The drumming in my ears died suddenly out to silence, and then started afresh more violently than ever, and more sharply, for the long pinging of an electric bell shrilled through it. The pinging ceased sharply: the drumming continued; and I looked up to see the mess sergeant standing over me, at attention.
"Telephone call for you, sir."
I went to the instrument like a man in a dream. Something suddenly gone wrong with Sally's healthy first-born? Jimmy starting for France and ringing me up for farewell? Farrell—damn Farrell!—to talk business? Jephson, with word that he had achieved the urgent desire of his heart and been passed as a gunner, to join me,quo fas et gloria ducunt? These four only, to my knowledge, had my probable address.
"Hallo?" I called.
"Hallo!" came the answer sharp and prompt, in a woman's voice which I recognised at once for Constantia's. "Is that you, Roddy?"
"Yes—Roddy, all right," I spoke back, mastering my voice.
"Have you seen—?" Her voice trailed off.
"D'you mean the announcement? Yes, two minutes ago. Is it congratulations you're ringing up in this hurry?"
"Roddy, dear, don't be a beast!" the voice implored. "I'm in a horrible hole, and I think only you can help me. Is it possible for you to get leave, and come? Mamma asks me to say that there's a room here, and—and we want you!"
"As it happens," returned I, "there'll be no trouble about getting leave. We're to start—report says—at the end of the week, and I must be sent up to collect a few service odds-and-ends. As for sleeping, I'll ring up Jephson, and if he's already conscripted, I can doss at the Club. All that is easy. But tell me, what is the matter?"
"Oh! I can't here." Constantia's voice thrilled on the wire. "It's pretty awful. I never gave him leave—never!"
"You're getting pretty incoherent," said I. "We'll have it out when we meet. Dinner?… No, I shall pick up a meal on the train. … Mustn't expect me before 8.30; I have to put a draft through and see them off. Odd jobs, besides.… These are strenuous times."
"Roddy, you're an angel!"
"Not a bit," said I; "and I warn you not to expect me in that capacity. You'll observe that I haven't congratulated you yet." I put this in rather savagely.
"You're also rather a brute," answered the voice. "But you'll come?"
"Please God," said I.
"Thank God!" answered she; and I hung up the receiver.
Well, in my jubilation I had forgotten to ask for leave to run up and get kit. But leave was no sooner asked for than given. From Victoria that evening I taxi'd straight to Jermyn Street, where I found Jephson, warned by telegram, elate at the prospect of soldiering. I was able, after a talk with my Colonel, to inform him that he had also a prospect of coming along as my servant, and this lifted him to the seventh heaven. Then I went out, picked up a dinner at Arthur's, and walked on to Upper Brook Street.
In those days London had not started to shroud its lamps. One stood a few paces short of the porch of Number 105; and as I turned into Brook Street I saw a man come hastily down the steps, and enter a taxi anchored there. The butler followed and closed the door upon him. The night had begun to drizzle, and there was a sough of sou'westerly wind in the air. I turned up the collar of my service overcoat and, as the taxi passed, walked pretty briskly forward and intercepted Mrs. Denistoun's butler, who, after a stare at the retreating vehicle, had reascended the steps and was about to close the door. Recognising me by the light of the porch lamp, he opened the door wide, and full upon the figure of Constantia, standing in the hallway. She gave a little gasp and came to me, holding out her hand.
"You were always as good as your word, Roddy. Come into the library. Where are you sleeping, by the way?"
"In my flat," said I. "Jephson will not be called up for a day or two. He has a fire lit, and will sit up for me."
"He may have to sit up late," replied Constantia. "Mamma will be down presently.… There has been something of a scene, and she is upset. You saw Mr. Farrell go away, just now? You must have passed him, almost at the door."
"I did," said I, "though I don't know if he recognised me. Child, what is the matter?"
"Child?" echoed Constantia. "It does me good to be called that, for that's exactly how I am feeling.… He had no right—no right—" and there she broke off.
"Do you mean," said I, "that he put that announcement in theTimeshaving norightto do it?"
"I dare say," moaned Constantia, waving her arms feebly, pathetically, "he understood more than I meant him to."
