle  in  which 
Mr  Teddy  Watkins  was  the  undisputed 
leader,  and  it  was  decided  that,  accom- 
panied by  a  duly  qualified  assistant,  he 
should  visit  the  village  of  Hammerpond 
in  his  professional  capacity. 

Being  a  man  of  naturally  retiring  and 
modest  disposition,  Mr  Watkins  deter- 
mined to  make  this  visit  incog.,  and  after 
due  consideration  of  the  conditions  of  his 
enterprise,  he  selected  the  role  of  a  land- 
scape artist  and  the  unassuming  surname 
of  Smith.  He  preceded  his  assistant,  who, 
it  was  decided,  should  join  him  only  on 
the  last  afternoon  of  his  stay  at  Hammer- 


216          THE  HAMMERPOND 

pond.  Now  the  village  of  Hammerpond 
is  perhaps  one  of  the  prettiest  little  corners 
in  Sussex ;  many  thatched  houses  still 
survive,  the  flint-built  church  with  its  tall 
spire  nestling  under  the  down  is  one  of  the 
finest  and  least  restored  in  the  county, 
and  the  beech- woods  and  bracken  jungles 
through  which  the  road  runs  to  the  great 
house  are  singularly  rich  in  what  the 
vulgar  artist  and  photographer  call  "  bits." 
So  that  Mr  Watkins,  on  his  arrival  with 
two  virgin  canvases,  a  brand-new  easel, 
a  paint-box,  portmanteau,  an  ingenious 
little  ladder  made  in  sections  (after  the 
pattern  of  the  late  lamented  master  Charles 
Peace),  crowbar,  and  wire  coils,  found  him- 
self welcomed  with  effusion  and  some 
curiosity  by  half-a-dozen  other  brethren  of 
the  brush.  It  rendered  the  disguise  he 
had  chosen  unexpectedly  plausible,  but  it 
inflicted  upon  him  a  considerable  amount 
of  aesthetic  conversation  for  which  he  was 
very  imperfectly  prepared. 

"  Have    you    exhibited    very   much  ? " 


PARK  BURGLARY  217 

said  Young  Person  in  the  bar-parlour 
of  the  "  Coach  and  Horses,"  where  Mr 
Watkins  was  skilfully  accumulating  local 
information  on  the  night  of  his  arrival. 

"Very  little,"  said  Mr  Watkins,  "just 
a  snack  here  and  there." 

"  Academy  ?  " 

"In  course.    Anal  at  the  Crystal  Palace." 

"  Did  they  hang  you  well  ?  "  said  Person. 

"  Don't  rot,"  said  Mr  Watkins;  "  I  don't 
like  it." 

"  I  mean  did  they  put  you  in  a  good 
place  ?  " 

"  Whadyer  mean  ?  "  said  Mr  Watkins 
suspiciously.  "  One  'ud  think  you  were 
trying  to  make  out  I'd  been  put  away." 

Person  had  been  brought  up  by  aunts, 
and  was  a  gentlemanly  young  man  even 
for  aji  artist ;  he  did  not  know  what 
being '"  put  away  "  meant,  but  he  thought 
it  best  to  explain  that  he  intended  nothing 
of  the  sort.  As  the  question  of  hanging 
seemed  a  sore  point  with  Mr  Watkins,  he 
tried  to  divert  the  conversation  a  little. 


218          THE  HAMMERPOND 

"  Do  you  do  figure-work  at  all  ?  " 

"  No,  never  had  a  head  for  figures," 
said  Mr  Watkins,  "  my  miss — Mrs  Smith, 
I  mean,  does  all  that." 

"  She  paints  too  !  "  said  Person. 
"  That's  rather  jolly." 

"Very,"  said  Mr  Watkins,  though  he 
really  did  not  think  so,  and,  feeling 
the  conversation  was  drifting  a  little 
beyond  his  grasp,  added,  "  I  came  down 
here  to  paint  Hammerpond  House  by 
moonlight." 

"  Really ! "  said  Person.  "  That's  rather 
a  novel  idea." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr  Watkins,  "  I  thought  it 
rather  a  good  notion  when  it  occurred  to 
me.  I  expect  to  begin  to-morrow  night." 

"  What !  You  don't  mean  to  paint  in 
the  open,  by  night  ?  " 

"  I  do,  though." 

"  But  how  will  you  see  your  canvas  ?  " 

"  Have  a  bloomin'  cop's — "  began  Mr 
Watkins,  rising  too  quickly  to  the  question, 
and  then  realising  this,  bawled  to  Miss 


PARK  BURGLARY  219 

Durgan  for  another  glass  of  beer.  "  I'm 
goin'  to  have  a  thing  called  a  dark  lantern," 
he  said  to  Person. 

"  But  it's  about  new  moon  now," 
objected  Person.  "  There  won't  be  any 
moon." 

"  There'll  be  the  house,"  said  Watkins, 
"  at  any  rate.  I'm  goin',  you  see,  to 
paint  the  house  first  and  the  moon  after- 
wards." 

"  Oh ! "  said  Person,  too  staggered  to 
continue  the  conversation. 

"  They  doo  say,"  said  old  Durgan,  the 
landlord,  who  had  maintained  a  respectful 
silence  during  the  technical  conversation, 
"as  there's  no  less  than  three  p'licemen 
from  'Azelworth  on  dewty  every  night  in 
the  house — 'count  of  this  Lady  Aveling  'n 
her  jewellery.  One'm  won  fower-and-six 
last  night,  off  second  footman — tossin'." 

Towards  sunset  next  day  Mr  Watkins, 
virgin  canvas,  easel,  and  a  very  consider- 
able case  of  other  appliances  in  hand, 
strolled  up  the  pleasant  pathway  through 


220          THE  HAMMERPOND 

the  beech-woods  to  Hammerpond  Park, 
and  pitched  his  apparatus  in  a  strategic 
position  commanding  the  house.  Here  he 
was  observed  by  Mr  Raphael  Sant,  who 
was  returning  across  the  park  from  a  study 
of  the  chalk-pits.  His  curiosity  having 
been  fired  by  Person's  account  of  the  new 
arrival,  he  turned  aside  with  the  idea  of 
discussing  nocturnal  art. 

Mr  Watkins  was  apparently  unaware 
of  his  approach.  A  friendly  conversation 
with  Lady  Hammerpond's  butler  had  just 
terminated,  and  that  individual,  surrounded 
by  the  three  pet  dogs  which  it  was  his 
duty  to  take  for  an  airing  after  dinner  had 
been  served,  was  receding  in  the  distance. 
Mr  Watkins  was  mixing  colour  with  an 
air  of  great  industry.  Sant,  approaching 
more  nearly,  was  surprised  to  see  the 
colour  in  question  was  as  harsh  and 
brilliant  an  emerald  green  as  it  is  possible 
to  imagine.  Having  cultivated  an  ex- 
treme sensibility  to  colour  from  his  earliest 
years,  he  drew  the  air  in  sharply  between 


PARK  BURGLARY  221 

his  teeth  at  the  very  first  glimpse  of  this 
brew.  Mr  Watkins  turned  round.  He 
looked  annoyed. 

"What  on  earth  are  you  going  to  do 
with  that  beastly  green  ?  "  said  Sant 

Mr  Watkins  realised  that  his  zeal  to 
appear  busy  in  the  eyes  of  the  butler  had 
evidently  betrayed  him  into  some  technical 
error.  He  looked  at  Sant  and  hesitated. 

"  Pardon  my  rudeness,"  said  Sant ;  "  but 
really,  that  green  is  altogether  too  amazing. 
It  came  as  a  shock.  What  do  you  mean 
to  do  with  it  ?  " 

Mr  Watkins  was  collecting  his  resources. 
Nothing  could  save  the  situation  but 
decision.  "If  you  come  here  interrupting 
my  work,"  he  said,  "  I'm  a-goin'  to  paint 
your  face  with  it." 

Sant  retired,  for  he  was  a  humourist 
and  a  peaceful  man.  Going  down  the 
hill  he  met  Porson  and  Wainwright. 
"  Either  that  man  is  a  genius  or  he  is  a 
dangerous  lunatic,"  said  he.  "Just  go  up 
and  look  at  his  green."  And  he  continued 


222          THE  HAMMERPOND 

his  way,  his  countenance  brightened  by  a 
pleasant  anticipation  of  a  cheerful  affray 
round  an  easel  in  the  gloaming,  and  the 
shedding  of  much  green  paint. 

But  to  Person  and  Wainwright  Mr 
Watkins  was  less  aggressive,  and  ex- 
plained that  the  green  was  intended  to 
be  the  first  coating  of  his  picture.  It 
was,  he  admitted  in  response  to  a  remark, 
an  absolutely  new  method,  invented  by 
himself.  But  subsequently  he  became 
more  reticent ;  he  explained  he  was  not 
going  to  tell  every  passer-by  the  secret 
of  his  own  particular  style,  and  added 
some  scathing  remarks  upon  the  mean- 
ness of  people  "hanging  about"  to  pick 
up  such  tricks  of  the  masters  as  they 
could,  which  immediately  relieved  him 
of  their  company. 

Twilight  deepened,  first  one  then  an- 
other star  appeared.  The  rooks  amid  the 
tall  trees  to  the  left  of  the  house  had 
long  since  lapsed  into  slumbrous  silence, 
the  house  itself  lost  all  the  details  of  its 


PARK  BURGLARY  223 

architecture  and  became  a  dark  grey  out- 
line, and  then  the  windows  of  the  salon 
shone  out  brilliantly,  the  conservatory 
was  lighted  up,  and  here  and  there  a 
bedroom  window  burnt  yellow.  Had 
anyone  approached  the  easel  in  the  park 
it  would  have  been  found  deserted.  One 
brief  uncivil  word  in  brilliant  green  sullied 
the  purity  of  its  canvas.  Mr  Watkins 
was  busy  in  the  shrubbery  with  his 
assistant,  who  had  discreetly  joined  him 
from  the  carriage-drive. 

Mr  Watkins  was  inclined  to  be  self- 
congratulatory  upon  the  ingenious  device 
by  which  he  had  carried  all  his  apparatus 
boldly,  and  in  the  sight  of  all  men,  right 
up  to  the  scene  of  operations.  "  That's 
the  dressing-room,"  he  said  to  his  assist- 
ant, "and,  as  soon  as  the  maid  takes 
the  candle  away  and  goes  down  to  supper, 
we'll  call  in.  My !  how  nice  the  house 
do  look,  to  be  sure,  against  the  starlight, 
and  with  all  its  windows  and  lights ! 
Swopme,  Jim,  I  almost  wish  I  was  a 


224          THE  HAMMERPOND 

painter-chap.     Have  you  fixed  that  there 
wire  across  the  path  from  the  laundry  ?  " 

He  cautiously  approached  the  house 
until  he  stood  below  the  dressing-room 
window,  and  began  to  put  together  his 
folding  ladder.  He  was  much  too  ex- 
perienced a  practitioner  to  feel  any  un- 
usual excitement  Jim  was  reconnoitring 
the  smoking-room.  Suddenly,  close 
beside  Mr  Watkins  in  the  bushes,  there 
was  a  violent  crash  and  a  stifled  curse. 
Someone  had  tumbled  over  the  wire 
which  his  assistant  had  just  arranged. 
He  heard  feet  running  on  the  gravel 
pathway  beyond.  Mr  Watkins,  like  all 
true  artists,  was  a  singularly  shy  man, 
and  he  incontinently  dropped  his  folding 
ladder  and  began  running  circumspectly 
through  the  shrubbery.  He  was  indis- 
tinctly aware  of  two  people  hot  upon 
his  heels,  and  he  fancied  that  he  dis- 
tinguished the  outline  of  his  assistant 
in  front  of  him.  In  another  moment  he 
had  vaulted  the  low  stone  wall  bounding 


PARK  BURGLARY  225 

the  shrubbery,  and  was  in  the  open  park. 
Two  thuds  on  the  turf  followed  his  own 
leap. 

It  was  a  close  chase  in  the  darkness 
through  the  trees.  Mr  Watkins  was  a 
loosely-built  man  and  in  good  training, 
and  he  gained  hand-over-hand  upon  the 
hoarsely  panting  figure  in  front.  Neither 
spoke,  but,  as  Mr  Watkins  pulled  up 
alongside,  a  qualm  of  awful  doubt  came 
over  him.  The  other  man  turned  his 
head  at  the  same  moment  and  gave  an 
exclamation  of  surprise.  "  It's  not  Jim," 
thought  Mr  Watkins,  and  simultaneously 
the  stranger  flung  himself,  as  it  were,  at 
Watkin's  knees,  and  they  were  forthwith 
grappling  on  the  ground  together. 
"  Lend  a  hand,  Bill,"  cried  the  stranger 
as  the  third  man  came  up.  And  Bill 
did — two  hands  in  fact,  and  some  accen- 
tuated feet.  The  fourth  man,  presumably 
Jim,  had  apparently  turned  aside  and 
made  off  in  a  different  direction.  At 
any  rate,  he  did  not  join  the  trio, 
p 


226          THE  HAMMERPOND 

Mr  Watkins'  memory  of  the  incidents 
of  the  next  two  minutes  is  extremely 
vague.  He  has  a  dim  recollection  of 
having  his  thumb  in  the  corner  of  the 
mouth  of  the  first  man,  and  feeling 
anxious  about  its  safety,  and  for  some 
seconds  at  least  he  held  the  head  of  the 
gentleman  answering  to  the  name  of  Bill, 
to  the  ground  by  the  hair.  He  was  also 
kicked  in  a  great  number  of  different 
places,  apparently  by  a  vast  multitude  of 
people.  Then  the  gentleman  who  was 
not  Bill  got  his  knee  below  Mr  Watkins' 
diaphragm,  and  tried  to  curl  him  up 
upon  it. 

When  his  sensations  became  less  en- 
tangled he  was  sitting  upon  the  turf, 
and  eight  or  ten  men — the  night  was 
dark,  and  he  was  rather  too  confused 
to  count — standing  round  him,  apparently 
waiting  for  him  to  recover.  He  mourn- 
fully assumed  that  he  was  captured,  and 
would  probably  have  made  some  philo- 
sophical reflections  on  the  fickleness  of 


PARK  BURGLARY  227 

fortune,  had  not  his  internal  sensations 
disinclined  him  for  speech. 

He  noticed  very  quickly  that  his  wrists 
were  not  handcuffed,  and  then  a  flask  of 
brandy  was  put  in  his  hands.  This 
touched  him  a  little  —  it  was  such  unex- 
pected kindness. 

"  He's  a-comin'  round,"  said  a  voice 
which  he  fancied  he  recognised  as  be- 
longing to  the  Hammerpond  second 
footman. 

"We've  got  'em,  sir,  both  of  'em,"  said 
the  Hammerpond  butler,  the  man  who 
had  handed  him  the  flask.  "  Thanks  to 


No  one  answered  this  remark.  Yet  he 
failed  to  see  how  it  applied  to  him. 

"  He's  fair  dazed,"  said  a  strange 
voice  ;  "  the  villains  half-murdered  him." 

Mr  Teddy  Watkins  decided  to  remain 
fair  dazed  until  he  had  a  better  grasp 
of  the  situation.  He  perceived  that  two 
of  the  black  figures  round  him  stood 
side-by-side  with  a  dejected  air,  and 


228          THE  HAMMERPOND 

there  was  something  in  the  carriage  of 
their  shoulders  that  suggested  to  his 
experienced  eye  hands  that  were  bound 
together.  Two !  In  a  flash  he  rose 
to  his  position.  He  emptied  the  little 
flask  and  staggered — obsequious  hands 
assisting  him — to  his  feet.  There  was 
a  sympathetic  murmur. 

"  Shake  hands,  sir,  shake  hands,"  said 
one  of  the  figures  near  him.  "  Permit 
me  to  introduce  myself.  I  am  very 
greatly  indebted  to  you.  It  was  the 
jewels  of  my  wife,  Lady  Aveling,  which 
attracted  these  scoundrels  to  the  house." 

"  Very  glad  to  make  your  lordship's 
acquaintance,"  said  Teddy  Watkins. 

"  I  presume  you  saw  the  rascals  making 
for  the  shrubbery,  and  dropped  down  on 
them?" 

"  That's  exactly  how  it  happened," 
said  Mr  Watkins. 

"  You  should  have  waited  till  they  got 
in  at  the  window,"  said  Lord  Aveling ; 
"  they  would  get  it  hotter  if  they  had 


PARK  BURGLARY  229 

actually  committed  the  burglary.  And 
it  was  lucky  for  you  two  of  the  police- 
men were  out  by  the  gates,  and  followed 
up  the  three  of  you.  I  doubt  if  you 
could  have  secured  the  two  of  them — 
though  it  was  confoundedly  plucky  of 
you,  all  the  same." 

"  Yes,  I  ought  to  have  thought  of  all 
that,"  said  Mr  Watkins  ;  "  but  one  can't 
think  of  every  think." 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  Lord  Aveling. 
"  I  am  afraid  they  have  mauled  you  a 
little,"  he  added.  The  party  was  now 
moving  towards  the  house.  "  You  walk 
rather  lame.  May  I  offer  you  my  arm  ?  " 

And  instead  of  entering  Hammerpond 
House  by  the  dressing-room  window, 
Mr  Watkins  entered  it — slightly  intoxi- 
cated, and  inclined  now  to  cheerfulness 
again — on  the  arm  of  a  real  live  peer, 
and  by  the  front  door.  "  This,"  thought 
Mr  Watkins,  "  is  burgling  in  style ! " 
The  "  scoundrels,"  seen  by  the  gaslight, 
proved  to  be  mere  local  amateurs  un- 


230          THE  HAMMERPOND 

known  to  Mr  Watkins,  and  they  were 
taken  down  into  the  pantry  and  there 
watched  over  by  the  three  policemen, 
two  gamekeepers  with  loaded  guns,  the 
butler,  an  ostler,  and  a  carman,  until  the 
dawn  allowed  of  their  removal  to  Hazel- 
hurst  police-station.  Mr  Watkins  was 
made  much  of  in  the  saloon.  They 
devoted  a  sofa  to  him,  and  would  not 
hear  of  a  return  to  the  village  that  night. 
Lady  Aveling  was  sure  he  was  brilliantly 
original,  and  said  her  idea  of  Turner  was 
just  such  another  rough,  half-inebriated, 
deep-eyed,  brave,  and  clever  man.  Some 
one  brought  up  a  remarkable  little  fold- 
ing-ladder that  had  been  picked  up  in  the 
shrubbery,  and  showed  him  how  it  was 
put  together.  They  also  described  how 
wires  had  been  found  in  the  shrubbery, 
evidently  placed  there  to  trip-up  unwary 
pursuers.  It  was  lucky  he  had  escaped 
these  snares.  And  they  showed  him  the 
jewels. 

Mr  Watkins  had  the  sense  not  to  talk 


PARK  BURGLARY  231 

too  much,  and  in  any  conversational 
difficulty  fell  back  on  his  internal  pains. 
At  last  he  was  seized  with  stiffness  in 
the  back,  and  yawning.  Everyone 
suddenly  awoke  to  the  fact  that  it  was 
a  shame  to  keep  him  talking  after  his 
affray,  so  he  retired  early  to  his  room, 
the  little  red  room  next  to  Lord  Aveling's 
suite. 

The  dawn  found  a  deserted  easel  bear- 
ing a  canvas  with  a  green  inscription, 
in  the  Hammerpond  Park,  and  it  found 
Hammerpond  House  in  commotion. 
But  if  the  dawn  found  Mr  Teddy 
Watkins  and  the  Aveling  diamonds,  it 
did  not  communicate  the  information  to 
the  police. 


A  MOTH— GENUS  NOVO 

F)  ROB  A  ELY  you  have  heard  of 
1  Hapley — not  W.  T.  Hapley,  the 
son,  but  the  celebrated  Hapley,  the 
Hapley  of  Periplaneta  Hapliia,  Hapley 
the  entomologist  If  so  you  know  at  least 
of  the  great  feud  between  Hapley  and 
Professor  Pawkins.  Though  certain  of  its 
consequences  may  be  new  to  you.  For 
those  who  have  not,  a  word  or  two  of 
explanation  is  necessary,  which  the  idle 
reader  may  go  over  with  a  glancing  eye, 
if  his  indolence  so  incline  him. 

It  is  amazing  how  very  widely  diffused 
is  the  ignorance  of  such  really  important 
matters  as  this  Hapley- Pawkins  feud. 
Those  epoch-making  controversies,  again, 
that  have  convulsed  the  Geological 
Society,  are,  I  verily  believe,  almost 
entirely  unknown  outside  the  fellowship 

838 


A  MOTH— GENUS  NOVO      233 

of  that  body.  I  have  heard  men  of  fair 
general  education  even  refer  to  the  great 
scenes  at  these  meetings  as  vestry-meeting 
squabbles.  Yet  the  great  Hate  of  the 
English  and  Scotch  geologists  has  lasted 
now  half  a  century,  and  has  "  left  deep  and 
abundant  marks  upon  the  body  of  the 
science."  And  this  Hapley-Pawkins  busi- 
ness, though  perhaps  a  more  personal 
affair,  stirred  passions  as  profound,  if  not 
profounder.  Your  common  man  has  no 
conception  of  the  zeal  that  animates  a 
scientific  investigator,  the  fury  of  con- 
tradiction you  can  arouse  in  him.  It  is 
the  odium  theologicum  in  a  new  form. 
There  are  men,  for  instance,  who  would 
gladly  burn  Professor  Ray  Lankester  at 
Smithfield  for  his  treatment  of  the  Mol- 
lusca  in  the  Encyclopaedia.  That  fantastic 
extension  of  the  Cephalopods  to  cover  the 
Pteropods  .  .  .  But  I  wander  from  Hapley 
and  Pawkins. 

It  began  years   and  years  ago,  with  a 
revision   of  the    Microlepidoptera   (what- 


234      A  MOTH— GENUS  NOVO 

ever  these  may  be)  by  Pawkins,  in  which 
he  extinguished  a  new  species  created  by 
Hapley.  Hapley,  who  was  always  quarrel- 
some, replied  by  a  stinging  impeachment 
of  the  entire  classification  of  Pawkins.* 
Pawkins,  in  his  "  Rejoinder/'t  suggested 
that  Hapley 's  microscope  was  as  defective 
as  his  powers  of  observation,  and  called 
him  an  "irresponsible  meddler" — Hapley 
was  not  a  professor  at  that  time.  Hapley, 
in  his  retort,!  spoke  of  "  blundering  col- 
lectors," and  described,  as  if  inadvertently, 
Pawkins'  revision  as  a  "  miracle  of  inepti- 
tude." It  was  war  to  the  knife.  How- 
ever, it  would  scarcely  interest  the  reader 
to  detail  how  these  two  great  men 
quarrelled,  and  how  the  split  between 
them  widened  until  from  the  Microlepi- 
doptera  they  were  at  war  upon  every  open 
question  in  entomology.  There  were 
memorable  occasions.  At  times  the  Royal 

* "  Remarks    on  a  Recent    Revision    of   Microlepi- 
doptera."     Quart.  Journ.  Entomological  Soc.  1863. 
+  "  Rejoinder  to  certain  Remarks,"  &c.     Ibid.  1864. 
|  "  Further  Remarks,"  &c.    Ibid. 


A  MOTH— GENUS  NOVO      235 

Entomological  Society  meetings  resembled 
nothing  so  much  as  the  Chamber  of  De- 
puties. On  the  whole,  I  fancy  Pawkins 
was  nearer  the  truth  than  Hapley.  But 
Hapley  was  skilful  with  his  rhetoric,  had  a 
turn  for  ridicule  rare  in  a  scientific  man, 
was  endowed  with  vast  energy,  and  had  a 
fine  sense  of  injury  in  the  matter  of  the  ex- 
tinguished species ;  while  Pawkins  was  a 
man  of  dull  presence,  prosy  of  speech,  in 
shape  not  unlike  a  water-barrel,  over-con- 
scientious with  testimonials,  and  suspected 
of  jobbing  museum  appointments.  So  the 
young  men  gathered  round  Hapley  and 
applauded  him.  It  was  a  long  struggle, 
vicious  from  the  beginning,  and  growing 
at  last  to  pitiless  antagonism.  The  suc- 
cessive turns  of  fortune,  now  an  advantage 
to  one  side  and  now  to  another  —  now 
Hapley  tormented  by  some  success  of 
Pawkins,  and  now  Pawkins  outshone  by 
Hapley,  belong  rather  to  the  history  of 
entomology  than  to  this  story. 

But  in  1891  Pawkins,  whose  health  had 


236      A  MOTH— GENUS  NOVO 

been  bad  for  some  time,  published  some 
work  upon  the  "mesoblast"  of  the  Death's 
Head  Moth.  What  the  mesoblast  of  the 
Death's  Head  Moth  may  be,  does  not 
matter  a  rap  in  this  story.  But  the  work 
was  far  below  his  usual  standard,  and  gave 
Hapley  an  opening  he  had  coveted  for 
years.  He  must  have  worked  night  and 
day  to  make  the  most  of  his  advantage. 

In  an  elaborate  critique  he  rent  Pawkins 
to  tatters — one  can  fancy  the  man's  dis- 
ordered black  hair,  and  his  queer  dark 
eyes  flashing  as  he  went  for  his  antagonist 
— and  Pawkins  made  a  reply,  halting, 
ineffectual,  with  painful  gaps  of  silence, 
and  yet  malignant.  There  was  no  mis- 
taking his  will  to  wound  Hapley,  nor  his 
incapacity  to  do  it.  But  few  of  those  who 
heard  him — I  was  absent  from  that  meet- 
ing— realised  how  ill  the  man  was. 

Hapley  had  got  his  opponent  down,  and 
meant  to  finish  him.  He  followed  with  a 
simply  brutal  attack  upon  Pawkins,  in  the 
form  of  a  paper  upon  the  development 


A  MOTH— GENUS  NOVO      237 

of  moths  in  general,  a  paper  showing 
evidence  of  a  most  extraordinary  amount 
of  mental  labour,  and  yet  couched  in  a 
violently  controversial  tone.  Violent  as  it 
was,  an  editorial  note  witnesses  that  it 
was  modified.  It  must  have  covered 
Pawkins  with  shame  and  confusion  of  face. 
It  left  no  loophole ;  it  was  murderous  in 
argument,  and  utterly  contemptuous  in 
tone ;  an  awful  thing  for  the  declining 
years  of  a  man's  career. 

The  world  of  entomologists  waited 
breathlessly  for  the  rejoinder  from  Paw- 
kins.  He  would  try  one,  for  Pawkins  had 
always  been  game.  But  when  it  came 
it  surprised  them.  For  the  rejoinder  of 
Pawkins  was  to  catch  the  influenza,  to 
proceed  to  pneumonia,  and  to  die. 

It  was  perhaps  as  effectual  a  reply  as 
he  could  make  under  the  circumstances, 
and  largely  turned  the  current  of  feeling 
against  Hapley.  The  very  people  who 
had  most  gleefully  cheered  on  those  gladi- 
ators became  serious  at  the  consequence. 


238      A  MOTH— GENUS  NOVO 

There  could  be  no  reasonable  doubt  the 
fret  of  the  defeat  had  contributed  to  the 
death  of  Pawkins.  There  was  a  limit 
even  to  scientific  controversy,  said  serious 
people.  Another  crushing  attack  was 
already  in  the  press  and  appeared  on  the 
day  before  the  funeral.  I  don't  think 
Hapley  exerted  himself  to  stop  it.  People 
remembered  how  Hapley  had  hounded 
down  his  rival,  and  forgot  that  rival's  de- 
fects. Scathing  satire  reads  ill  over  fresh 
mould.  The  thing  provoked  comment  in 
the  daily  papers.  This  it  was  that  made 
me  think  that  you  had  probably  heard  of 
Hapley  and  this  controversy.  But,  as  I 
have  already  remarked,  scientific  workers 
live  very  much  in  a  world  of  their  own ; 
half  the  people,  I  dare  say,  who  go  along 
Piccadilly  to  the  Academy  every  year, 
could  not  tell  you  where  the  learned 
societies  abide.  Many  even  think  that 
Research  is  a  kind  of  happy-family  cage 
in  which  all  kinds  of  men  lie  down  to- 
gether in  peace. 


A  MOTH— GENUS  NOVO      239 

In  his  private  thoughts  Hapley  could 
not  forgive  Pawkins  for  dying.  In  the 
first  place,  it  was  a  mean  dodge  to  escape 
the  absolute  pulverisation  Hapley  had  in 
hand  for  him,  and  in  the  second,  it  left 
Hapley 's  mind  with  a  queer  gap  in  it. 
For  twenty  years  he  had  worked  hard, 
sometimes  far  into  the  night,  and  seven 
days  a  week,  with  microscope,  scalpel, 
collecting-net,  and  pen,  and  almost  en- 
tirely with  reference  to  Pawkins.  The 
European  reputation  he  had  won  had 
come  as  an  incident  in  that  great  anti- 
pathy. He  had  gradually  worked  up  to 
a  climax  in  this  last  controversy.  It  had 
killed  Pawkins,  but  it  had  also  thrown 
Hapley  out  of  gear,  so  to  speak,  and  his 
doctor  advised  him  to  give  up  work  for  a 
time,  and  rest.  So  Hapley  went  down 
into  a  quiet  village  in  Kent,  and  thought 
day  and  night  of  Pawkins,  and  good 
things  it  was  now  impossible  to  say  about 
him. 

At  last  Hapley  began  to  realise  in  what 


240     A  MOTH— GENUS  NOVO 

direction  the  pre-occupation  tended.  He 
determined  to  make  a  fight  for  it,  and 
started  by  trying  to  read  novels.  But  he 
could  not  get  his  mind  off  Pawkins,  white 
in  the  face,  and  making  his  last  speech 
— every  sentence  a  beautiful  opening  for 
Hapley.  He  turned  to  fiction — and  found 
it  had  no  grip  on  him.  He  read  the 
"  Island  Nights'  Entertainments"  until  his 
"  sense  of  causation  "  was  shocked  beyond 
endurance  by  the  Bottle  Imp.  Then  he 
went  to  Kipling,  and  found  he  "  proved 
nothing,"  besides  being  irreverent  and 
vulgar.  These  scientific  people  have  their 
limitations.  Then  unhappily,  he  tried 
Besant's  "  Inner  House,"  and  the  opening 
chapter  set  his  mind  upon  learned  societies 
and  Pawkins  at  once. 

So  Hapley  turned  to  chess,  and  found 
it  a  little  more  soothing.  He  soon 
mastered  the  moves  and  the  chief  gambits 
and  commoner  closing  positions,  and  began 
to  beat  the  Vicar.  But  then  the  cylindrical 
contours  of  the  opposite  king  began  to 


A  MOTH— GENUS  NOVO      241 

resemble  Pawkins  standing  up  and  gasp- 
ing ineffectually  against  Check-mate,  and 
Hapley  decided  to  give  up  chess. 

Perhaps  the  study  of  some  new  branch  of 
science  would  after  all  be  better  diversion. 
The  best  rest  is  change  of  occupation. 
Hapley  determined  to  plunge  at  diatoms, 
and  had  one  of  his  smaller  microscopes 
and  Halibut's  monograph  sent  down  from 
London.  He  thought  that  perhaps  if  he 
could  get  up  a  vigorous  quarrel  with 
Halibut,  he  might  be  able  to  begin  life 
afresh  and  forget  Pawkins.  And  very 
soon  he  was  hard  at  work,  in  his  habitual 
strenuous  fashion,  at  these  microscopic 
denizens  of  the  way-side  pool. 

It  was  on  the  third  day  of  the  diatoms 
that  Hapley  became  aware  of  a  novel 
addition  to  the  local  fauna.  He  was 
working  late  at  the  microscope,  and  the 
only  light  in  the  room  was  the  brilliant 
little  lamp  with  the  special  form  of  green 
shade.  Like  all  experienced  microscopists, 
he  kept  both  eyes  open.  It  is  the  only 
Q 


242      A  MOTH— GENUS  NOVO 

way  to  avoid  excessive  fatigue.  One  eye 
was  over  the  instrument,  and  bright  and 
distinct  before  that  was  the  circular  field 
of  the  microscope,  across  which  a  brown 
diatom  was  slowly  moving.  With  the 
other  eye  Hapley  saw,  as  it  were,  without 
seeing.*  He  was  only  dimly  conscious 
of  the  brass  side  of  the  instrument,  the 
illuminated  part  of  the  table-cloth,  a  sheet 
of  note-paper,  the  foot  of  the  lamp,  and 
the  darkened  room  beyond. 

Suddenly  his  attention  drifted  from  one 
eye  to  the  other.  The  table-cloth  was  of 
the  material  called  tapestry  by  shopmen, 
and  rather  brightly  coloured.  The  pattern 
was  in  gold,  with  a  small  amount  of  crimson 
and  pale  blue  upon  a  greyish  ground.  At 
one  point  the  pattern  seemed  displaced, 
and  there  was  a  vibrating  movement  of 
the  colours  at  this  point. 

Hapley  suddenly  moved  his  head  back 

*  The  reader  unaccustomed  to  microscopes  may  easily 
understand  this  by  rolling  a  newspaper  in  the  form  of  a 
tube  and  looking  through  it  at  a  book,  keeping  the  other 
eye  open. 


A  MOTH— GENUS  NOVO      243 

and  looked  with  both  eyes.  His  mouth 
fell  open  with  astonishment. 

It  was  a  large  moth  or  butterfly ;  its 
wings  spread  in  butterfly  fashion ! 

It  was  strange  it  should  be  in  the  room 
at  all,  for  the  windows  were  closed. 
Strange  that  it  should  not  have  attracted 
his  attention  when  fluttering  to  its  present 
position.  Strange  that  it  should  match 
the  table-cloth.  Stranger  far  that  to  him, 
Hapley,  the  great  entomologist,  it  was 
altogether  unknown.  There  was  no  de- 

o 

lusion.  It  was  crawling  slowly  towards 
the  foot  of  the  lamp. 

"  Genus  novo,  by  heavens !  And  in 
England  ! "  said  Hapley,  staring. 

Then  he  suddenly  thought  of  Pawkins. 
Nothing  would  have  maddened  Pawkins 
more.  .  .  .  And  Pawkins  was  dead ! 

Something  about  the  head  and  body  of 
the  insect  became  singularly  suggestive 
of  Pawkins,  just  as  the  chess  king  had 
been. 

"  Confound    Pawkins ! "    said    Hapley. 


244     A  MOTH—GENUS  NOVO 

"  But  I  must  catch  this."  And,  looking 
round  him  for  some  means  of  capturing 
the  moth,  he  rose  slowly  out  of  his  chair. 
Suddenly  the  insect  rose,  struck  the  edge 
of  the  lampshade — Hapley  heard  the 
"ping" — and  vanished  into  the  shadow. 

In  a  moment  Hapley  had  whipped  off 
the  shade,  so  that  the  whole  room  was 
illuminated.  The  thing  had  disappeared, 
but  soon  his  practised  eye  detected  it  upon 
the  wall  paper  near  the  door.  He  went 
towards  it,  poising  the  lamp-shade  for 
capture.  Before  he  was  within  striking 
distance,  however,  it  had  risen  and  was 
fluttering  round  the  room.  After  the 
fashion  of  its  kind,  it  flew  with  sudden 
starts  and  turns,  seeming  to  vanish  here 
and  reappear  there.  Once  Hapley  struck, 
and  missed ;  then  again. 

The  third  time  he  hit  his  microscope. 
The  instrument  swayed,  struck  and  over- 
turned the  lamp,  and  fell  noisily  upon  the 
floor.  The  lamp  turned  over  on  the  table 
and,  very  luckily,  went  out.  Hapley  was 


A  MOTH— GENUS  NOVO      245 

left  in  the  dark.  With  a  start  he  felt  the 
strange  moth  blunder  into  his  face. 

It  was  maddening.  He  had  no  lights. 
If  he  opened  the  door  of  the  room  the 
thing  would  get  away.  In  the  darkness 
he  saw  Pawkins  quite  distinctly  laughing 
at  him.  Pawkins  had  ever  an  oily  laugh. 
He  swore  furiously  and  stamped  his  foot 
on  the  floor. 

There  was  a  timid  rapping  at  the  door. 

Then  it  opened,  perhaps  a  foot,  and 
very  slowly.  The  alarmed  face  of  the 
landlady  appeared  behind  a  pink  candle 
flame  ;  she  wore  a  night-cap  over  her  grey 
hair  and  had  some  purple  garment  over 
her  shoulders.  "What  was  that  fearful 

smash  ?  "  she  said.  "  Has  anything " 

The  strange  moth  appeared  fluttering 
about  the  chink  of  the  door.  "  Shut  that 
door !  "  said  Hapley,  and  suddenly  rushed 
at  her. 