"Let us be practical, please," said I, becoming extremely stern. "Have you, or have you not, engaged yourself to marry Farrell?"
"Certainly I have not," she answered with vivacity. "He asked me, and I—well, I played for time."
I couldn't repress a small groan at this: or, rather, it was half a groan and half a sigh of relief. "Has he spoken to your mother?"
"No."
"Does your mother know about it?"
"Yes. I told her."
"Does she approve of this announcement in the papers? Has she sanctioned it?"
"Of course she does not—of course she has not.… Roddy, sit down and don't ask so many questions all of a heap. Sit down and light your pipe, and pass me a cigarette. Furnilove will bring in some whisky for you by and by."
"Thank you, Constantia; but I don't feel like staying. I've always maintained—oh, damnation!" I broke off.
"What have you always maintained, Roddy? Sit down and tell it. Are you not here because I sent for you? And didn't I send for you because I am in trouble? We are in a tangle, I tell you, and I'm asking you, on my knees, to untwist it. So light your pipe and, before we begin, tell me—What is it you have always maintained?"
"I have always maintained," I answered slowly, even more stern than before, "that no woman can be safely trusted to know a cad from a gentleman. If the cad can flourish a trifle of worldly success in front of her, or if he's a mere adventurer and flashes himself on her boldly enough,or, if she has persuaded herself to pity him, she's just fascinated, and you can't trust her judgment ten yards. There!… I've burnt my boats."
Constantia sat for some while pondering this, breathing out the smoke of her cigarette, gazing into the fire under the shade of a handscreen.
"I'll tell you another thing, Roddy," she said at length; "and it's as true and truer. No woman thinks worse of a man for burning his boats.… But it isn't quite worldly success to be wrecked and left desolate on an island three hundred miles from anywhere. It all started (as you hinted) with my pitying him and admiring his strength of will after the awful experience he had tholed."
"He left you just now? I saw him drive away, and his infernal dog with him."
"Yes: there had been a pretty bad scene. I was furious, and Mamma was so much upset that I doubt if she'll be fit to talk to-night. But it's a blessed relief to her, now that she knows you are anchored here for a while, to protect us, and that, at the worst, we can ring up Jermyn Street."
"Why," I exclaimed, "what the devil is there to protect you from?"
"Jack—Mr. Foe, that is—has been watching this house for days. He haunts the pavement opposite, all the hours he is off duty. Mamma is sure that he means evil, and I wish I was sure that he didn't. He has gone under, Roddy. It is awful to look out, as Furnilove draws the blinds, and see that figure there stationed, reproaching us—yet for what harm that we have done him? He is even ragged.… I should not be surprised to hear he was starving. Yet what can we do?"
"Tell me his address," said I.
She hesitated. "Why should you suppose that I know his address?" she asked, shading her face.
But I took her up bluntly. "I am sorry," I said, "to be discharging apophthegms upon you to-night: but you must hear just one other. Every woman follows and traces a man who has once laid his heart on her altar. I am sorry, Con, to call up an instance from so far back in the past: but you knew where to 'phone even for me, this morning. … So own up, child, and tell me, where is Foe?"
"I believe," she answered after a while, the handscreen hiding her face, "he has found work in one of these emergency hospitals they are putting up.… It's at a place called Casterville Gardens, down by Gravesend. When first he started watching this house, he was in rags; but for the last fortnight he has worn khaki, and it improves his appearance wonderfully.… Besides, when a man is in the army, you have the comfort to know that, at least, he isn't starving."
"Was it so bad as that?" I asked. "Well, and now about Farrell?"
"Ah!" said she, "when you saw him get into that taxi, I had dismissed him. He was going—or said he was going—straight to Printing House Square to get that abominable paragraph contradicted. I told him that he was to return to-night and bring me his assurance that it was contradicted—either that, or never to enter this house again.… And now, Roddy, as he may be late—as I would only be content with his seeing the Editor in person—and as editors, I understand, come down late to their work—suppose you mix yourself a whisky-and-soda: for here is Furnilove with the glasses.… Furnilove! keep the latch up for an hour or so, and the door on the chain. Mr. Farrell may be calling late with a particular message. Do not admit him beyond the hall, but come and report to me here. Sir Roderick will receive him in the hall and take the message."
"Yes, miss," said the obedient Furnilove.
"That is all." Constantia pondered.—"Except that you may tell the housemaid not to worry about the room for Sir Roderick. He will not sleep here, after all. And you may send Henriette up with word to Mamma that all is right and Sir Roderick stays only to receive Mr. Farrell's message. He will probably be going at once on receipt of it, and then you can lock up. The others can go to bed when they choose."
"Very good, miss," said Furnilove, and withdrew.
"And now," said Constantia, "since he is late, keep me amused. Tell me all about the island."
So I told her this and that of my voyaging; and the time drew on until the clock on the mantelpiece chimed a half-hour. It was one-thirty.
"The dickens!" said I, pulling out my own watch and consulting it. "Farrell is a long time at Printing House Square. In my belief, Con, he won't be returning."
Just at that moment the front door bell pealed loudly.
We stood up together. We heard Furnilove padding towards the door, and we both moved out into the passage as he slid up the latch and unhooked the chain. Constantia, in her eagerness, had pressed a little ahead of me.
A man rushed in, disregarding Furnilove, shouldering him aside—a man in a furred overcoat. Expecting Farrell, for the moment I mistook him for Farrell. Even when above the fur collar I caught the sight of common khaki, for another moment I took him for Farrell. But he ran for Constantia, stretching out his arms as if to embrace her; and as he stretched them, under the hall light, I saw that one of his hands was bleeding.
I had enough presence of mind to spring in front of her and ward him off. It was Foe.
"It's all right," he gasped, staring at me. "No need to make a fuss. … I have killed him." And with that, still staring at me horribly, he sank slowly and collapsed in a huddle at my feet, raving out incoherent words.
Furnilove behaved admirably. Having assured himself that Miss Constantia was safe, and that I had the intruder under control, he went smartly to the telephone.… Amid Foe's ravings I heard him ringing up the exchange and, after a pause, summoning the doctor.
"We had better have the spare room prepared again, after all," said Constantia. "We can't turn him out, in this state.… And there's a dressing-room, Roddy, next door, if you can put up with it.… But what has happened, God knows."
"God knows," said I. "But he's a lunatic, unless I'm mistaken. We'll hear what the doctor says.… But he shan't sleep here, to trouble you.… Furnilove, whistle up and have a taxi ready.…"
"Oh, what is he saying?" moaned Constantia as the body on the floor still twisted as if burrowing to hide itself, now muttering and again shouting in a voice that reverberated along the passage, "Kill him! Damn that dog!—kill him!"
I knelt on the body and held it still. It was the body of my best friend, and I knelt on it, almost throttling him.
"One can't ring up a lunatic asylum, at this hour of the morning," I found myself gasping. "He's for my flat, to-night, if your doctor will take charge of him with me." And with that I looked up and caught sight of Constantia's mother at the head of the staircase.
"It's all right, Mrs. Denistoun," said I, glancing up. "It's my friend, Jack Foe—my friend that was. With the doctor's leave I'll get him back presently to Jermyn Street, where Jephson and I will look after him for the night.… Jephson used to worship him, and will wait on him as a slave."
And with that—as it seemed amid the blasts of Furnilove's whistle in the porchway and thetoot-tootof a taxi, answering it—a quiet man stood above my shoulder. It was the doctor: and Furnilove had been so explicit on the 'phone that the doctor—whose name I learnt afterwards to be Tredgold—almost by magic whipped out a small bottle from his pocket.
"Water," said he, after a look at the patient, "and a tumbler, quick!"
Furnilove dashed into the library and returned with both.
"Bromide," said Dr. Tredgold. "Let him take it down and then hold his head steady for a few minutes.… Right!… Now the question is, where to bestow him? I can't answer for him when the dose wears off: but it's no case to leave with two ladies."
"There's a taxi, doctor," said I, "if we can get him into it. I have a flat in Jermyn Street, and a trustworthy manservant. I suggest that he'll do there for the night."
"Right," said Dr. Tredgold again; "and the sooner the better. I'll come with you, when I've bound up this wound on his hand. It's a nasty one.… It looks to me—Yes, and it is, too!"