The  door  slammed  hastily.  Hapley 
was  left  alone  in  the  dark.  Then  in  the 
pause  he  heard  his  landlady  scuttle  up- 


246      A -MOTH— GENUS  NOVO 

stairs,  lock  her  door  and  drag  something 
heavy  across  the  room  and  put  against  it. 

It  became  evident  to  Hapley  that  his 
conduct  and  appearance  had  been  strange 
and  alarming.  Confound  the  moth !  and 
Pawkins!  However,  it  was  a  pity  to  lose 
the  moth  now.  He  felt  his  way  into  the 
hall  and  found  the  matches,  after  sending 
his  hat  down  upon  the  floor  with  a  noise 
like  a  drum.  With  the  lighted  candle  he 
returned  to  the  sitting-room.  No  moth 
was  to  be  seen.  Yet  once  for  a  moment 
it  seemed  that  the  thing  was  fluttering 
round  his  head.  Hapley  very  suddenly 
decided  to  give  up  the  moth  and  go  to 
bed.  But  he  was  excited.  All  night  long 
his  sleep  was  broken  by  dreams  of  the 
moth,  Pawkins,  and  his  landlady.  Twice 
in  the  night  he  turned  out  and  soused  his 
head  in  cold  water. 

One  thing  was  very  clear  to  him.  His 
landlady  could  not  possibly  understand 
about  the  strange  moth,  especially  as  he 
had  failed  to  catch  it  No  one  but  an 


A  MOTH— GENUS  NOVO      247 

entomologist  would  understand  quite  how 
he  felt.  She  was  probably  frightened  at 
his  behaviour,  and  yet  he  failed  to  see  how 
he  could  explain  it.  He  decided  to  say 
nothing  further  about  the  events  of  last 
night  After  breakfast  he  saw  her  in  her 
garden,  and  decided  to  go  out  to  talk  to 
her  to  reassure  her.  He  talked  to  her 
about  beans  and  potatoes,  bees,  cater- 
pillars, and  the  price  of  fruit.  She  replied 
in  her  usual  manner,  but  she  looked  at  him 
a  little  suspiciously,  and  kept  walking  as 
he  walked,  so  that  there  was  always  a  bed 
of  flowers,  or  a  row  of  beans,  or  something 
of  the  sort,  between  them.  After  a  while 
he  began  to  feel  singularly  irritated  at 
this,  and  to  conceal  his  vexation  went  in- 
doors and  presently  went  out  for  a  walk. 

The  moth,  or  butterfly,  trailing  an  odd 
flavour  of  Pawkins  with  it,  kept  coming 
into  that  walk,  though  he  did  his  best  to 
keep  his  mind  off  it  Once  he  saw  it 
quite  distinctly,  with  its  wings  flattened 
out,  upon  the  old  stone  wall  that  runs 


248     A  MOTH— GENUS  NOVO 

along  the  west  edge  of  the  park,  but 
going  up  to  it  he  found  it  was  only  two 
lumps  of  grey  and  yellow  lichen.  "  This," 
said  Hapley,  "  is  the  reverse  of  mimicry. 
Instead  of  a  butterfly  looking  like  a  stone, 
here  is  a  stone  looking  like  a  butterfly ! " 
Once  something  hovered  and  fluttered 
round  his  head,  but  by  an  effort  of  will  he 
drove  that  impression  out  of  his  mind 
again. 

In  the  afternoon    Hapley  called  upon 
the   Vicar,   and    argued   with   him   upon 
theological   questions.     They   sat   in   the 
little    arbour    covered    with    briar,    and 
smoked  as  they  wrangled.     "  Look  at  that 
moth ! "  said   Hapley,  suddenly,  pointing 
to  the  edge  of  the  wooden  table. 
"  Where  ?  "  said  the  Vicar. 
"  You  don't  see  a  moth  on  the  edge  of 
the  table  there  ?  "  said  Hapley. 
"  Certainly  not,"  said  the  Vicar. 
Hapley  was  thunderstruck.     He  gasped. 
The  Vicar  was  staring  at  him.     Clearly 
the  man  saw  nothing.     "  The  eye  of  faith 


A  MOTH— GENUS  NOVO      249 

is  no  better  than  the  eye  of  science,"  said 
Hapley,  awkwardly. 

"  I  don't  see  your  point,"  said  the  Vicar, 
thinking  it  was  part  of  the  argument. 

That  night  Hapley  found  the  moth 
crawling  over  his  counterpane.  He  sat 
on  the  edge  of  the  bed  in  his  shirt-sleeves 
and  reasoned  with  himself.  Was  it  pure 
hallucination  ?  He  knew  he  was  slipping, 
and  he  battled  for  his  sanity  with  the 
same  silent  energy  he  had  formerly  dis- 
played against  Pawkins.  So  persistent  is 
mental  habit,  that  he  felt  as  if  it  were  still 
a  struggle  with  Pawkins.  He  was  well 
versed  in  psychology.  He  knew  that 
such  visual  illusions  do  come  as  a  result 
of  mental  strain.  But  the  point  was,  he 
did  not  only  see  the  moth,  he  had  heard 
it  when  it  touched  the  edge  of  the  lamp- 
shade, and  afterwards  when  it  hit  against 
the  wall,  and  he  had  felt  it  strike  his  face 
in  the  dark. 

He  looked  at  it.  It  was  not  at  all 
dreamlike,  but  perfectly  clear  and  solid- 


250     A  MOTH— GENUS  NOVO 

looking  in  the  candle-light.  He  saw  the 
hairy  body,  and  the  short  feathery  antennae, 
the  jointed  legs,  even  a  place  where  the 
down  was  rubbed  from  the  wing.  He 
suddenly  felt  angry  with  himself  for  being 
afraid  of  a  little  insect. 

His  landlady  had  got  the  servant  to 
sleep  with  her  that  night,  because  she  was 
afraid  to  be  alone.  In  addition  she  had 
locked  the  door,  and  put  the  chest  of 
drawers  against  it.  They  listened  and 
talked  in  whispers  after  they  had  gone  to 
bed,  but  nothing  occurred  to  alarm  them. 
About  eleven  they  had  ventured  to  put  the 
candle  out,  and  had  both  dozed  off  to 
sleep.  They  woke  up  with  a  start,  and 
sat  up  in  bed,  listening  in  the  darkness. 

Then  they  heard  slippered  feet  going  to 
and  fro  in  Hapley's  room.  A  chair  was 
overturned,  and  there  was  a  violent  dab 
at  the  wall.  Then  a  china  mantel  orna- 
ment smashed  upon  the  fender.  Suddenly 
the  door  of  the  room  opened,  and  they 
heard  him  upon  the  landing."  They  clung 


A  MOTH— GENUS  NOVO      251 

to  one  another,  listening.  He  seemed  to 
be  dancing  upon  the  staircase.  Now  he 
would  go  down  three  or  four  steps  quickly, 
then  up  again,  then  hurry  down  into  the 
hall.  They  heard  the  umbrella  stand  go 
over,  and  the  fanlight  break.  Then  the 
bolt  shot  and  the  chain  rattled.  He  was 
opening  the  door. 

They  hurried  to  the  window.  It  was  a 
dim  grey  night ;  an  almost  unbroken  sheet 
of  watery  cloud  was  sweeping  across  the 
moon,  and  the  hedge  and  trees  in  front  of 
the  house  were  black  against  the  pale 
roadway.  They  saw  Hapley,  looking  like 
a  ghost  in  his  shirt  and  white  trousers, 
running  to  and  fro  in  the  road,  and  beat- 
ing the  air.  Now  he  would  stop,  now 
he  would  dart  very  rapidly  at  something 
invisible,  now  he  would  move  upon  it  with 
stealthy  strides.  At  last  he  went  out  of 
sight  up  the  road  towards  the  down. 
Then,  while  they  argued  who  should  go 
down  and  lock  the  door,  he  returned.  He 
was  walking  very  fast,  and  he  came  straight 


252      A  MOTH— GENUS  NOVO 

into  the  house,  closed  the  door  carefully, 
and  went  quietly  up  to  his  bedroom.  Then 
everything  was  silent. 

"  Mrs  Colville,"  said  Hapley,  calling 
down  the  staircase  next  morning.  "  I  hope 
I  did  not  alarm  you  last  night." 

"  You  may  well  ask  that ! "  said  Mrs 
Colville. 

"  The  fact  is,  I  am  a  sleep-walker,  and 
the  last  two  nights  I  have  been  without 
my  sleeping  mixture.  There  is  nothing  to 
be  alarmed  about,  really.  I  am  sorry  I 
made  such  an  ass  of  myself.  I  will  go 
over  the  down  to  Shoreham,  and  get  some 
stuff  to  make  me  sleep  soundly.  I  ought 
to  have  done  that  yesterday." 

But  half-way  over  the  down,  by  the 
chalk  pits,  the  moth  came  upon  Hapley 
again.  He  went  on,  trying  to  keep  his 
mind  upon  chess  problems,  but  it  was  no 
good.  The  thing  fluttered  into  his  face, 
and  he  struck  at  it  with  his  hat  in  self- 
defence.  Then  rage,  the  old  rage — the 
rage  he  had  so  often  felt  against  Pawkins 


A  MOTH -GENUS  NOVO      253 

— came  upon  him  again.  He  went  on, 
leaping  and  striking  at  the  eddying  insect 
Suddenly  he  trod  on  nothing,  and  fell 
headlong. 

There  was  a  gap  in  his  sensations,  and 
Hapley  found  himself  sitting  on  the  heap  of 
flints  in  front  of  the  opening  of  the  chalk- 
pits, with  a  leg  twisted  back  under  him. 
The  strange  moth  was  still  fluttering  round 
his  head.  He  struck  at  it  with  his  hand, 
and  turning  his  head  saw  two  men  ap- 
proaching him.  One  was  the  village 
doctor.  It  occurred  to  Hapley  that  this 
was  lucky.  Then  it  came  into  his  mind, 
with  extraordinary  vividness,  that  no  one 
would  ever  be  able  to  see  the  strange  moth 
except  himself,  and  that  it  behoved  him  to 
keep  silent  about  it. 

Late  that  night,  however,  after  his 
broken  leg  was  set,  he  was  feverish  and 
forgot  his  self-restraint.  He  was  lying 
flat  on  his  bed,  and  he  began  to  run  his 
eyes  round  the  room  to  see  if  the  moth 
was  still  about.  He  tried  not  to  do  this, 


254      A  MOTH— GENUS  NOVO 

but  it  was  no  good.  He  soon  caught  sight 
of  the  thing  resting  close  to  his  hand,  by 
the  night-light,  on  the  green  table-cloth. 
The  wings  quivered.  With  a  sudden 
wave  of  anger  he  smote  at  it  with  his  fist, 
and  the  nurse  woke  up  with  a  shriek.  He 
had  missed  it. 

"  That  moth  !  "  he  said  ;  and  then,  "  It 
was  fancy.  Nothing  ! " 

All  the  time  he  could  see  quite  clearly 
the  insect  going  round  the  cornice  and 
darting  across  the  room,  and  he  could  also 
see  that  the  nurse  saw  nothing  of  it  and 
looked  at  him  strangely.  He  must  keep 
himself  in  hand.  He  knew  he  was  a  lost 
man  if  he  did  not  keep  himself  in  hand. 
But  as  the  night  waned  the  fever  grew 
upon  him,  and  the  very  dread  he  had 
of  seeing  the  moth  made  him  see  it. 
About  five,  just  as  the  dawn  was  grey,  he 
tried  to  get  out  of  bed  and  catch  it,  though 
his  leg  was  afire  with  pain.  The  nurse 
had  to  struggle  with  him. 

On    account    of    this,    they    tied    him 


A  MOTH— GENUS  NOVO      255 

down  to  the  bed.  At  this  the  moth  grew 
bolder,  and  once  he  felt  it  settle  in  his  hair. 
Then,  because  he  struck  out  violently  with 
his  arms,  they  tied  these  also.  At  this 
the  moth  came  and  crawled  over  his  face, 
and  Hapley  wept,  swore,  screamed,  prayed 
for  them  to  take  it  off  him,  unavailingly. 

The  doctor  was  a  blockhead,  a  half- 
qualified  general  practitioner,  and  quite 
ignorant  of  mental  science.  He  simply 
said  there  was  no  moth.  Had  he  possessed 
the  wit,  he  might  still,  perhaps,  have  saved 
Hapley  from  his  fate  by  entering  into  his 
delusion  and  covering  his  face  with  gauze, 
as  he  prayed  might  be  done.  But,  as  I 
say,  the  doctor  was  a  blockhead,  and  until 
the  leg  was  healed  Hapley  was  kept  tied 
to  his  bed,  and  with  the  imaginary  moth 
crawling  over  him.  It  never  left  him 
while  he  was  awake  and  it  grew  to  a 
monster  in  his  dreams.  While  he  was 
awake  he  longed  for  sleep,  and  from  sleep 
he  awoke  screaming. 

So   now    Hapley   is   spending   the  re- 


256     A  MOTH— GENUS  NOVO 

mainder  of  his  days  in  a  padded  room, 
worried  by  a  moth  that  no  one  else  can 
see.  The  asylum  doctor  calls  it  hal- 
lucination ;  but  Hapley,  when  he  is  in 
his  easier  mood,  and  can  talk,  says  it  is 
the  ghost  of  Pawkins,  and  consequently 
a  unique  specimen  and  well  worth  the 
trouble  of  catching. 


THE  TREASURE  IN  THE 
FOREST 

THE  canoe  was  now  approaching  the 
land.  The  bay  opened  out,  and  a 
gap  in  the  white  surf  of  the  reef  marked 
where  the  little  river  ran  out  to  the  sea  ; 
the  thicker  and  deeper  green  of  the  virgin 
forest  showed  its  course  down  the  distant 
hill  slope.  The  forest  here  came  close  to 
the  beach.  Far  beyond,  dim  and  almost 
cloudlike  in  texture,  rose  the  mountains, 
like  suddenly  frozen  waves.  The  sea  was 
still  save  for  an  almost  imperceptible 
swell.  The  sky  blazed. 

The  man  with  the  carved  paddle 
stopped.  "  It  should  be  somewhere  here," 
he  said.  He  shipped  the  paddle  and  held 
his  arms  out  straight  before  him. 

The  other  man  had  been  in  the  fore 
part  of  the  canoe,  closely  scrutinising  the 
R  2S7 


258  THE  TREASURE  IN 

land.     He  had  a  sheet  of  yellow  paper  on 
his  knee. 

"  Come  and  look  at  this,  Evans,"  he 
said. 

Both  men  spoke  in  low  tones,  and  their 
lips  were  hard  and  dry. 

The  man  called  Evans  came  swaying 
along  the  canoe  until  he  could  look  over 
his  companion's  shoulder. 

The  paper  had  the  appearance  of  a 
rough  map.  By  much  folding  it  was 
creased  and  worn  to  the  pitch  of  separa- 
tion, and  the  second  man  held  the  dis- 
coloured fragments  together  where  they 
had  parted.  On  it  one  could  dimly  make 
out,  in  almost  obliterated  pencil,  the  out- 
line of  the  bay. 

"  Here,"  said  Evans,  "  is  the  reef  and 
here  is  the  gap."  He  ran  his  thumb-nail 
over  the  chart. 

"  This  curved  and  twisting  line  is  the 
river — I  could  do  with  a  drink  now ! — and 
this  star  is  the  place." 

"You   see   this   dotted   line,"  said   the 


THE  FOREST  259 

man  with  the  map ;  "  it  is  a  straight  line, 
and  runs  from  the  opening  of  the  reef  to 
a  clump  of  palm-trees.  The  star  comes 
just  where  it  cuts  the  river.  We  must 
mark  the  place  as  we  go  into  the  lagoon." 

"It's  queer,"  said  Evans,  after  a  pause, 
"  what  these  little  marks  down  here  are 
for.  It  looks  like  the  plan  of  a  house  or 
something;  but  what  all  these  little  dashes, 
pointing  this  way  and  that,  may  mean  I 
can't  get  a  notion.  And  what's  the 
writing  ? " 

"  Chinese,"  said  the  man  with  the  map. 

"  Of  course !  He  was  a  Chinee,"  said 
Evans. 

"  They  all  were,"  said  the  man  with  the 
map. 

They  both  sat  for  some  minutes  staring 
at  the  land,  while  the  canoe  drifted  slowly. 
Then  Evans  looked  towards  the  paddle. 

"  Your  turn  with  the  paddle  now, 
Hooker,"  said  he. 

And  his  companion  quietly  folded  up 
his  map,  put  it  in  his  pocket,  passed 


260  THE  TREASURE  IN 

Evans  carefully,  and  began  to  paddle.  His 
movements  were  languid,  like  those  of  a 
man  whose  strength  was  nearly  exhausted. 
Evans  sat  with  his  eyes  half  closed, 
watching  the  frothy  breakwater  of  the 
coral  creep  nearer  and  nearer.  The  sky 
was  like  a  furnace  now,  for  the  sun  was 
near  the  zenith.  Though  they  were  so 
near  the  Treasure  he  did  not  feel  the  ex- 
altation he  had  anticipated.  The  intense 
excitement  of  the  struggle  for  the  plan, 
and  the  long  night  voyage  from  the  main- 
land in  the  unprovisioned  canoe  had,  to 
use  his  own  expression,  "  taken  it  out  of 
him."  He  tried  to  arouse  himself  by 
directing  his  mind  to  the  ingots  the  China- 
men had  spoken  of,  but  it  would  not  rest 
there ;  it  came  back  headlong  to  the 
thought  of  sweet  water  rippling  in  the  river, 
and  to  the  almost  unendurable  dryness  of 
his  lips  and  throat.  The  rhythmic  wash 
of  the  sea  upon  the  reef  was  becoming 
audible  now,  and  it  had  a  pleasant  sound 
in  his  ears ;  the  water  washed  along  the 


THE  FOREST  261 

side  of  the  canoe,  and  the  paddle  dripped 
between  each  stroke.  Presently  he  began 
to  doze. 

He  was  still  dimly  conscious  of  the 
island,  but  a  queer  dream  texture  inter- 
wove with  his  sensations.  Once  again  it 
was  the  night  when  he  and  Hooker  had 
hit  upon  the  Chinamen's  secret ;  he  saw 
the  moonlit  trees,  the  little  fire  burning, 
and  the  black  figures  of  the  three  China- 
men —  silvered  on  one  side  by  moon- 
light, and  on  the  other  glowing  from  the 
firelight — and  heard  them  talking  together 
in  pigeon- English — for  they  came  from 
different  provinces.  Hooker  had  caught 
the  drift  of  their  talk  first,  and  had 
motioned  to  him  to  listen.  Fragments  of 
the  conversation  were  inaudible  and  frag- 
ments incomprehensible.  A  Spanish 
galleon  from  the  Philippines  hopelessly 
aground,  and  its  treasure  buried  against 
the  day  of  return,  lay  in  the  background 
of  the  story  ;  a  shipwrecked  crew  thinned 
by  disease,  a  quarrel  or  so,  and  the  needs 


262  THE  TREASURE  IN 

of  discipline,  and  at  last  taking  to  their 
boats  never  to  be  heard  of  again.  Then 
Chang-hi,  only  a  year  since,  wandering 
ashore,  had  happened  upon  the  ingots 
hidden  for  two  hundred  years,  had 
deserted  his  junk,  and  reburied  them  with 
infinite  toil,  single-handed  but  very  safe. 
He  laid  great  stress  on  the  safety — it  was 
a  secret  of  his.  Now  he  wanted  help  to 
return  and  exhume  them.  Presently  the 
little  map  fluttered  and  the  voices  sank. 
A  fine  story  for  two  stranded  British 
wastrels  to  hear !  Evans'  dream  shifted 
to  the  moment  when  he  had  Chang-hi's 
pigtail  in  his  hand.  The  life  of  a  China- 
man is  scarcely  sacred  like  a  European's. 
The  cunning  little  face  of  Chang-hi,  first 
keen  and  furious  like  a  startled  snake, 
and  then  fearful,  treacherous  and  pitiful, 
became  overwhelmingly  prominent  in  the 
dream.  At  the  end  Chang-hi  had  grinned, 
a  most  incomprehensible  and  startling 
grin.  Abruptly  things  became  very  un- 
pleasant, as  they  will  do  at  times  in 


THE  FOREST  263 

dreams.  Chang-hi  gibbered  and  threatened 
him.  He  saw  in  his  dream  heaps  and 
heaps  of  gold,  and  Chang-hi  intervening 
and  struggling  to  hold  him  back  from  it. 
He  took  Chang-hi  by  the  pigtail — how 
big  the  yellow  brute  was,  and  how  he 
struggled  and  grinned  !  He  kept  growing 
bigger,  too.  Then  the  bright  heaps  of 
gold  turned  to  a  roaring  furnace,  and  a 
vast  devil,  surprisingly  like  Chang-hi,  but 
with  a  huge  black  tail,  began  to  feed  him 
with  coals.  They  burnt  his  mouth  horribly. 
Another  devil  was  shouting  his  name : 
"  Evans,  Evans,  you  sleepy  fool !  " — or 
was  it  Hooker  ? 

He  woke  up.  They  were  in  the  mouth 
of  the  lagoon. 

"  There  are  the  three  palm-trees.  It 
must  be  in  a  line  with  that  clump  of 
bushes,"  said  his  companion.  "  Mark 
that.  If  we  go  to  those  bushes  and  then 
strike  into  the  bush  in  a  straight  line  from 
here,  we  shall  come  to  it  when  we  come 
to  the  stream." 


264  THE  TREASURE  IN 

They  could  see  now  where  the  mouth 
of  the  stream  opened  out.  At  the  sight 
of  it  Evans  revived.  "  Hurry  up,  man," 
he  said,  "  Or  by  heaven  I  shall  have  to 
drink  sea  water !  "  He  gnawed  his  hand 
and  stared  at  the  gleam  of  silver  among 
the  rocks  and  green  tangle. 

Presently  he  turned  almost  fiercely 
upon  Hooker.  "  Give  me  the  paddle," 
he  said. 

So  they  reached  the  river  mouth.  A 
little  way  up  Hooker  took  some  water  in 
the  hollow  of  his  hand,  tasted  it,  and  spat 
it  out.  A  little  further  he  tried  again. 
"  This  will  do,"  he  said,  and  they  began 
drinking  eagerly. 

"  Curse  this  ! "  said  Evans,  suddenly. 
"  It's  too  slow."  And,  leaning  danger- 
ously over  the  fore  part  of  the  canoe,  he 
began  to  suck  up  the  water  with  his  lips. 

Presently  they  made  an  end  of  drinking, 
and,  running  the  canoe  into  a  little  creek, 
were  about  to  land  among  the  thick  growth 
that  overhung  the  water. 


THE  FOREST  265 

"We  shall  have  to  scramble  through 
this  to  the  beach  to  find  our  bushes  and 
get  the  line  to  the  place,"  said  Evans. 

"  We  had  better  paddle  round,"  said 
Hooker. 

So  they  pushed  out  again  into  the  river 
and  paddled  back  down  it  to  the  sea,  and 
along  the  shore  to  the  place  where  the 
clump  of  bushes  grew.  Here  they  landed, 
pulled  the  light  canoe  far  up  the  beach, 
and  then  went  up  towards  the  edge  of  the 
jungle  until  they  could  see  the  opening  of 
the  reef  and  the  bushes  in  a  straight  line. 
Evans  had  taken  a  native  implement  out 
of  the  canoe.  It  was  L-shaped,  and  the 
transverse  piece  was  armed  with  polished 
stone.  Hooker  carried  the  paddle.  "  It 
is  straight  now  in  this  direction,"  said  he ; 
"  we  must  push  through  this  till  we  strike 
the  stream.  Then  we  must  prospect" 

They  pushed  through  a  close  tangle  of 
reeds,  broad  fronds,  and  young  trees,  and 
at  first  it  was  toilsome  going,  but  very 
speedily  the  trees  became  larger  and  the 


266  THE  TREASURE  IN 

ground  beneath  them  opened  out.  The 
blaze  of  the  sunlight  was  replaced  by 
insensible  degrees  by  cool  shadow.  The 
trees  became  at  last  vast  pillars  that  rose 
up  to  a  canopy  of  greenery  far  overhead. 
Dim  white  flowers  hung  from  their  stems, 
and  ropy  creepers  swung  from  tree  to  tree. 
The  shadow  deepened.  On  the  ground, 
blotched  fungi  and  a  red-brown  incrusta- 
tion became  frequent. 

Evans  shivered.  "  It  seems  almost  cold 
here  after  the  blaze  outside." 

"  I  hope  we  are  keeping  to  the  straight," 
said  Hooker. 

Presently  they  saw,  far  ahead,  a  gap 
in  the  sombre  darkness  where  white  shafts 
of  hot  sunlight  smote  into  the  forest. 
There  also  was  brilliant  green  under- 
growth, and  coloured  flowers.  Then 
they  heard  the  rush  of  water. 

"  Here  is  the  river.  We  should  be 
close  to  it  now,"  said  Hooker. 

The  vegetation  was  thick  by  the  river 
bank.  Great  plants,  as  yet  unnamed, 


THE  FOREST  267 

grew  among  the  roots  of  the  big  trees, 
and  spread  rosettes  of  huge  green  fans 
towards  the  strip  of  sky.  Many  flowers 
and  a  creeper  with  shiny  foliage  clung  to 
the  exposed  stems.  On  the  water  of  the 
broad,  quiet  pool  which  the  treasure 
seekers  now  overlooked  there  floated  big 
oval  leaves  and  a  waxen,  pinkish-white 
flower  not  unlike  a  water-lily.  Further, 
as  the  river  bent  away  from  them,  the 
water  suddenly  frothed  and  became  noisy 
in  a  rapid. 

"  Well  ?  "  said  Evans. 

"We  have  swerved  a  little  from  the 
straight,"  said  Hooker.  "  That  was  to  be 
expected." 

He  turned  and  looked  into  the  dim 
cool  shadows  of  the  silent  forest  behind 
them.  "If  we  beat  a  little  way  up  and 
down  the  stream  we  should  come  to  some- 
thing." 

"  You  said "  began  Evans. 

"  He  said  there  was  a  heap  of  stones," 
said  Hooker. 


268  THE  TREASURE  IN 

The  two  men  looked  at  each  other  for 
a  moment. 

"  Let  us  try  a  little  down-stream  first," 
said  Evans. 

They  advanced  slowly,  looking  curiously 
about  them.  Suddenly  Evans  stopped. 
"  What  the  devil's  that  ?  "  he  said. 

Hooker  followed  his  finger.  "Some- 
thing blue,"  he  said  It  had  come  into 
view  as  they  topped  a  gentle  swell  of  the 
ground.  Then  he  began  to  distinguish 
what  it  was. 

He  advanced  suddenly  with  hasty  steps, 
until  the  body  that  belonged  to  the  limp 
hand  and  arm  had  become  visible.  His 
grip  tightened  on  the  implement  he 
carried.  The  thing  was  the  figure  of  a 
Chinaman  lying  on  his  face.  The  abandon 
of  the  pose  was  unmistakable. 

The  two  men  drew  closer  together,  and 
stood  staring  silently  at  this  ominous  dead 
body.  It  lay  in  a  clear  space  among  the 
trees.  Near  by  was  a  spade  after  the 
Chinese  pattern,  and  further  off  lay  a 


THE  FOREST  269 

scattered  heap  of  stones,  close  to  a  freshly 
dug  hole. 

"  Somebody  has  been  here  before,"  said 
Hooker,  clearing  his  throat 

Then  suddenly  Evans  began  to  swear 
and  rave,  and  stamp  upon  the  ground. 

Hooker  turned  white  but  said  nothing. 
He  advanced  towards  the  prostrate  body. 
He  saw  the  neck  was  puffed  and  purple, 
and  the  hands  and  ankles  swollen.  "Pah!" 
he  said,  and  suddenly  turned  away  and 
went  towards  the  excavation.  He  gave 
a  cry  of  surprise.  He  shouted  to  Evans, 
who  was  following  him  slowly. 

"  You  fool !  It's  all  right  It's  here 
still."  Then  he  turned  again  and  looked 
at  the  dead  Chinaman,  and  then  again  at 
the  hole. 

Evans  hurried  to  the  hole.  Already 
half  exposed  by  the  ill-fated  wretch  beside 
them  lay  a  number  of  dull  yellow  bars. 
He  bent  down  in  the  hole,  and,  clearing 
off  the  soil  with  his  bare  hands,  hastily 
pulled  one  of  the  heavy  masses  out.  As 


270  THE  TREASURE  IN 

he  did  so  a  little  thorn  pricked  his  hand. 
He  pulled  the  delicate  spike  out  with  his 
fingers  and  lifted  the  ingot. 

"  Only  gold  or  lead  could  weigh  like 
this,"  he  said  exultantly. 

Hooker  was  still  looking  at  the  dead 
Chinaman.  He  was  puzzled. 

"He  stole  a  march  on  his  friends,"  he 
said  at  last.  "He  came  here  alone,  and 
some  poisonous  snake  has  killed  him  .  .  . 
I  wonder  how  he  found  the  place." 

Evans  stood  with  the  ingot  in  his  hands. 
What  did  a  dead  Chinaman  signify  ? 
"We  shall  have  to  take  this  stuff  to  the 
mainland  piecemeal,  and  bury  it  there  for 
a  while.  How  shall  we  get  it  to  the 
canoe  ?  " 

He  took  his  jacket  off  and  spread  it  on 
the  ground,  and  flung  two  or  three  ingots 
into  it.  Presently  he  found  that  another 
little  thorn  had  punctured  his  skin. 

"  This  is  as  much  as  we  can  carry,"  said 
he.  Then  suddenly,  with  a  queer  rush  of 
irritation,  "  What  are  you  staring  at  ?  " 


THE  FOREST  271 

Hooker  turned  to  him.  "  I  can't  stand 
.  .  .  him."  He  nodded  towards  the 
corpse.  "  It's  so  like — 

"  Rubbish  ! "  said  Evans.  "  All  China- 
men are  alike." 

Hooker  looked  into  his  face.  "  I'm 
going  to  bury  that,  anyhow,  before  I  lend 
a  hand  with  this  stuff." 

"  Don't  be  a  fool,  Hooker,"  said  Evans. 
"  Let  that  mass  of  corruption  bide." 

Hooker  hesitated,  and  then  his  eye  went 
carefully  over  the  brown  soil  about  them. 
"  It  scares  me  somehow,"  he  said. 

"  The  thing  is,"  said  Evans,  "  what  to  do 
with  these  ingots.  Shall  we  re-bury  them 
over  here,  or  take  them  across  the  strait 
in  the  canoe  ?  " 

Hooker  thought  His  puzzled  gaze 
wandered  among  the  tall  tree-trunks,  and 
up  into  the  remote  sunlit  greenery  over- 
head. He  shivered  again  as  his  eye 
rested  upon  the  blue  figure  of  the  China- 
man. He  stared  searchingly  among  the 
grey  depths  between  the  trees. 


272  THE  TREASURE  IN 

"  What's  come  to  you,  Hooker  ?  "  said 
Evans.  "  Have  you  lost  your  wits  ?  " 

"  Let's  get  the  gold  out  of  this  place, 
anyhow,"  said  Hooker. 

He  took  the  ends  of  the  collar  of  the  coat 
in  his  hands,  and  Evans  took  the  opposite 
corners,  and  they  lifted  the  mass.  "  Which 
way  ?  "  said  Evans.  "  To  the  canoe  ? " 

"  It's  queer,"  said  Evans,  when  they  had 
advanced  only  a  few  steps,  "  but  my  arms 
ache  still  with  that  paddling." 

"  Curse  it ! "  he  said.  "  But  they  ache  ! 
I  must  rest." 

They  let  the  coat  down.  Evans'  face 
was  white,  and  little  drops  of  sweat  stood 
out  upon  his  forehead.  "  It's  stuffy,  some- 
how, in  this  forest." 

Then  with  an  abrupt  transition  to  un- 
reasonable anger  :  "  What  is  the  good  of 
waiting  here  all  the  day  ?  Lend  a  hand, 
I  say  !  You  have  done  nothing  but  moon 
since  we  saw  the  dead  Chinaman." 

Hooker  was  looking  steadfastly  at  his 
companion's  face.  He  helped  raise  the 


THE  FOREST  273 

coat  bearing  the  ingots,  and  they  went 
forward  perhaps  a  hundred  yards  in 
silence.  Evans  began  to  breathe  heavily. 
"  Can't  you  speak  ?  "  he  said. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?"  said 
Hooker. 

Evans  stumbled,  and  then  with  a  sudden 
curse  flung  the  coat  from  him.  He  stood 
for  a  moment  staring  at  Hooker,  and  then 
with  a  groan  clutched  at  his  own  throat. 

"  Don't  come  near  me,"  he  said,  and 
went  and  leant  against  a  tree.  Then  in  a 
steadier  voice,  "  I'll  be  better  in  a  minute." 

Presently  his  grip  upon  the  trunk 
loosened,  and  he  slipped  slowly  down  the 
stem  of  the  tree  until  he  was  a  crumpled 
heap  at  its  foot.  His  hands  were  clenched 
convulsively.  His  face  became  distorted 
with  pain.  Hooker  approached  him. 

"  Don't  touch  me  ! "  Don't  touch  me !  " 
said  Evans  in  a  stifled  voice.  "  Put  the 
gold  back  on  the  coat." 

"  Can't  I  do  anything  for  you  ?  "  said 
Hooker. 

s 


274  THE  TREASURE  IN 

"  Put  the  gold  back  on  the  coat" 

As  Hooker  handled  the  ingots  he  felt  a 
little  prick  on  the  ball  of  his  thumb.  He 
looked  at  his  hand  and  saw  a  slender  thorn, 
perhaps  two  inches  in  length. 

Evans  gave  an  inarticulate  cry  and 
rolled  over. 

Hooker's  jaw  dropped.  He  stared  at 
the  thorn  for  a  moment  with  dilated 
eyes.  Then  he  looked  at  Evans,  who 
was  now  crumpled  together  on  the 
ground,  his  back  bending  and  straitening 
spasmodically.  Then  he  looked  through 
the  pillars  of  the  trees  and  net-work  of 
creeper  stems,  to  where  in  the  dim  grey 
shadow  the  blue-clad  body  of  the  China- 
man was  still  indistinctly  visible.  He 
thought  of  the  little  dashes  in  the  corner 
of  the  plan,  and  in  a  moment  he  under- 
stood. 

"  God  help  me  ! "  he  said.  For  the 
thorns  were  similar  to  those  the  Dyaks 
poison  and  use  in  their  blowing-tubes. 
He  understood  now  what  Chang-hi's 


THE  FOREST  275 

assurance  of  the  safety  of  his  treasure 
meant.  He  understood  that  grin  now. 

"  Evans !  "  he  cried. 

But  Evans  was  silent  and  motionless 
now,  save  for  a  horrible  spasmodic  twitch- 
ing of  his  limbs.  A  profound  silence 
brooded  over  the  forest. 

Then  Hooker  began  to  suck  furiously 
at  the  little  pink  spot  on  the  ball  of  his 
thumb — sucking  for  dear  life.  Presently 
he  felt  a  strange  aching  pain  in  his  arms 
and  shoulders,  and  his  fingers  seemed 
difficult  to  bend.  Then  he  knew  that 
sucking  was  no  good. 

Abruptly  he  stopped,  and  sitting  down 
by  the  pile  of  ingots,  and  resting  his  chin 
upon  his  hands  and  his  elbows  upon  his 
knees,  stared  at  the  distorted  but  still 
stirring  body  of  his  companion.  Chang- 
hi's  grin  came  in  his  mind  again.  The 
dull  pain  spread  towards  his  throat  and 
grew  slowly  in  intensity.  Far  above  him 
a  faint  breeze  stirred  the  greenery,  and 
the  white  petals  of  some  unknown  flower 
came  floating  down  through  the  gloom. 