"What is it?" I asked.
"A dog-bite."
"Sothatwas what he killed!" thought I, and aloud I said, "Thank God!"
"Eh?" said the doctor. "A dog-bite's a queer thing to thank God for."
"It might have been worse," I answered.
"H'm: well it's bad enough," Dr. Tredgold replied, busy with his bandaging.
Next evening, my leave being up, I returned to Aldershot. Dr. Tredgold had called around early, and after overhauling his patient and dressing the hand, had assured me there was no cause for anxiety. The fever had gone down, and this allowed us to tackle the main mischief, which was malnutrition. In short, Jack was starving.
"Your man makes an excellent nurse," said the doctor. "I'll tell him to go slow at first, with beef-tea and milk, and to-morrow he can start the works up with a dose of champagne. But I'll drop in to-morrow, to make sure. The wound?—Oh, it's a dog-bite, safe enough, and a rather badly lacerated one. But we cauterised it in time last night, and it shows no 'anger,' as the saying is. Has he told you how he came by it?"
"No," said I. "He has been lying in this lethargy ever since you left him. He wakes up and takes his medicine from Jephson, and then drops back into a doze. I thought it best not to worry him."
"Quite right, too.… And I'll not ask questions, either, beyond putting it that he's a friend of yours, gone under, and you're playing the Samaritan.… Well, you can go back to duty, and Jephson and I will see this through. It's queer, too.… I seem to have seen his face somewhere.… But what's queerer is that he isn't dead. He must have had some practice at fasting, poor fellow. I should say that his stomach hadn't known food for a week."
I duly 'phoned the doctor's report to Constantia. To Jephson my last words were, "Write daily. When Dr. Foe can sit out, dress him in any old suit, shirt, and underwear. I don't see myself out of this khaki for a long time ahead. He will be fit again long before Monday week, when you're to join up: and when he is able to walk, there's an envelope for him in the top right-hand drawer of my writing-table."
Jephson wrote twice to report that Dr. Foe was "going on favourably," and on the third day, that he had even dressed himself and taken a walk. He had been away four hours and more—"which caused me much anxiety," added Jephson.
But on the fourth day, on the eve of our starting for Rouen, I got the following letter, in Jack's own handwriting:
"My dear Roddy,—I shall use the old name, since it is the last time I shall address you; and you, starting for France, will have no time to reach me and say that it is forbidden."I have killed Farrell. It was a stupid and a sorry ending. At the last it was even quite brutal—bestially different from anything I had imagined—and I had imagined many ways—while I had control of the show."I have gone through madness. That again was part of the bestiality I had not reckoned with.… And unless I take steps I shall soon be back in worse bestiality, worse madness. But I am taking steps.… And in the meantime, when you read this you are to be sure that it is written by a man perfectly sane."It is nothing that I have killed Farrell. I could have killed him, as he could have killed me, at any time. I still think that, while the pursuit lay with me, my methods were the more delicate, and that I should never have goaded him to strike as he goaded me."But I will grant that his methods were effective enough: and along one line I should have allowed them to be original, if I didn't know that he had picked up the hint of it on theI'll Away. It wasrumourthat had cursed me there, and he started to work upon rumour. I had put up a plate in Harley Street, as you know, upon the dregs of my capital. This meant a certain bluff upon credit. If my reputation lasted me out six months, all would be well. He divined this and struck at it. To do him justice, I suppose that if he had walked up brutally to the Medical Association and given them his story, I should have been struck off the Register. He worked more subtly than that. Indefinable reports started up, spread and followed me. Out of the skies a net of suspicion descended between me and my quite reputable past. For no reason given, my fellow-practitioners began to shun me."I had a bad case, and no money to carry it through. I have heard, Roddy, that he let you into the secret of the island and that you are like to prosper on it: and I wish you well. But I, who brought him to it, lingering him to land—I, but for whose treasured flask he would never have lived to see Santa Island— could set up no claim on any of that wealth."I had deserved this. It was all quite right, and I make no complaint. But I had to throw up Harley Street, and for two years I steadily sank. In the end I came to know worse hunger than I was prepared for. Though you won't have me at any price, I