Printed ty  R.  &  R.  Ci  ARK,  LIMITED,  Edinburgh 


MACMILLAN'S 
THREE-AND-SIXPENNY 

LIBRARY  OF  BOOKS 
BY  POPULAR  AUTHORS 

Crown  8vo 
Series,  which  comprises  over  four 


hundred  volumes  in  various  depart- 
ments of  Literature,  has  lately  received 
some  notable  additions.  Prominent  among 
these  is  a  new  and  attractive  edition  of 
The  Works  of  Thackeray,  issiied  under 
the  editorship  of  Mr.  Lewis  Melville.  It 
contains  all  the  Original  Illustrations,  and 
includes  a  great  number  of  scattered  pieces 
and  illustrations  which  have  not  hitherto 
appeared  in  any  collected  edition  of  the 
works.  The  Works  of  Charles  Dickens, 
reprinted  from  the  Jirst  editions,  with  all 
the  Original  lustrations,  and  with  Intro- 
diictions,  Biographical  and  Bibliographical, 
by  Charles  Dickens  the  Younger,  and  an 
attractive  edition  0/~The  Novels  of  Charles 
Lever,  illustrated  by  Phiz  and  G.  Cruik- 


Macmillan  and  Co.'s 


sliank,  have  also  a  place  in  the  Library. 
TJic  attention  of  book  buyers  may  be  es- 
pecially directed  to  The  Border  Edition 
of  the  Waverley  Novels,  edited  by  Mr. 
Andrew  Lang,  which,  with  its  large  type 
and  convenient  form,  and  its  copious  illus- 
trations by  well-known  artists,  possesses 
features  placing  it  in  the  forefront  of  edi- 
tions now  obtainable  of  the  famous  novels. 
The  Works  of  Mr.  Thomas  Hardy,  in- 
cluding the  poems,  have  also  been  recently 
added  to  the  Three-and-Sixpenny  Library. 
Among  other  works  by  notable  contem- 
porary authors  will  be  found  those  of 
Mr.  F.  Marion  Crawford,  Rolf  Boldrewood, 
Mr.  H.  G.  Wells,  Gertrude  Atherton,  Mr. 
Egerton  Castle,  Mr.  A.  E.  W.  Mason, 
Maarten  Maartens,  and  Miss  Rosa  Nou- 
chette  Carey ;  while  among  the  productions 
of  an  earlier  period  may  be  mentioned  the 
works  of  Charles  Kingsley,  Frederick  Deni- 
son  Maurice,  Thomas  Hughes,  and  Dean 
Farrar ;  and  the  novels  and  tales  ^Charlotte 
M.  Yonge,  Mrs.  Craik,  and  Mrs.  Oliphant. 


Three-and-Sixpenny  Library  3 

THE 

WORKS  OF  THACKERAY 

Reprints  of  the  First  Editions,  with  all  the  Original  Illustrations, 
and  with  Facsimiles  of  Wrappers,  etc. 

Messrs.  MACMILLAN  &  Co.,  Limited,  beg  leave  to  invite  the 
attention  of  book  buyers  to  the  Edition  of  THE  WORKS  OF 
THACKERAY  in  their  Three-and-Sixpenny  Library,  which,  when 
finished,  will  be  the  Completest  Edition  of  the  Author's  Works 
which  has  been  placed  on  the  market. 

The  Publishers  have  been  fortunate  in  securing  the  services  of 
Mr.  LEWIS  MELVILLE,  the  well-known  Thackeray  Expert.  With 
his  assistance  they  have  been  able  to  include  in  this  Edition  a 
great  number  of  scattered  pieces  from  Thackeray's  pen,  and  illus- 
trations from  his  pencil  which  have  not  hitherto  been  contained  in 
any  collected  edition  of  the  works.  Mr.  Melville  has  read  all 
the  sheets  as  they  passed  through  the  press,  and  collated  them 
carefully  with  the  original  editions.  He  has  also  provided  Biblio- 
graphical Introductions  and  occasional  Footnotes. 

List  of  the  Series. 

VOL. 

1.  Vanity  Fair.   With  190  Illustrations. 

2.  The  History  of  Pendennis.     With  180 

Illustrations. 

3.  The  Nev/comes.    With  167  Illustrations. 

4.  The  History  of  Henry  Esmond. 

5.  The  Virginians.    With  148  Illustrations. 

6.  Barry  Lyndon  and  Catherine.     With  4 

Illustrations. 

7.  The  Paris  and  Irish  Sketch  Books.  With 

63  Illustrations. 


Macmillan  and  Co.'s 


THACKERAY'S   WORKS— continued. 

VOL. 

8.  Christmas     Books — MRS.     PERKINS'S 

BALL  :  OUR  STREET  :  DR.  BIRCH  AND  HIS  YOUNG 
FRIENDS  :  THE  KICKLEBURYS  ON  THE  RHINE  :  THE 
ROSE  AND  THE  RING.  With  127  Illustrations. 

9.  Burlesques :    From  Cornhill  to  Grand 

Cairo  :  and  Juvenilia.     With  84  Illustrations. 

10.  The  Book  of  Snobs,  and  other  Contri- 

butions to  Punch.    With  159  Illustrations. 

1 1 .  The      Yellowplush      Correspondence  : 

Jeames's  Diary  :  The  Great  Hoggarty  Diamond  Etc. 
With  47  Illustrations. 

12.  Critical  Papers  in  Literature. 

13.  Critical  Papers  in  Art ;  Stubbs's  Calen- 

dar :  Barber  Cox.     With  99  Illustrations. 

14.  Lovel  the  Widower,  and  other  Stories. 

With  40  Illustrations. 

15.  The     Fitz- Boodle     Papers     (including 

Men's  Wives),  and  various  Articles.     8  Illustrations. 

1 6.  The  English  Humourists  of  the  i8th 

Century  :  The  Four  Georges  :  Etc.     45  Illustrations. 

17.  Travels  in  London  :  Letters  to  a  Young 

Man  about  Town  :  and  other  Contributions  to  Punch 
(1845 — 1850).  With  73  Illustrations. 

1 8.  Ballads  and  Verses,  and  Miscellaneous 

Contributions  to  Punch.     With  78  Illustrations. 

19    A    Shabby    Genteel    Story,    and    The 

Adventures  of  Philip.     With  Illustrations. 


Three-and-Sixpenny  Library  5 

MACMILLAN'S 
EDITION   OF    THACKERAY 

SOME  OPINIONS  OF  THE  PRESS 

EXPOSITORY  TIMES.— "Kn  edition  to  do  credit  even  to  this 
publishing  house,  and  not  likely  to  be  surpassed  until  they  surpass  it  with 
a  cheaper  and  better  themselves. " 

WHITEHALL  REVIEW.— "Never  betore  has  such  a  cheap  and 
excellent  edition  of  Thackeray  been  seen." 

ACADEMY.— "  A  better  one-volume  edition  at  three  shillings  and 
sixpence  could  not  be  desired." 

GRAPHIC. — "  In  its  plain  but  pretty  blue  binding  is  both  serviceable 
and  attractive." 

DAILY  GRAPHIC.—"  An  excellent,  cheap  reprint." 

PALL  MALL  GAZETTE.— "The  size  of  the  books  is  handy,  paper 
and  printing  are  good,  and  the  binding,  which  is  of  blue  cloth,  is  simple 
but  tasteful.  Altogether  the  publishers  are  to  be  congratulated  upon  a 
reprint  which  ought  to  be  popular." 

GLOBE. — "  The  paper  is  thin  but  good,  the  type  used  is  clear  to  read, 
and  the  binding  is  neat  and  effective." 

LADY'S  PICTORIAL.— "The  paper  is  good,  the  type  clear  and 
large,  and  the  binding  tasteful.  Messrs.  Macmillan  are  to  be  thanked  for 
so  admirable  and  inexpensive  an  edition  01  our  great  satirist." 

WORLD.—  "Nothing  could  be  better  than  the  new  edition." 

BLACK  AND  WHITE.— "  The  more  one  sees  of  the  edition  the 
more  enamoured  of  it  he  becomes.  It  is  so  good  and  neat,  immaculate  as 
to  print,  and  admirably  bound." 

SCOTSMAN.— "This  admirable  edition." 

LITERARY  WORLD.— "The  paper  and  printing  and  general  get 
up  are  everything  that  one  could  desire. " 

ST.  JAMES'S  GAZETTE.—"  A  clear  and  pretty  edition." 


Macmillan  and  Co.'s 


THE 

WORKS    OF    DICKENS 

Reprints  of  the  First  Editions,  with  all  the  original  Illustrations, 

and  with  Introductions,  Biographical  and  Bibliographical, 

by  CHARLES  DICKENS  the  Younger. 

THE  PICKWICK  PAPERS.     With  50  Illustrations. 
OLIVER   TWIST.     With  27  Illustrations. 
NICHOLAS    NICKLEBY.     With  44  Illustrations. 
MARTIN    CHUZZLEWIT.     With  41  Illustrations. 

THE  OLD   CURIOSITY  SHOP.     With  97  Illustra- 
tions. 

BARNABY    RUDGE.     With  76  Illustrations. 
DOMBEY    AND    SON.     With  40  Illustrations. 
CHRISTMAS    BOOKS.     With  65  Illustrations. 
SKETCHES   BY   BOZ.     With  44  Illustrations. 

AMERICAN     NOTES    AND    PICTURES    FROM 
ITALY.     With  4  Illustrations. 

DAVID   COPPERFIELD.     With  40  Illustrations. 
BLEAK    HOUSE.     With  43  Illustrations. 
LITTLE    DORRIT.     With  40  Illustrations. 
THE   LETTERS   OF   CHARLES   DICKENS. 
A  TALE  OF  TWO  CITIES.     With  15  Illustrations. 
GREAT  EXPECTATIONS ;  AND  HARD  TIMES. 


Three-and-Sixpenny   Library  7 

MACMILLAN'S 
EDITION    OF    DICKENS 

SOME  OPINIONS  OF  THE  PRESS 

ATHENAEUM.  —  "Handy  in  form,  well  printed,  illustrated  with  re- 
productions of  the  original  plates,  introduced  with  bibliographical  notes  by 
the  novelist's  son,  and  above  all  issued  at  a  most  moderate  price,  this 
edition  will  appeal  successfully  to  a  large  number  of  readers." 

SPEAKER. — "We  do  not  think  there  exists  a  better  edition." 
MORNING  POST.—"  The  edition  will  be  highly  appreciated." 

SCOTSMAN.  —  "  This  reprint  offers  peculiar  attractions.  Of  a  handy 
size,  in  one  volume,  of  clear,  good-sized  print,  and  with  its  capital  comic 
illustrations,  it  is  a  volume  to  be  desired." 

NEWCASTLE  CHRONICLE.— "The  most  satisfactory  edition  of 
the  book  that  has  been  issued." 

GLASGOW  HERALD. — "None  of  the  recent  editions  of  Dickens 
can  be  compared  with  that  which  Messrs.  Macmillan  inaugurate  with  the 
ssue  of  Pickwick.  .  .  .  Printed  in  a  large,  clear  type,  very  readable. " 

GLOBE. — "They  have  used  an  admirably  clear  type  and  good  paper, 
and  the  binding  is  unexceptionable.  .  .  .  May  be  selected  as  the  most 
desirable  cheap  edition  of  the  immortal  '  Papers '  that  has  ever  been  offered 
to  the  public. " 

MANCHESTER  EXAMINER.—"  Handy  in  form,  well  printed, 
illustrated  with  reduced  reproductions  of  the  original  plates,  introduced 
with  bibliographical  notes  by  the  novelist's  son,  and  above  all  issued  at  a 
moderate  price,  this  edition  will  appeal  successfully  to  a  large  number  of 
readers. " 

THE  QUEEN. — "  A  specially  pleasant  and  convenient  form  in  which 
to  re-read  Dickens." 

THE  STAR.—"1\i\&  new  'Dickens  Series,'  with  its  reproductions  of 
the  original  illustrations,  is  a  joy  to  the  possessor." 


8  Macmillan  and  Co.'s 

Complete  in    Twenty-Jour   Volumes.       Croum  %vo,  tastefully  bound  in 
green  cloth,  gilt.      Price  $s.   6J.  each. 

In  special  cloth  binding,  flat  backs,  gilt  tops.     Supplied  in  Sets  only  of 
24  volumes.     Price  £4  qs. 

Also  an  edition  with  all  the  250  original  etchings.     In  24  volumes. 
Crown  8vo,  gilt  tops.      Price  6s.  each. 

THE   LARGE  TYPE 
BORDER  EDITION  OF  THE 

WAVERLEY   NOVELS 

EDITED   WITH 

INTRODUCTORY  ESSAYS  AND  NOTES 


BY 


ANDREW    LANG 

SUPPLEMENTING  THOSE  OF  THE  AUTHOR. 

With   Two  Hundred  and  Fifty  New  and  Original  Illustrations  by 
Eminent  Artists. 


BY  the  kind  permission  of  the  Hon.  Mrs.  MAXWELL  SCOTT, 
of  Abbotsford,  the  great-granddaughter  of  Sir  WALTER, 
the  MSS.  and  other  material  at  Abbotsford  were  examined  by 
Mr.  ANDREW  LANG  during  the  preparation  of  his  Introductory 
Essays  and  Notes  to  the  Series,  so  that  the  BORDER  EDITION 
may  be  said  to  contain  all  the  results  of  the  latest  researches 
as  to  the  composition  of  the  Waverley  Novels. 


Three-and-Sixpenny   Library  9 

The   Border  Waverley 

1.  WAVERLEY.    With  12  Illustrations  by  Sir  H.  RAE- 

BURN,  R.A.,  R.  W.  MACBETH,  A.R.A.,  JOHN  PETTIE,  R.A., 
H.  MACBETH-RAEBURN,  D.  HERDMAN,  W.  J.  LEITCH, 
ROBERT  HERDMAN,  R.S.A.,  and  J.  ECKFORD  LAUDER. 

2.  GUY   MANNERING.    With   10  Illustrations  by  J. 

MACWHIRTER,  A.R.A.,  R.  W.  MACBETH,  A.R.A.,  C.  O. 
MURRAY,  CLARK  STANTON,  R.S.A.,  GOURLAY  STEELL, 
R.S.A.,  F.  S.  WALKER,  R.  HERDMAN,  R.S.A.,  and  J.  B. 
MACDONALD,  A.R.S.A. 

3.  THE   ANTIQUARY.     With   10   Illustrations   by  J. 

MACWHIRTER,  A.R.A.,  SAM  BOUGH,  R.S.A.,  R.  HERD- 
MAN,  R.S.A.,  W.  M'TAGGART,  A.R.S.A.,  J.  B.  MAC- 
DONALD,  A.R.S.A.,  and  A.  H.  TOURRIER. 

4.  ROB  ROY.   With  10  Illustrations  by  R.  W.  MACBETH, 

A.R.A.,  and  SAM  BOUGH,  R.S.A. 

5.  OLD  MORTALITY.    With  10  Illustrations  by  J.  MAC- 

WHIRTER, A.R.A.,  R.  HERDMAN,  R.S.A. ,  SAM  BOUGH, 
R.S.A.,  M.  L.  Gow,  D.  Y.  CAMERON,  LOCKHART  BOGLE, 
and  ALFRED  HARTLEY. 

6.  THE  HEART  OF  MIDLOTHIAN.    With  10  Illustra- 

tions by  Sir  J.  E.  MILLAIS,  Bart,  HUGH  CAMERON,  R.S.A., 
SAM  BOUGH,  R.S.A.,  R.  HERDMAN,  R.S.A.,  and  WAI.. 
PAGET. 

7.  A  LEGEND  OF  MONTROSE  and  THE  BLACK  DWARF. 

With  7  Illustrations  by  Sir  GEORGE  REID,  P.  R.S.A., 
GEORGE  HAY,  R.S.A.,  HORATIO  MACCULLOCH,  R.S.A., 
W.  E.  LOCKHART,  R.S.A.,  H.  MACBETH-RAEBURN,  and 
T.  SCOTT. 

8.  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR.   With  8  Illustrations 

by  Sir  J.  E.  MILLAIS,  Bart,  JOHN  SMART,  R.S.A.,  SAM 
BOUGH,  R.S.A.,  GEORGE  HAY,  R.S.A.,  and  H.  MACBETH- 
RAEBURN. 

9.  IVANHOE.     With  12  Illustrations  by  AD.  LALAUZE, 

10.  THE  MONASTERY.    With  10  Illustrations  by  GOR- 

DON BROWNE. 

11.  THE  ABBOT.    With  10  Illustrations  by  GORDON 

BROWNE. 


io  Macmillan  and  Co.'s 


The   Border  Waverley 

12.  KENILWORTH.      With    12    Illustrations    by    AD. 

LALAUZE. 

13.  THE    PIRATE.      With    io    Illustrations   by   W.   E. 

LOCKHART,  R.S.A.,  SAM  BOUGH,  R.S.A.,  HERBERT 
DICKSEE,  W.  STRANG,  LOCKHART  BOGLE,  C.  J.  HOLMES, 
and  F.  S.  WALKER. 

14.  THE  FORTUNES  OF  NIGEL.    With  io  Illustrations 

by  JOHN  PETTIE,  R.A.,  and  R.  W.  MACBETH,  A.R.A. 

15.  PEVERIL  OF  THE  PEAK.    With  15  Illustrations  by 

W.  Q.  ORCHARDSON,  R.A.  JOHN  PETTIE,  R.A.,  F.  DADD, 
R.I.,  ARTHUR  HOPKINS,  A.R.W.S.,  and  S.  L.  WOOD. 

1 6.  QUENTIN    DURWARD.     With    12    Illustrations   by 

AD.  LALAUZE. 

17.  ST.  RONAN'S  WELL.    With  io  Illustrations  by  Sir 

G.  REID,  P.R.S.A.,  R.  W.  MACBETH,  A.R.A.,  W.  HOLE, 
R.S.A.,  and  A.  FORESTIER. 

18.  REDGAUNTLET.  With  12  Illustrations  by  Sir  JAMES 

D.  LINTON,  P.R.I.,  JAMES  ORROCK,  R.I.,  SAM  BOUGH, 
R.S.A.,  W.  HOLE,  R.S.A.,  G.  HAY,  R.S.A.,  T.  SCOTT, 
A.R.S.A.,  W.  BOUCHER,  and  FRANK  SHORT. 

19.  THE  BETROTHED  and  THE  TALISMAN.    With  io 

Illustrations  by  HERBERT  DICKSEE,  WAL.  PAGET,  and 
J.  LE  BLANT. 

20.  WOODSTOCK.     With  io  Illustrations  by  W.  HOLE. 

R.S.A. 

21.  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  PERTH.    With  io  Illustrations 

by  Sir  G.  REID,  P.R.S.A.,  JOHN  PETTIE,  R.A.,  R.  W 
MACBETH,  A.R.A.,  and  ROBERT  HERDMAN,  R.S.A. 

22.  ANNE  OF  GEIERSTEIN.    With  io  Illustrations  by 

R.  DE  Los  Rios. 

23.  COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS  and  THE  SURGEON'S 

DAUGHTER.  With  io  Illustrations  by  W.  HATHERELL, 
R.I.,  and  W.  B.  WOLLEN,  R.I. 