think you would pity if I told you of some of the holes to which I have crept to sleep."I suppose—and now I think of it, I might have borrowed some comfort from the thought—I suppose that all the while, being rich, Farrell had hired eyes to watch me. It is certain that he ran across me—always at night, and always in evening dress. Once, on the Embankment, as I was coiling on a bench, he came down from the Savoy and along, bringing his dog for a walk. The dog scented me and growled; but I lay out stiff, pretending to sleep."Even when it came to a Salvation Army shelter, we were disturbed by a company of the benevolent; Farrell one of them, in a furred coat with an astrachan collar. He saw me stretched there with closed eyes, and said that one half of the world never knows how the other half lives."It was going like that with me when the War broke out. Then—broken, beaten, and in rags—I put all pride in my pocket, walked across the bridge to Silversmiths' College, rang in on Travers, and demanded a job."Travers was shocked.… I could see also that he was suspicious. Rumour had been at him, too. Finding him less than frank, I turned more than proud: and, his back being up and his conscience uneasy, he did what I could have pardoned in a weaker man; lost his temper, to excuse himself in his own eyes for treating me unjustly. He had scarcely spoken six words before I detected the slime of Farrell's trail. The man had managed to sow rumours, somehow, within the gates of Silversmiths' College, of all places!—rumours that had nothing to do with the island, but suggested that, after all (there being no smoke without fire), therehadbeen dubious and uncleanly experiments in the laboratory during my professorship. I believe that this, when I came to think it over, started my recovery: yes, my recovery. For it showed me that Farrell was deteriorating, and, renewing a little of my old contempt for the man, raised me by so much above the abject fear of him into which I had sunk. From that moment hope was renewed in me, and I nursed it. So long as he worked on the truth he had me at his mercy: playing with falsehood in this fashion, he was vulnerable, might come to be mortally vulnerable if I watched and waited, and then I should regain the lost mastery, dearer to me than life."For the moment, however, Travers claimed all the scorn I carried inside me for use. He hinted that the College had suffered by the scandal of the riot: which no doubt was true to some extent, but not true enough to hide a lie or to cover a meditated betrayal. He said that he had always looked a little askance on my researches, and particularly upon my demonstrations; that they were doubtless astonishing, but had lain, to his taste, a little too near the border-line of quackery,—Yes, Roddy, he said the word, and it did not choke him. On the whole and speaking as a friend (yes, he used that word, too), he must express a hope that I would not press to renew my connection with the Silversmiths' College. It would pain him inexpressibly, remembering old times, to be forced to give me a direct refusal.… But was there anything else he could do for me?"That, Roddy, was the valley of the shadow of my death, and I had no rod or staff to comfort me."I did not answer him in words. I gave him a look, and walked out."My purpose had been to apply for temporary work, to relieve some younger teacher who wished to enlist for medical work at the front. Had you been in London, Roddy, I'd have pocketed shame and come to you, and borrowed the price of a suit of clothes; inside of which—and may be with your support—I might have walked up boldly for a commission in the R.A.M.C.—for there was nothing definite against me: only I was ruined, and my old credentials, set against my present squalor, were so comparatively splendid as to raise instant suspicion of drink and disgrace. But it was part of my just punishment that, when I most needed help, you should be far abroad searching for the very island on which I had shipwrecked all."Finally I found work as a dresser in one of those temporary hospitals which sprang up everywhere in such hurry as the streams of wounded began to pour back from France. Ours was pitched in a derelict pleasure-ground on the right bank of Thames some way below Greenwich.