24.  CASTLE  DANGEROUS,  CHRONICLES  OF  THE  CANON- 

GATE,  ETC.  With  io  Illustrations  by  H.  MACBETH-RAE- 
BURN  and  G.  D.  ARMOUR 


Three-and-Sixpenny   Library         11 

The  Border  Waverley 

SOME  OPINIONS  OF  THE  PRESS 

TIMES. — "It  would  be  difficult  to  find  in  these  days  a  more  com- 
petent and  sympathetic  editor  of  Scott  than  his  countryman,  the  brilliant 
and  versatile  man  of  letters  who  has  undertaken  the  task,  and  if  any  proof 
were  wanted  either  of  his  qualifications  or  of  his  skill  and  discretion  in 
displaying  them,  Mr.  Lang  has  furnished  it  abundantly  in  his  charming 
Introduction  to  '  Waverley. '  The  editor's  own  notes  are  judiciously  sparing, 
but  conspicuously  to  the  point,  and  they  are  very  discreetly  separated  from 
those  of  the  author,  Mr.  Lang's  laudable  purpose  being  to  illustrate  and 
explain  Scott,  not  to  make  the  notes  a  pretext  for  displaying  his  own 
critical  faculty  and  literary  erudition.  The  illustrations  by  various  competent 
hands  are  beautiful  in  themselves  and  beautifully  executed,  and,  altogether, 
the  'Border  Edition'  of  the  Waverley  Novels  bids  fair  to  become  the 
classical  edition  of  the  great  Scottish  classic." 

SPECTA  TOR. — "  We  trust  that  this  fine  edition  of  our  greatest  and 
most  poetical  of  novelists  will  attain,  if  it  has  not  already  done  so,  the  high 
popularity  it  deserves.  To  all  Scott's  lovers  it  is  a  pleasure  to  know  that, 
despite  the  daily  and  weekly  inrush  of  ephemeral  fiction,  the  sale  of  hi? 
works  is  said  by  the  booksellers  to  rank  next  below  Tennyson's  in  poetry, 
and  above  that  of  everybody  else  in  prose." 

A  THEN&UM. — "  The  handsome  '  Border  Edition'  has  been  brought 
to  a  successful  conclusion.  The  publisher  deserves  to  be  complimented 
on  the  manner  in  which  the  edition  has  been  printed  and  illustrated,  and 
Mr.  Lang  on  the  way  in  which  he  has  performed  his  portion  of  the  work. 
His  introductions  have  been  tasteful  and  readable ;  he  has  not  overdone 
his  part ;  and,  while  he  has  supplied  much  useful  information,  he  has  by  no 
means  overburdened  the  volumes  with  notes." 

NOTES  AND  QUERIES.— "This  spirited  and  ambitious  enterprise 
has  been  conducted  to  a  safe  termination,  and  the  most  ideal  edition  of  the 
Waverley  Novels  in  existence  is  now  completed." 

SATURDAY  REVIEW.— "Of  all  the  many  collections  of  the 
Waverley  Novels,  the  '  Border  Edition'  is  incomparably  the  most  handsome 
and  the  most  desirable.  .  .  .  Type,  paper,  illustrations,  are  altogether 
admirable." 

MAGAZINE  OF  ART.— "Size,  type,  paper,  and  printing,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  excessively  liberal  and  charming  introduction  of  the  illustra- 
tions, make  this  perhaps  the  most  desirable  edition  of  Scott  ever  issued  on 
this  side  of  the  Border. " 

DAILY  CHRONICLE.— "There  is  absolutely  no  fault  to  be  found 
w*th  it,  as  to  paper,  type,  or  arrangement." 


12  Macmillan  and  Co.'s 


THE   WORKS   OF 

THOMAS    HARDY 

Collected  Edition 

1.  TESS   OF  THE   D'URBERVILLES. 

2.  FAR   FROM   THE   MADDING   CROWD. 

3.  THE   MAYOR   OF   CASTERBRIDGE. 

4.  A   PAIR   OF   BLUE   EYES. 

5.  TWO   ON   A   TOWER. 

6.  THE    RETURN   OF   THE   NATIVE. 

7.  THE   WOODLANDERS. 

8.  JUDE   THE   OBSCURE. 

9.  THE   TRUMPET-MAJOR. 

10.  THE    HAND   OF   ETHELBERTA. 

11.  A   LAODICEAN. 

12.  DESPERATE   REMEDIES. 

13.  WESSEX   TALES. 

14.  LIFE'S   LITTLE    IRONIES. 

15.  A   GROUP   OF   NOBLE   DAMES. 

16.  UNDER   THE   GREENWOOD   TREE. 

17.  THE   WELL-BELOVED. 

1 8.  WESSEX    POEMS,  and  other  Verses. 

19.  POEMS  OF  THE  PAST  AND  THE  PRESENT. 


Three-and-Sixpenny  Library         13 

THE 
WORKS   OF    THOMAS    HARDY 

SOME  PRESS  OPINIONS  OF  THE  THREE-AND-SIXPENNY  ISSUE 

PALL  MALL  GAZETTE.—".  .  .  their  charming  edition  of  the 
works  of  Thomas  Hardy  .  .  .  the  price  asked  for  it  ...  is  absurdly 
cheap.  .  .  .  Any  more  convenient  and  beautiful  form  of  presentation  for 
these  books  it  would  be  difficult  to  find." 

ATHEN&UM. — "This  edition  is  so  comely  and  so  moderate  in 
price  that  it  may  well  placate  those  who  have  sighed  for  earlier  issues  out 
of  their  reach.  Mr.  Hardy's  prefaces  to  the  volumes  should  not  be  missed, 
for  they  are  models  of  a  difficult  art,  whether  reflective,  informative,  or 
combative." 


UNIFORM   EDITION   OF   THE 
NOVELS    OF   CHARLES    LEVER 

With  all  the  Original  Illustrations. 

1.  HARRY   LORREQUER.     Illustrated  by  PHIZ. 

2.  CHARLES   O'MALLEY.     Illustrated  by  PHIZ. 

3.  JACK  HINTON  THE  GUARDSMAN.    Illustra- 

ted by  PHIZ. 

4.  TOM   BURKE   OF   OURS.     Illustrated  by  PHIZ. 

5.  ARTHUR   O'LEARY.     Illustrated  by  G.  CRUIK- 

SHANK. 

6.  LORD  KILGOBBIN.    Illustrated  by  LUKE  FlLDES. 


14  Macmillan  and  Co.'s 


THE    NOVELS   OF 

F.  MARION   CRAWFORD 

MR.  ISAACS:  A  Tale  of  Modern  India. 

A  THEffA£UM. — "A  work  of  unusual  ability.  ...  It  fully  deserves  the  notice  it  is 
sure  to  attract." 

DOCTOR    CLAUDIUS:  A  True  Story. 

A  THEN&UM. — "  Few  recent  books  have  been  so  difficult  to  lay  down  when  once 
begun." 

A   ROMAN    SINGER. 

TIMES. — "  A  masterpiece  of  narrative.  .  .  .  Unlike  any  other  romance  in  English 
literature." 

ZOROASTER. 

GUARDIAN. — "An  instance  of  the  highest  and  noblest  form  of  novel.  .  .  .  Alike 
in  the  originality  of  its  conception  and  the  power  with  which  it  is  wrought  out,  it  stands 
on  a  level  that  is  almost  entirely  its  own." 

MARZIO'S   CRUCIFIX. 

TIMES. — "A  subtle  compound  of  artistic  feeling,  avarice,  malice,  and  criminal 
frenzy  is  this  carver  of  silver  chalices  and  crucifixes." 

A   TALE    OF   A   LONELY   PARISH. 

GUARDIAN.— "The  tale  is  written  with  all  Mr.  Crawford's  skill." 

PAUL   PATOFF. 

ST.  JAMES'S  GAZETTE.— "Those  who  neglect  to  read  Paul Patoff  will  throw 
away  a  very  pleasurable  opportunity." 

WITH    THE    IMMORTALS. 

SPECTATOR. — "Cannot  fail  to  please  a  reader  who  enjoys  crisp,  clear,  vigorous 
wrking,  and  thougkts  that  are  alike  original  and  suggestive." 

GREIFENSTEIN. 

SPECTATOR. — "Altogether,  we  like  Greifenstein  decidedly-^so  much  so  as  to 
doubt  whether  it  does  not  dislodge  A  Roman  Singer  from  the  place  hitherto  occupied  by 
the  latter  as  our  favourite  amongst  Mr.  Crawford's  novels." 

TAQUISARA:   A  Novel. 

PALL  MALL  GAZETTE.— "Cannot  fail  to  be  read  with  interest  and  pleasure  by 
all  to  whom  clever  characterisation  and  delicate  drawing  make  appeal." 

A   ROSE    OF   YESTERDAY. 

SPEAKER. — "  There  is  something  in  A  Rose  of  Yesterday  which  makes  the  book 
linger  with  a  distinct  aroma  of  its  own  in  the  reader's  memory." 

SANT'    ILARIO. 

ATHENJEUM. — "The  plot  is  skilfully  concocted,  and  the  interest  is  sustained  to 
the  end.  .  .  .  A  very  clever  piece  of  work." 

A   CIGARETTE-MAKER'S    ROMANCE. 

GLOBE. — "We  are  inclined  to  think  this  is  the  best  of  Mr.  Marion  Crawford's 
stories." 


Three-and-Sixpenny   Library         15 


THE    NOVELS    OF 

F.  MARION    CRAWFORD 

KHALED  :   A  Tale  of  Arabia. 

ANTI-JACOBIN. —"Mr.  Crawford  has  written  some  stories  more  powerful,  but 
none  more  attractive  than  this." 

THE    THREE    FATES. 

NATIONAL  OBSERVER. — "Increases  in  strength  and  in  interest  even  to  the 

THE    WITCH    OF    PRAGUE. 

ACADEMY. — "  Is  so  remarkable  a  book  as  to  be  certain  of  as  wide  a  popularity  as 
any  of  its  predecessors  ;  it  is  a  romance  of  singular  daring  and  power." 

MARION    DARCHE:   A  Story  without  Comment. 

A  THEN&UM. — "  Readers  in  search  of  a  good  novel  may  be  recommended  to  lose 
no  time  in  making  the  acquaintance  of  Marion  Darche,  her  devoted  friends,  and  her  one 
enemy." 

KATHARINE    LAUDERDALE. 

PUNCH. — "Admirable  in  its  simple  pathos,  its  unforced  humour,  and,  above  all,  in 
ts  truth  to  human  nature." 

THE    CHILDREN    OF    THE    KING. 

DAILY  CHRONICLE.— "  Mr.  Crawford  has  not  done  better  than  The  Children 
of  the  King  for  a  long  time.  The  story  itself  is  a  simple  and  beautiful  one." 

PIETRO    GHISLERI. 

SPEAKER. — "  Mr.  Marion  Crawford  is  an  artist,  and  a  great  one,  and  he  has  been 
brilliantly  successful  in  a  task  in  which  ninety-nine  out  of  every  hundred  writers  would 
have  failed." 

DON    ORSINO. 

_  ATHENAEUM. — "Don  Orsitto  is  a  story  with  many  strong  points,  and  it  is  told 
with  all  the  spirit  we  have  been  wont  to  expect  from  its  author." 

CASA   BRACCIO. 

GUARDIAN. — "  A  very  powerful  story  and  a  finished  work  of  art." 
ADAM    JOHNSTONE'S    SON. 

DAILY  NEWS. — "Mr.  Crawford  has  written  stories  richer  in  incident  and  more 
powerful  in  intention,  but  we  do  not  think  that  he  has  handled  more  deftly  or  shown  i 
more  delicate  insight  into  tendencies  that  go  towards  making  some  of  the  more  spiritual 
tragedies  of  life." 

THE    RALSTONS. 

A  Tff£NsE  UM. — "  The  present  instalment  of  what  promises  to  be  a  very  voluminous 
family  history,  increasing  in  interest  and  power  as  it  develops,  turns  upon  the  death  of 
Robert  and  the  disposition  of  his  millions,  which  afford  ample  scope  for  the  author's 
pleasantly  ingenious  talent  in  raising  and  surmounting  difficulties  of  details." 

CORLEONE:   A  Tale  of  Sicily. 
PALL  MALL  GAZETTE.—"  A  splendid  romance.' 

VIA   CRUCIS:    A  Romance  of  the  Second  Crusade. 
GRAPHIC.— "A.  stirring  story.' 

IN  THE  PALACE  OF  THE  KING:  A  Love  Story  of  Old  Madrid. 
SPECTA  TOR.—"  A  truly  thrilling  tale." 


16  Macmillan  and  Co.'s 

THE    NOVELS   OF 

ROLF  BOLDREWOOD 

ROBBERY   UNDER  ARMS. 
A  STORY  OF   LIFE  AND   ADVENTURE   IN   THE    BUSH  AND   IN   THE 

GOLD-FIELDS  OF  AUSTRALIA 

GUARDIAN. — "A  singularly  spirited  and  stirring  tale  of  Australian  life,  chiefly 
in  the  remoter  settlements." 

A  MODERN  BUCCANEER. 

DAILY  CHRONICLE.— "We  do  not  forget  Robbery  under  Arms,  or  any  of  its 
various  successors,  when  we  say  that  Rolf  Boldrewood  has  never  done  anything  so  good  as 
A  Modern.  Buccaneer.  It  is  good,  to,  in  a  manner  which  is  for  the  author  a  new  one." 

THE  MINER'S  RIQHT. 

A  TALE  OF  THE  AUSTRALIAN   GOLD-FIELDS. 

WORLD. — "  Full  of  good  passages,  passages  abounding  in  vivacity,  in  the  colour 
and  play  of  life.  .  .  .  The  pith  of  the  book  lies  in  its  singularly  fresh  and  vivid  pictures 
of  the  humours  of  the  gold-fields—tragic  humours  enough  they  are,  too,  here  and  again." 

THE  SQUATTER'S  DREAM. 

FIELD. —"The  details  are  filled  in  by  a  hand  evidently  well  conversant  with  his 
subject,  and  everything  is  ten  trovato,  if  not  actually  true.  A  perusal  of  these  cheerfully- 
written  pages  will  probably  give  a  better  idea  of  realities  of  Australian  life  than  could  be 
obtained  from  many  more  pretentious  works." 

A  SYDNEY-SIDE  SAXON. 

GLASGOW  HERALD.— "The  interest  never  flags,  and  altogether  A  Sydney-Side 
Saxon  is  a  really  refreshing  book." 

A  COLONIAL  REFORMER. 

A  THENjKUM. — "  A  series  of  natural  and  entertaining  pictures  of  Australian  life, 
which  are,  above  all  things,  readable." 

NEVERMORE. 

OBSERVER. — "An  exciting  story  of  Ballarat  in  the  'fifties.  Its  hero,  Lance 
Trevanion,  is  a  character  which  for  force  of  delineation  has  no  equal  in  Rolf  Boldrewood  s 
previous  novels." 

PLAIN  LIVING.    A  Bush  Idyll. 

ACADEMY. — "  A  hearty  story,  deriving  charm  from  the  odours  of  the  bush  and  the 
bleating  of  incalculable  sheep.' 

MY  RUN  HOME. 

A  THEN&UM. — "  Rolf  Boldrewood's  last  story  is  a  racy  volume.  It  has  many  01 
the  best  qualities  of  Whyte  Melville,  the  breezy  freshness  and  vigour  of  Frank  Smedley, 
with  the  dash  and  something  of  the  abandon  of  Lever.  .  .  .  His  last  volume  is  one  of  his 
best." 

THE  SEALSKIN   CLOAK. 
TIMES.— "A  well-written  story." 

THE  CROOKED  STICK;  or,  Pollie's  Probation. 
ACADEMY. — "A  charming  picture  of  Australian  station  life." 

OLD  MELBOURNE  MEMORIES. 

NA  TIONAL  OBSER  VER.—"  His  book  deserves  to  be  read  in  England  with  as 
much  appreciation  as  it  has  already  gained  in  the  country  of  its  birth." 

A  ROMANCE  OF  CANVAS  TOWN,  and  other  Stories. 

ATHEN/EUM.—"r£}iK  book  is  interesting  for  its  obvious  insight  into  life  in  the 
Australian  bush." 

WAR  TO  THE  KNIFE;   or,  Tangrata  Maori. 
ACADEMY.  -"  A  stirring  romance." 

BABES  IN  THE  BUSH. 

OUTLOOK. — "A  lively  and  picturesque  story." 

DAILY  TELEGRAPH.—"  Bristles  with  thrilling  incident." 

IN  BAD  COMPANY,  and  other  Stories. 
DAIL  Y  NEWS.—"  The  best  work  this  popular  author  has  done  for  some  time." 


Three-and-Sixpenny  Library         17 

By  H.  G.  WELLS 
THE  PLATTNER  STORY :   and  others. 
TALES  OF  SPACE  AND  TIME. 
THE  STOLEN  BACILLUS :  and  other  Incidents. 

THE    INVISIBLE    MAN.     A   Grotesque   Romance. 
Eighth  Edition. 

LOVE  AND  MR.  LEWISHAM.     A  Story  of  a  very 
Young  Couple. 

WHEN  THE  SLEEPER  WAKES. 
THE  FIRST  MEN  IN  THE  MOON. 
TWELVE  STORIES  AND  A  DREAM. 

By  A.  E.  W.  MASON 
THE  COURTSHIP  OF  MORRICE  BUCKLER. 
THE  PHILANDERERS. 
MIRANDA  OF  THE  BALCONY. 

By  EGERTON   CASTLE 

THE  BATH  COMEDY. 

THE   PRIDE   OF  JENNICO.     Being  a  Memoir  of 

Captain  Basil  Jennico. 

THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY.     A  Romance. 
"LA  BELLA,"  AND  OTHERS. 
"YOUNG  APRIL." 

By  MAARTEN   MAARTENS 

AN  OLD  MAID'S  LOVE.     A  Dutch  Tale  told  in 

English. 

THE  GREATER  GLORY.     A  Story  of  High  Life. 
MY  LADY  NOBODY.     A  Novel. 
GOD'S  FOOL.     A  Koopstad  Story. 
THE  SIN  OF  JOOST  AVELINGH.    A  Dutch  Story. 
HER  MEMORY. 


i8  Macmillan  and  Co.'s 

THE    NOVELS   OF 

ROSA    N.    CAREY 

Over  Half-a-Million  of  these  works  have  been  printed. 

47th  Thousand. 
NELLIE'S    MEMORIES. 

STANDARD.—"  Miss  Carey  has  the  gift  of  writing  naturally  and  simply,  her  pathos 
Is  true  and  unforced,  and  her  conversations  are  sprightly  and  sharp." 

33rd  Thousand. 
WEE    WIFIE. 

LADY. — "  Miss  Carey's  novels  are  always  welcome ;  they  are  out  of  the  common  run, 
immaculately  pure,  and  very  high  in  tone." 

29th  Thousand. 

BARBARA    HEATHCOTE'S   TRIAL. 
DAIL  Y  TELEGRAPH.—  "  A  novel  ot  a  sort  which  it  would  be  a  real  loss  to  miss." 

2$th  Thousand. 
ROBERT    ORD'S   ATONEMENT. 

STANDARD.—"  Robert  Ortfs  Atonement  is  a  delightful  book,  very  quiet  as  to  its 
story,  but  very  strong  in  character,  and  instinct  with  that  delicate  pathos  which  is  the 
salient  point  of  all  the  writings  of  this  author." 

32nd  Thousand. 
WOOED   AND    MARRIED. 

STANDARD. — "There  is  plenty  of  romance  in  the  heroine's  life.  But  it  would  not 
be  fair  to  tell  our  readers  wherein  that  romance  consists  or  how  it  ends.  Let  them  read 
the  book  for  themselves.  We  will  undertake  to  promise  that  they  will  like  it." 

24th  Thousand. 
HERIOT'S   CHOICE. 

MORNING  POST.—"  Deserves  to  be  extensively  known  and  read.  .  .  .  Will  doubt, 
less  find  as  many  admirers  as  readers." 

2Qth  Thousand. 
QUEENIE'S    WHIM. 

GUARDIAN. — "  A  thoroughly  good  and  wholesome  story." 

35th  Thousand. 

NOT    LIKE    OTHER   GIRLS. 

PALL  MALL  GAZETTE.—"  Like  all  the  other  stories  we  have  had  from  the 
same  gifted  pen,  this  volume,  Not  Like  Other  Girls,  takes  a  sane  and  healthy  view  of 
life  and  its  concerns.  ...  It  is  an  excellent  story  to  put  in  the  hands  of  girls." 

NEW  YORK  HOME  JOURNAL.— "  One  of  the  sweetest,  daintiest,  and  most 
interesting  oi  the  season's  publications." 

24th  Thousand. 
MARY    ST.  JOHN. 

JOHN  BULL. — "  The  story  is  a  simple  one,  but  told  with  much  grace  and  unaffected 
pathos." 

23rd  Thousand. 
FOR    LILIAS. 

VANITY  FAIR. — "  A  simple,  earnest,  and  withal  very  interesting  story  ;  well 
conceived,  carefully  worked  out,  and  sympathetically  told." 

28th  Thousand. 
UNCLE    MAX. 

LADY. — "  So  intrinsically  good  that  the  world  of  novel-readers  ought  to  be  genuinely 
grateful." 


Three-and-Sixpenny   Library         19 
THE    NOVELS    OF 

ROSA    N.    CAREY 

Over  Half-a-MiHion  of  these  works  have  been  printed. 

34th  Thousand. 
ONLY   THE   GOVERNESS. 

PALL  MALL  GAZETTE.— "This  novel  is  for  those  who  like  stories  with  some- 
thing of  Jane  Austen's  power,  but  with  more  (intensity  of  feeling  than  Jane  Austen  dis- 
played, who  are  not  inclined  to  call  pathos  twaddle,  and  who  care  to  see  life  and  human 
nature  in  their  most  beautiful  form." 

24th  Thousand. 
LOVER    OR   FRIEND? 

GUARDIAN. — "The  refinement  of  style  and  delicacy  of  thought  will  make  Lover 
or  Friend?  popular  with  all  readers  who  are  not  too  deeply  bitten  with  a  desire  for 
things  improbable  in  their  lighter  literature." 

2 1st  Thousand. 
BASIL    LYNDHURST. 

PALL  MALL  GAZETTE.—"'  We  doubt  whether  anything  has  been  written  of  late 
years  so  fresh,  so  pretty,  so  thoroughly  natural  and  bright.  The  novel  as  a  whole  is 
charming." 

22nd  Thousand. 

SIR   GODFREY'S   GRAND-DAUGHTERS. 

OBSERVER. — "  A  capital  story.  The  interest  steadily  grows,  and  by  the  time  one 
reaches  the  third  volume  the  story  has  become  enthralling." 

24th  Thousand. 
THE    OLD,   OLD    STORY. 

DAILY  NEWS.—'1  Miss  Carey's  fluent  pen  has  not  lost  its  power  of  writing  fresh 
and  wholesome  fiction." 

24th  Thousand. 

THE    MISTRESS    OF   BRAE    FARM. 

PALL  MALL  GAZETTE. — "  Miss  Carey's  untiring  pen  loses  none  of  its  power, 
and  her  latest  work  is  as  gracefully  written,  as  full  of  quiet  home  charm,  as  fresh  and 
wholesome,  so  to  speak,  as  its  many  predecessors." 

1 2th  Thousand. 
MRS.  ROMNEY  and  "BUT  MEN  MUST  WORK." 

PALL  MALL  GAZETTE.—"  By  no  means  the  least  attractive  of  the  works  of  this 
charming  writer." 

New  Impression. 

OTHER   PEOPLE'S    LIVES. 

BRADFORD  OBSERVER.—" There  is  a  quiet  charm  about  this  story  which  finds 
its  way  into  the  innermost  shrines  of  life.  The  book  is  wholesome  and  good,  and  cannot 
fail  to  give  pleasure  to  those  who  love  beauty." 

2 1st  Thousand. 
RUE    WITH    A   DIFFERENCE. 

BOOKMAN. — "  Fresh  and  charming.  .  .  .  A  piece  of  distinctly  good  work." 

25th  Thousand. 
HERB    OF   GRACE. 

WESTMINSTER  GAZETTE.—"  A  clever  delineator  of  character,  possessed  of  a 
reserve  of  strength  in  a  quiet,  easy,  flowing  style,  Miss  Carey  never  faifs  to  please  a  large 
class  of  readers.  Herb  of  Grace  is  no  exception  to  the  rule.  ..." 

2oth  Thousand. 
THE    HIGHWAY   OF   FATE. 

BOOKMAN. — "This  pretty  love  story  ....  is  charming;,  sparkling,  and^  never 
mawkish." 


2o  Macmillan  and  Co.'s 

THE    NOVELS   AND   TALES   OF 

CHARLOTTE   M.   YONGE 

THE   HEIR  OF  REDCLYFFE.    With  Illustrations  by  KATE 
GREENAWAY. 

HEARTSEASE  ;   or,  the  Brother's  Wife.     New  Edition.     With 
Illustrations  by  KATE  GREENAWAY. 

HOPES  AND  FEARS  ;  or,  Scenes  from  the  Life  of  a  Spinster. 
With  Illustrations  by  HERBERT  GANDY. 

DYNEVOR  TERRACE  ;  or,  the  Clue  of  Life.    With  Illustrations 
by  ADRIAN  STOKES. 

THE   DAISY   CHAIN  ;   or,  Aspirations.     A  Family  Chronicle 
With  Illustrations  by  J.  P.  ATKINSON. 

THE  TRIAL  :  More  Links  of  the  Daisy  Chain.     With  Illustra- 
tions by  J.  P.  ATKINSON. 

THE  PILLARS   OF  THE  HOUSE ;    or,  Under  Wode,  under 
Rode.     Two  Vols.     With  Illustrations  by  HERBERT  GANDY. 

THE  YOUNG  STEPMOTHER ;   or,  a  Chronicle  of  Mistakes. 
With  Illustrations  by  MARIAN  HUXLEY. 

THE  CLEVER  WOMAN  OF  THE  FAMILY.     With  Illustra- 
tions by  ADRIAN  STOKES. 

THE  THREE  BRIDES.  With  Illustrations  by  ADRIAN  STOKES. 

MY  YOUNG  ALCIDES  :  A  Faded  Photograph.     With  Illustra- 
tions by  ADRIAN  STOKES. 

THE  CAGED  LION.    With  Illustrations  by  W.  J.  HENNESSY. 

THE   DOVE   IN  THE   EAGLE'S   NEST.     With  Illustrations 
by  W.  J.  HENNESSY. 

THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS;    or,  the   White  and   Black 
Ribaumont.     With  Illustrations  by  W.  J.  HENNESSY. 

LADY  HESTER  ;  or,  Ursula's  Narrative  ;  and  THE  DANVERS 
PAPERS.     With  Illustrations  by  JANE  E.  COOK. 

MAGNUM  BONUM  ;  or,  Mother  Carey's  Brood.    With  Illustra- 
tions by  W.  J.  HENNESSY. 

LOVE  AND  LIFE  :  an  Old  Story  in  Eighteenth  Century  Costume. 
With  Illustrations  by  W.  J.  HENNESSY. 

UNKNOWN  TO  HISTORY.     A  Story  of  the  Captivity  of  Mary 
of  Scotland.     With  Illustrations  by  W.  J.  HENNESSY. 

STRAY   PEARLS.     Memoirs  of  Margaret  de  Ribaumont,  Vis- 
countess of  Bellaise.     With  Illustrations  by  W.  J.  HENNESSY. 


Three-and-Sixpenny   Library         21 
THE    NOVELS   AND   TALES    OF 

CHARLOTTE   M.   YONGE 

THE    ARMOURER'S    'PRENTICES.      With   Illustrations   by 
W.  J.  HENNESSY. 

THE  TWO  SIDES  OF  THE  SHIELD.    With  Illustrations  by 
W.  J.  HENNESSY. 

NUTTIE'S  FATHER.    With  Illustrations  by  W.  J.  HENNESSY. 

SCENES    AND    CHARACTERS  ;    or,    Eighteen    Months    at 
Beechcroft.     With  Illustrations  by  W.  J.  HENNESSY. 

CHANTRY  HOUSE.    With  Illustrations  by  W.  J.  HENNESSY. 
A    MODERN    TELEMACHUS.     With  Illustrations  by  W.   J. 

HENNESSY. 

BYWORDS.     A  collection  of  Tales  new  and  old. 
BEECHCROFT  AT  ROCKSTONE. 
MORE  BYWORDS. 

A  REPUTED  CHANGELING;  or,  Three  Seventh  Years  Two 
Centuries  Ago. 

THE  LITTLE  DUKE,  RICHARD  THE  FEARLESS.     With 
Illustrations. 

THE  LANCES  OF  LYNWOOD.     With  Illustrations  by  J.  B. 
THE  PRINCE  AND  THE  PAGE  :  A  Story  of  the  Last  Crusade. 
With  Illustrations  by  ADRIAN  STOKES. 

TWO    PENNILESS    PRINCESSES.      With    Illustrations    by 
W.  J.  HENNESSY. 

THAT  STICK. 

AN     OLD     WOMAN'S     OUTLOOK    IN     A     HAMPSHIRE 
VILLAGE. 

GRISLY  GRISELL  ;  or,  The  Laidly  Lady  of  Whitburn.     A  Tale 
of  the  Wars  of  the  Roses. 

HENRIETTA'S  WISH.     Second  Edition. 
THE  LONG  VACATION. 

THE  RELEASE  ;   or,  Caroline's  French  Kindred. 
THE  PILGRIMAGE  OF  THE  BEN  BERIAH. 

THE  TWO  GUARDIANS  ;  or,  Home  in  this  World.     Second 
Edition. 

COUNTESS  KATE  AND  THE  STOKESLEY  SECRET. 
MODERN   BROODS  ;    or,  Developments  Unlocked  for. 
STROLLING  PLAYERS  :   A  Harmony  of  Contrasts.     By  C.  M. 
YONGE  and  C.  R.  COLERIDGE. 


22  Macmillan  and  Co.'s 


Works  by  Mrs.   Craik 

Olive  :  A  Novel.     With  Illustrations  by  G.  BOWERS. 
The  Ogilvies  :   A  Novel.     With  Illustrations. 

Agatha's    Husband :    A   Novel.      With  Illustrations  by 

WALTER  CRANE. 
The  Head  of  the  Family :  A  Novel.     With  Illustrations 

by  WALTER  CRANE. 
Two  Marriages. 
The  Laurel  Bush. 

My  Mother  and  I:  a  Girl's  Love  Story.    With  Illustrations. 
Miss  Tommy  :    a  Mediaeval  Romance. 
King  Arthur:    Not  a  Love  Story. 
About  Money,  and  other  Things. 
Concerning  Men,  and  other  Papers. 

Works   by  Mrs.   Oliphant 

Neighbours  on  the  Green. 

Joyce. 

Kirsteen  :  the  Story  of  a  Scotch  Family  Seventy  Years  Ago. 

A  Beleaguered  City  :  A  Story  of  the  Seen  and  the  Unseen. 

Hester :  a  Story  of  Contemporary  Life. 

He  that  Will  Not  when  He  May. 

The  Railway  Man  and  his  Children. 

The  Marriage  of  Elinor. 

Sir  Tom. 

The  Heir-Presmptive  and  the  Heir-Apparent. 

A  Country  Gentleman  and  his  Family. 

A  Son  of  the  Soil. 

The  Second  Son. 

The  Wizard's  Son  :    A  Novel. 

The  Curate  in  Charge. 

Lady  William.  Young  Musgrave. 


Three-and-Sixpenny   Library         23 

The  Works  of  Dean  Farrar 

SEEKERS  AFTER  GOD.     The  Lives  of  Seneca,  Epictetus,  and 

Marcus  Aurelius. 

ETERNAL  HOPE.     Sermons  preached  in  Westminster  Abbey. 
THE   FALL   OF   MAN  :    and  other  Sermons. 
THE   WITNESS    OF    HISTORY  TO    CHRIST. 
THE  SILENCE  AND  VOICES  OF  GOD,  with  other  Sermons. 
".IN   THE  DAYS   OF  THY  YOUTH."     Sermons  on  Practical 

Subjects. 

SAINTLY   WORKERS.     Five  Lenten  Lectures. 
EPHPHATHA ;   or,  the  Amelioration  of  the  World. 
MERCY^AND   JUDGMENT  :   a  few  last  words  on  Christian 

Eschatology. 
SERMONS  &  ADDRESSES  DELIVERED  IN  AMERICA. 

THE   WORKS   OF 

Frederick   Denison   Maurice 

SERMONS    PREACHED    IN    LINCOLN'S    INN    CHAPEL. 

In  six  vols. 

SERMONS   PREACHED    IN    COUNTRY   CHURCHES. 
CHRISTMAS   DAY  :   and  other  Sermons. 
THEOLOGICAL   ESSAYS. 
THE  PROPHETS  AND  KINGS  OF  THE  OLD  TESTAMENT. 

THE  PATRIARCHS  AND  LAWGIVERS  OF  THE  OLD 
TESTAMENT. 

THE   GOSPEL   OF   THE    KINGDOM   OF   HEAVEN. 

THE   GOSPEL   OF   ST.  JOHN. 

THE   EPISTLES   OF   ST.   JOHN. 

THE   FRIENDSHIP   OF   BOOKS  :   and  other  Lectures. 

THE  PRAYER  BOOK  AND  LORD'S  PRAYER. 

THE  DOCTRINE  OF  SACRIFICE.  Deduced  from  the 
Scriptures. 

THE   ACTS    OF   THE   APOSTLES. 

THE  KINGDOM  OF  CHRIST;  or,  Hints  to  a  Quaker  re- 
specting the  Principles,  Constitution,  and  Ordinances  of  the 
Catholic  Church.  2  vols. 


24  Macmillan  and  Co.'s 


THE    WORKS    OF 

CHARLES    KINGSLEY 


WESTWARD    HO  ! 

HYP  ATI  A ;  or,  New  Foes  with  an  old  Face. 

TWO   YEARS   AGO. 

ALTON  LOCKE,  Tailor  and  Poet.     An  Autobiography. 

HEREWARD  THE  WAKE,  "Last  of  the  English." 

YEAST  :  A  Problem. 

POEMS  :    including  The   Saint's   Tragedy,  Andromeda,   Songs, 
Ballads,  etc. 

THE  WATER-BABIES  :  A  Fairy  Tale  for  a  Land-Baby.     With 
Illustrations  by  LINLEY  SAMBOURNE. 

THE  HEROES  ;  or,  Greek  Fairy  Tales  for  my  Children.     With 
Illustrations  by  the  Author. 

GLAUCUS  ;  or,  The  Wonders  of  the  Shore.    With  Illustrations. 

MADAME    HOW   AND    LADY   WHY;   or,  First  Lessons  in 

Earth  Lore  for  Children.     With  Illustrations. 

AT  LAST.     A  Christmas  in  the  West  Indies.    With  Illustrations. 
THE  HERMITS. 

HISTORICAL  LECTURES  AND  ESSAYS. 
PLAYS  AND  PURITANS,  and  other  Historical  Essays. 
THE  ROMAN  AND  THE  TEUTON. 
PROSE  IDYLLS,  New  and  Old. 
SCIENTIFIC  LECTURES  AND  ESSAYS. 
SANITARY  AND  SOCIAL  LECTURES  AND  ESSAYS. 
LITERARY  AND  GENERAL  LECTURES  AND  ESSAYS. 
ALL  SAINTS'  DAY  :  and  other  Sermons. 
DISCIPLINE  :  and  other  Sermons. 
THE  GOOD  NEWS  OF  GOD.     Sermons. 
GOSPEL  OF  THE  PENTATEUCH. 
SERMONS  FOR  THE  TIMES. 
SERMONS  ON  NATIONAL  SUBJECTS. 

VILLAGE     SERMONS,    AND     TOWN     AND     COUNTRY 

SERMONS. 

THE  WATER  OF  LIFE  :  and  other  Sermons. 
WESTMINSTER  SERMONS. 


Three-and-Sixpenny   Library         25 

ENGLISH 
MEN  OF  LETTERS 

EDITED  BY  JOHN   MORLEY. 
Arranged  in  13  Volumes,  each  containing  the  Lives  of  three  Authors. 

I.  Chaucer.  By  Dr.  A.  W.  WARD.  Spenser.  By  Dean 
CHURCH.  Dryden.  By  Prof.  SAINTSBURY. 

II.  Milton.  By  MARK  PATTISON.  Goldsmith.  By  W. 
BLACK.  Cowper.  By  GOLDWIN  SMITH. 

III.  Byron.   By  Professor  NICHOL.     Shelley.    By  J.  A. 

SYMONDS.     Keats.  By  SIDNEY  COLVIN. 