… I don't suppose you ever visited Casterville Gardens: as neither had I until I entered them to do stretcher-drill, tend moaning men, and carry bloody slops in the overgrown alleys that wound among its tawdry, abandoned glories. It had a half-rotted pier of its own, upon which, in Victorian days, the penny steam-boats had discharged many thousands of crowds of pleasure-seekers. The gardens occupied the semicircle of an old quarry, on which the decorative landscape gardener had fallen to work with gusto, planting it with conifers and stucco statues in winding walks that landed you straight from the sightless wisdom of Socrates and Milton, or the equally sightless allurement of Venus, shielding her breasts, upon a skittle-alley, a bandstand, a dancing-saloon, or a bar at which stood, for contrast, another Venus, not eyeless, dispensing beer. The conifers, flourishing there, have grown to magnificent height. The effect of rain upon the statues has not been so happy, and I have set my pail down to pick a snail off the saddle-nose of Socrates and meditate and wonder what he would have thought of it all."The dancing-saloon—still advertising itself as 'Baronial Hall'—had been converted into a main ward, holding forty beds. It was there that Farrell found me at work, that night. He had interviewed the Adjutant—as we called the harassed secretary who, brayed daily between the upper and nether millstones of official instructions and 'voluntary effort,' never left his desk nor dared to wander abroad for fresh air—the gardens having been specially laid out to trick the absent-minded and induce them to lose their way. Farrell had simply told the Adjutant that he wished to see me on urgent personal business. The Adjutant could not hesitate before a presence that might, in its dress-clothes and sable-lined overcoat, have stood among the statues outside for personified Opulence."'Very good,' said he. 'Oh, yes, certainly. I will send for the man.… Your business is private, you say?… I am very sorry: we are all at sixes and sevens here, with every office crowded. But there's an empty saloon—one of those absurdities with which the management in old days sought to tickle the public taste. They are going to turn it into a ward in a couple of days, and that's why we have left it unoccupied. If that will do, and you'll come with me, we'll see if the electric light functions. I believe the fitters were at work there this afternoon.'""That, as Farrell told me ten minutes later, was how it happened. For me, when answering the message that a stranger had called to see me on urgent business, I walked as directed, across the matted moonlit lawn to this building which I had never visited before—and when, pushing the door wide, I saw Farrell standing under the electric lamps, with his dog beside him—I fell back a pace and half-turned to run for it."For he was alone, yet not alone: a hundred Farrells stood there. No, a battalion, and all of them Farrells! And a battalion of dogs!"I stepped back from the ledge of the threshold. Above the doorway an inscription in faded gilt letters shone out against the moon—'VERSAILLES GALLERY OF MIRRORS. ADMISSION 3D.'"Then I understood. This absurd and ghastly apartment was lined, all around its walls, with mirrors, in panels separated only by thin gilt edgings. Dust lay thick on the floor; cobwebs hung from the ceiling in festoons; there was not a stick of furniture in the place. But a battalion of Farrells stood in it, and there entered to it, and stood, under the new electric fittings, a battalion of Foes."Farrell's aspect was grave. His eyebrows went up at the choke of half-insane laughter with which I greeted him. 'Foe, my man,' said he, eyeing my khaki. 'So you have come to this, have you?'"He said it pompously, with a fine air of patronage, and I stifled a second laugh, hugging it inside my ribs: for now I felt that the time would not be long—that, at long last, he would pass me over the cards. 'We both seem to have come to this, don't we?' I answered with a shrug and a glance around."'I have run down here,' he went on, still betrayed back to his old Tottenham Court Road manner, 'because I have an announcement to make to you.… Have you read yourTimesto-day?'"He was priceless. Oh, he was falling to me—falling to me like a ripe peach! He held out a scrap of paper."'Do I look like a man that takes in theTimes?' I purred '—at twopence a day, and the price likely to go up, they tell me.… But I can guess your news, for I've watched the house. … You've come all this way to tell me that you're going to marry Constantia Denistoun.… Well?'"'You have been watching the house?' asked he, staring, as it took him aback."'Of course I have.… And she didn't tell you?… Gad! If she didn't tell you, she isn't yours yet, and I've a doubt if she's ever like to be. Did she give you leave to put in that announcement?'"Farrell cleared his throat. Before he could answer I had chipped in—'No, you liar! I hate men who clear their throats before speaking. It was an old trick of yours, of which I believed myself to have cured you at some pains.… So you have played over ardent, and there has been a row, and you have come down here to take it out ofme.… Man, you thought you would: but I have you beaten at last; for I see you—as she will see you—dissolving back into the cad you always were.'"'I am going to marry her,' Farrell persisted. 