IV.  Wordsworth.  By  F.  W.  H.  MYERS.     Southey.  By 

Prof.  DOWDEN.     Landor.  By  SIDNEY  COLVIN. 

V.  Charles  Lamb.  By  Canon  AINGER.  Addison.  By 
W.  J.  COURTHOPE.  Swift.  By  Sir  LESLIE  STEPHEN, 
K.C.B. 

VI.  Scott.  By  R.  H.  HUTTON.  Burns.  By  Principal 
SHAIRP.  Coleridge.  By  H.  D.  TRAILL. 

VII.  Hume.  By  Prof.  HUXLEY,  F.R.S.  Locke.  By  THOS. 
FOWLER.  Burke.  By  JOHN  MORLEY. 

VIII.  Defoe.    By  W.  MINTO.     Sterne.    By  H.  D.  TRAILL. 
Hawthorne.    By  HENRY  JAMES. 

IX.  Fielding.  By  AUSTIN  DOBSON.  Thackeray.  By 
ANTHONY  TROLLOPE.  Dickens.  By  Dr.  A.  W. 
WARD. 

X.  Gibbon.  By  J.  C.  MORISON.  Carlyle.  By  Professor 
NICHOL.  Macaulay.  By  J.  C.  MORISON. 

XI.  Sydney.  By  J.  A.  SYMONDS.  De  Quincey.  By 
Prof.  MASSON.  Sheridan.  By  Mrs.  OLIPHANT. 

XII.  Pope.  By  Sir  LESLIE  STEPHEN,  K.C.B.  Johnson. 
By  Sir  LESLIE  STEPHEN,  K.C.B.  Gray.  By  EDMUND 
GOSSE. 

XIII.  Bacon.    By   Dean   CHURCH.      Bunyan.    By  J.    A. 
FROUDE.     Bentley.    By  Sir  RICHARD  JEBB. 


26  Macmillan  and  Co.'s 

By  GERTRUDE   ATHERTON 

THE  CONQUEROR. 

PATIENCE  SPARHAWK  AND  HER  TIMES. 
AMERICAN   WIVES  &  ENGLISH    HUSBANDS. 
A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  VINE. 

By  J.  H.  SHORTHOUSE 

JOHN  INGLESANT:   A  Romance. 

SIR  PERCIVAL:  a  Story  of  the  Past  and  of  the  Present. 

THE  LITTLE  SCHOOLMASTER  MARK. 

THE  COUNTESS  EVE. 

A  TEACHER  OF  THE  VIOLIN. 

BLANCHE,  LADY  FALAISE. 

By  HUGH   CONWAY 

A  FAMILY  AFFAIR.       |      LIVING  OR  DEAD. 

By  W.  CLARK    RUSSELL 
MAROONED.          |    A  STRANGE  ELOPEMENT 

By  Mrs.  PARR 


DOROTHY  FOX. 
ADAM  AND  EVE. 


LOYALTY  GEORGE. 
ROBIN. 


By  ANNIE    KEARY 

A  YORK  AND  A  LANCASTER  ROSE. 
CASTLE  DALY:  the  Story  of  an  Irish  Home  thirty 

years  ago. 

JANET'S  HOME.  |  OLDBURY. 

A  DOUBTING  HEART. 
THE  NATIONS  AROUND  ISRAEL. 

By  E.  WERNER 

SUCCESS,  AND  HOW  HE  WON  IT. 
FICKLE  FORTUNE. 


Three-and-Sixpenny  Library         27 

By  W.  WARDE    FOWLER 

A  YEAR  WITH  THE  BIRDS.     Illustrated. 
TALES  OF  THE  BIRDS.     Illustrated. 
MORE  TALES  OF  THE  BIRDS.     Illustrated. 
SUMMER  STUDIES  OF  BIRDS  AND  BOOKS. 

By  FRANK    BUCKLAND 

CURIOSITIES  OF  NATURAL  HISTORY.  Illus- 
trated. In  four  volumes  : 

FIRST  SERIES — Rats,  Serpents,  Fishes,  Frogs,  Monkeys,  etc. 

SECOND  SERIES — Fossils,  Bears,  Wolves,  Cats,  Eagles,  Hedge- 
hogs, Eels,  Herrings,  Whales. 

THIRD  SERIES— Wild  Ducks,  Fishing,  Lions,  Tigers,  Foxes, 
Porpoises. 

FOURTH  SERIES — Giants,  Mummies,  Mermaids,  Wonderful 
People,  Salmon,  etc. 

By  ARCHIBALD    FORBES 

BARRACKS,  BIVOUACS,  AND  BATTLES. 
SOUVENIRS  OF  SOME  CONTINENTS. 

By  THOMAS   HUGHES 

TOM  BROWN'S  SCHOOLDAYS. 

TOM  BROWN  AT  OXFORD. 

THE  SCOURING  OF  THE  WHITE  HORSE. 

ALFRED  THE  GREAT. 

By  MONTAGU    WILLIAMS 

LEAVES  OF  A  LIFE.     |          LATER  LEAVES. 
ROUND  LONDON. 

By  W.    E.    NORRIS 

THIRLBY  HALL. 

A   BACHELOR'S  BLUNDER. 

The  Works  of  SHAKESPEARE 
VICTORIA  EDITION.     In  Three  Volumes. 
Vol.  I.  COMEDIES.     Vol.  II.  HISTORIES.     Vol.  III.  TRAGEDIES. 


28         Three-and-Sixpenny   Library 


Works   by  Various   Authors 

Hogan,  M.P. 

Flitters,  Tatters,  and  the  Counsellor 

The  New  Antigone  |         Memories  of  Father  Healy 

CANON  ATKINSON.— The  Last  of  the  Giant  Killers 

Walks,  Talks,  Travels,  and  Exploits  of  Two  Schoolboy* 

Playhours  and  Half-Holidays;  or,  further  Experiences 

of  Two  Schoolboys 

SIR  S.  BAKER.— True  Tales  for  my  Grandsons 
R.  H.  BAR  HAM.— The  Ingoldsby  Legends 
REV.  R.  H.  D.  BARHAM.— Life  of  R.  H.  Barham 

Life  of  Theodore  Hook  [land 

BLENNERHASSET  AND  SLEE MAN.— Adventures  in  Mashona- 

SIR  H.  LYTTON  BULWER.— Historical  Characters 

C.  COWDEN  CLARKE.— The  Riches  of  Chaucer 

SIR  H.  M.  DURAND.— Helen  Treveryan 

LANOE  FALCONER.— Cecilia  de  Noel 

W.  FORBES-MITCHELL.— Reminiscences  of  the  Great  Mutiny 

W.  P.  FRITH,  R.A.— My  Autobiography 

REV.  J.  GILMORE.— Storm  Warriors 

F.  GUIZOT.— Life  of  Oliver  Cromwell 
CUTCLIFFE  HYNE.— The  "Paradise"  Coal-Boat 
RICHARD  JEFFERIES.— The  Dewy  Morn 
HENRY   KINGSLEY.— Tales  of  Old  Travel 
MARY  LINSKILL.— Tales  of  the  North  Riding 
S.  R.  LYSAGHT.— The  Marplot 

M.   M'LENNAN.— Muckle  Jock,  and  other  Stories 
LUCAS  MALET.— Mrs.  Lorimer 

G.  MASSON.— A    Compendious   Dictionary    of    the    French 

Language 

F.  A.  MIGNET.— Life  of  Mary  Queen  of  Scots 
MAJOR  GAMBIER  PARRY.— The  Story  of  Dick 
E.  C.  PRICE.— In  the  Lion's  Mouth 
LORD  REDESDALE.— Tales  of  Old  Japan 
W.  C.  RHOADES.— John  Trevennick 

CAMILLE  ROUSSET.— Recollections  of  Marshal  Macdonald 
HAWLEY   SMART.—  Breezie  Langton 
MARCHES  A  THEODOLI.— Under  Pressure 
ANTHONY  TROLLOPE.— The  Three  Clerks 
MRS.  HUMPHRY  WARD.— Miss  Bretherton 
CHARLES  WHITEHEAD.— Richard  Savage 


29 

THE    GLOBE    LIBRARY 

Crown  8vo.    y.  ftd.  each. 

Tht  volumes  marked  -with  an  atftruk  (*)  are  alto  iitued  in  limp  leather, 
with  full  gilt  back  and  gilt  edge*.     $s.  net  each. 

*Boswell's  Life  of  Johnson.     With  an  Introduction  by 

MOWBRAY  MORRIS. 
'Burns's  Complete  Works.    Edited  from  the  best  Printed 

and  MS.  Authorities,  wilh  Memoir  and  Gloccarial  Index.  By  A.  SMITH. 
*The  Works  of  Geoffrey  Chaucer.    Edited  by  ALFRED 

W.  POULARD,  IL  F.  HEATH,  M.  H.  LIDDELL,  and  W.  S.  McCoRMicK. 
'Cowper's    Poetical  Works.     Edited,  with  Biographical 

Introduction  and  Notes  ?y  W.  BCNHAM,  B.D. 
Robinson  Crusoe.     Edited  after  the  original  Edition,  with 

a  Biographical  Introduction  by  HENRY  KIKGSLEY,  F.R.G.S. 
•Dryden's    Poetical    Works.     Edited,  with  a   Memoir, 

Revved  Texts,  and  Notes,  by  W.  D.  CHRISTIE,  M.A. 
Froissart's   Chronicles.     Translated  by  Lord  BERXERS. 

Edited  by  G.  C.  MACAULAY,  M.  A. 
•Goldsmith's  Miscellaneous  Works.  With  Biographical 

Introduction  by  Professor  MASSOH. 
Horace.     Rendered  into  English  Prose,  with  Introduction, 

g mm«ig  Analysis,  Notes,  and  Index.     By  J.  LOKSDALE,  M.A.,  and 

S.  LEE,  M.A. 
Morte  D'Arthur.     The  Book  ot  King  Arthur,  and  of  his 

NoHe  Knights  of  the  Round  Table.    The  Original  Edition  of  Caxton, 

revised  for  •odern  nse.     With  Introduction,  Notes,  and  GLocsary. 

By  Sir  E.  STRACHEY. 
*Milton's    Poetical  Works.     Edited,  with  Introduction, 

by  Professor  HASSON. 
*The  Diary  of  Samuel  Pepys.     With  an  Introduction 

and  Notes  by  G.  GREGORY  SMITH. 
*Pope's  Poetical  Works.     Edited,  with  Notes  and  Intro- 

dnctonr  Memoir,  by  Dr.  A,  W.  WARD. 

*Sir  Walter  Scon's  Poetical  Works.  Edited,  with 
Biographical  and  Critical  Memoir,  by  ProC  F.  T.  PAIJCRAVE.  With 
Introduction  and  Notes, 

*Shakespeare's    Complete   Works.     Edited  by  W.  G. 

CLARK,  M.A..  and  W.  ALOIS  WRIGHT,  M.A.     With  Glossary. 
'Spenser's  Complete  Works.     Edited  from  the  Original 

Editions  and  Mamscripts.  with  Glossary,  by  R.   MORRIS,  and  a 

Memoir  by  J.  W.  HALES,  M.A.  [edges,    v.  (**.} 

*Tennyson's  Poetical  ^Vo^k8.    [Also  in  extra  cloth,  gilt 
Virgil.     Rendered  into  English  Prose,  with  Introductions, 

Notes,  Analyas,  aod  lodex.  ByJ.  LoxsDALE,M.,A,.andS.LcE,M.A. 


30 
ILLUSTRATED 

STANDARD    NOVELS 

Crown  8vo.     Cloth  Elegant,  gilt  edges  (Peacock  Edition). 
3-r.  6d.  each. 

Also  issued  in  ornamental  cloth  binding.     2s.  6d.  each. 

By  JANE    AUSTEN 

With  Introductions  by  AUSTIN  DOBSON,  and  Illustrations  by 
HUGH  THOMSON  and  C.  E.  BROCK. 


PRIDE  AND  PREJUDICE. 
SENSE  AND  SENSIBILITY. 
EMMA. 


MANSFIELD  PARK. 
NORTHANGER  ABBEY, 

AND  PERSUASION. 


By  J.  FENIMORE    COOPER 

With  Illustrations  by  C.  E.  BROCK  and  H.  M.  BROCK. 

THE  LAST  OF  THE  MOHICANS.    With  a  General  In- 
troduction by  Mowbray  Morris. 


THE  DEERSLAYER. 
THE  PATHFINDER. 


THE  PIONEERS. 
THE  PRAIRIE. 


By  MARIA    EDGEWORTH 

With  Introductions  by  ANNE  THACKERAY  RITCHIE,  and  Illus- 
trations by  CHRIS  HAMMOND  and  CARL  SCHLOESSER. 


ORMOND. 

CASTLE  RACKRENT,  AND 

THE  ABSENTEE. 
POPULAR  TALES. 


HELEN. 

BELINDA. 

PARENT'S  ASSISTANT. 


By  CAPTAIN    MARRYAT 

With  Introductions  by  DAVID  H  ANN  AY,  and  Illustrations  by 

H.  M.  BROCK,  J.  AYTON  SYMINGTON,  FRED  PEGRAM,  F.  H 

TOWNSEND,  H.  R.  MILLAR,  and  E.  J.  SULLIVAN. 


JAPHET  IN  SEARCH  OF 
A  FATHER. 


JACOB  FAITHFUL. 
PETER  SIMPLE. 


ILLUSTRATED 

STANDARD    NOVELS 

By  CAPTAIN    MARRY  AT— continued. 

THE  PIRATE,  AND  THE 


MIDSHIPMAN  EASY. 
THE  KING'S  OWN. 
THE  PHANTOM  SHIP. 
SNARLEY-YOW. 


THREE  CUTTERS. 
MASTERMAN  READY. 
FRANK  MILDMAY. 


POOR  JACK.  NEWTON  FORSTER. 

By  THOMAS    LOVE    PEACOCK 

With  Introductions  by  GEORGE  SAINTSBURY,  and  Illustrations 
by  H.  R.  MILLAR  and  F.  H.  TOWNSEND. 


HEADLONG  HALL,  AND 
NIGHTMARE  ABBEY. 

MAID  MARIAN,  AND 

CROTCHET  CASTLE. 


GRYLL  GRANGE. 
MELINCOURT. 
MISFORTUNES  OF  ELPHIN 
AND  RHODODAPHNE. 


BY    VARIOUS   AUTHORS 
WESTWARD  Ho !    By  CHARLES  KINGSLEY.   Illustrated 

by  C.  E.  Brock. 

HANDV  ANDY.    By  SAMUEL  LOVER.     Illustrated  by 

H.  M.  Brock.     With  Introduction  by  Charles  Whibley. 

TOM  CRINGLE'S  LOG.  By  MICHAEL  SCOTT.  Illus- 
trated by  J.  Ayton  Symington.  With  Introduction  by  Mow- 
bray  Morris. 

ANNALS  OF  THE  PARISH.    By  JOHN  GALT.    Illustrated 

By  C.  E.  Brock.     With  Introduction  by  Alfred  Ainger. 

SYBIL,  OR  THE  Two  NATIONS,  ETC.    By  BENJAMIN 

DISRAELI.     Illustrated  by  F.  Pegram.     With  Introduction  by 
H.  D.  Traill. 

LAVENGRO.     By  GEORGE    BORROW.     Illustrated  by 

E.  J.  Sullivan.     With  Introduction  by  Augustine  Birrell,  K.C. 

ADVENTURES  OF  HAJJI  BABA  OF  ISPAHAN.  By  JAMES 

MORIER.     Illustrated  by  H.  R.  Millar.    With  Introduction  by 
Lord  Curzon. 


32 

THE  NEW  CRANFORD  SERIES 

Crown  8vo,  Cloth  Elegant,  Gilt  Edges,  js.  6d.  per  volume. 

Cranford.     By    Mrs.    GASKELL.     With    Preface    by    Anne 
Thackeray  Ritchie  and  100  Illustrations  by  Hugh  Thomson. 

The    Vicar    of   Wakefield.     With    182    Illustrations   by 
Hugh  Thomson,  and  Preface  by  Austin  Dobson. 

Our  Village.     By  MARY  RUSSELL  MITFORD.     Introduction 

by  Anne  Thackeray  Ritchie,  and  100  Illustrations  by  Hugh  Thomson. 

Gulliver's    Travels.     With    Introduction    by   Sir    Henry 
Craik,  K.C.B.,  and  loo  Illustrations  by  C.  E.  Brock. 

The    Humorous    Poems    of    Thomas    Hood.      With 

Preface  by  Alfred  Ainger,  and  130  Illustrations  by  C.  E.  Brock. 

Sheridan's  The  School  for  Scandal  and  The  Rivals. 

Illustrated  by  E.  J.  Sullivan.     With  Introduction  by  A.  Birrell. 

Household  Stories.     By  the  Brothers  GRIMM.    Translated 
by  Lucy  Crane.     With  Pictures  by  Walter  Crane. 

Reynard  the  Fox.     Edited  by  J.  JACOBS.     With  Illustra- 
tions by  W.  Frank  Calderon. 

Coaching  Days  and  Coaching  Ways.     By  W.  OUTRAM 
TRISTRAM.     With  Illustrations  by  H.  Railton  and  Hugh  Thomson. 

Coridon's  Song;  and  other  Verses.     With  Introduction  by 
Austin  Dobson  and  Illustrations  by  Hugh  Thomson. 

Days  with  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley.    With  Illustrations 

by  Hugh  Thomson. 

The  Fables  of  ^Esop.    Selected  by  JOSEPH  JACOBS.    Illus- 
trated by  R.  Heighway. 

Old    Christmas.     By  WASHINGTON   IRVING.     With   Illus- 
trations by  R.  Caldecott. 

Bracebridge  Hall.     With  Illustrations  by  R.  CALDECOTT. 
Rip  Van  Winkle  and  the  Legend  of  Sleepy  Hollow. 

With  50  Illustrations  and  a  Preface  by  George  H.  Boughton,  A.R.A. 

The   Alhambra.      With    Illustrations    by   J.    Pennell   and 
Introduction  by  E.  R.  Pennell. 

MACMILLAN   &   CO.,  LTD.,   LONDON. 

^    if  I  A     J-    PALMER,    PRINTER,    CAMBRIDGE. 


r\ 


PR  Wells,  Herbert  George 

5774.  The  stolen  bacillus 

S86 
1904 


PLEASE  DO  NOT  REMOVE 
CARDS  OR  SLIPS  FROM  THIS  POCKET 

UNIVERSITY  OF  TORONTO  LIBRARY