'Let that eat into your soul.'"'It has eaten,' said I, 'these weeks ago, just as far as ever it will get; and that's as far as a rat can gnaw into a marlinespike.… Come out of this into fresh air,' said I with another look round on our images repeated in the mirrors. 'There are too many Farrells and Foes here. When I ran the game, at Versailles that afternoon, it had a certain dignity. … But, you!… Your primal curse, Farrell, reasserts itself at length. I have done my best with you, but you reproduce it in tawdriness. Out of the Tottenham Court Road you came: and back to your vomit you go.'"'I am going to marry Miss Denistoun,' he repeated dully. 'I felt sure it would interest you to know.' He was losing grip."'Oh, yes,' said I. 'Whistle your dog, and let's get out of this for a walk by the river.… There's too many of us in this room, and we're all too cheap.… Damn it! I believe I could forgive you for anything but for lowering our hate tothis!'""We went out past the sentry, and walked down by the sullen river's edge, the dog padding behind us."'You have been provocative,' said Farrell, after a while, checking himself by an afterthought in the act of clearing his throat. 'Considering our relative positions, I am rather surprised at your daring to take this line.… But you used a word just now. It was 'forgive.' I came not only to say that I am going to marry Miss Denistoun, but to propose that henceforth the account is closed between us. You must tell yourself that I have won; and, having won, I bear no further malice. I would even make some reparation on the shrine of my affection for Miss Denistoun. She would esteem it, I feel sure, as a tribute. … Dear me, how fast we are walking!… You'll excuse me if I stop and take off this coat.… In the old days, as a working-man, more than half my time I walked without a coat, and an overcoat to this day always sets up a perspiration.… Well now, shall we shake hands at the end of it all and cry quits?… Say the word, and I'll go one better. They've formed the syndicate for that island of ours. What do you say to a thousand shares, and to coming in on the Board?'"He was on the river side of me, quite close to the brink. I had been playing for some minutes with the knife in my pocket; and as I leapt on him and drove it in over the breast, he fell straight backwards. All the end of Farrell was a gasp, a sharp cry, and a splash."And both cry and splash were drowned instantly by the raging yelp of the dog as he sprang for me. I fisted him off by his throat and he fastened his teeth in my right hand, tearing the flesh down as I slipped the knife into my left hand. Then with my left I jabbed sideways under his ribs, and his bite relaxed, and he dropped."The embankment was steep. I ran down a little way and came to a disused landing-stage—four or five planks on rotting piles. Kneeling there, I lowered my bleeding hand, to bathe it. … As I knelt the body of Farrell came floating down-stream and was borne in towards me by the eddy. It lodged against the piles, chest uppermost, its white, wide-open eyes turned up to the moon."—And I stared on it, Roddy, crouching there.And I swear to God it was not Farrell's face but my own that I stared into."Yes… for I stared and stared at it—there, plain, looking up far beyond me, sightless—until a swirl of the tide washed it clear; and, as it passed out into darkness, it seemed to be sinking slowly, slowly."I dragged myself away and ran back to the dead dog. Farrell's overcoat lay close beside it, and his hat—which had fallen short of the edge of the embankment as he pitched backwards."I picked up the coat, put it on, and felt in its pockets. They were empty, but for a railway ticket. I picked up the hat, and smiled to find that it fitted me. Lastly I stopped, lifted the dog's corpse and flung it over to follow its master. All accounts thus closed, I stepped out for the station and caught the last train for Charing Cross."You know the rest."I borrowed your clothes, yesterday, and went down to the inquest. They admitted me to see the body, on my pretence that I had missed a relative and might be able to identify it. Farrell had gone back to his old features; death had made up its mind to hide the secret after all.… I am afraid that, having overtaxed my strength, I broke down on the revulsion, and may have given myself away."But it doesn't matter. That dog has done for me. Your Dr. Tredgold is a good fellow and has nursed me very prettily back from starvation. But I happen, as you know, to have studied canine virus with some attention, and I have an objection to rivalling some effects of it that I have witnessed. Before you receive this, I shall be dead. I shall not trouble your hospitable roof, and I am sorry to trouble Jephson. But the searchers may find my body in Bushey Park."So long!—and, on the whole, so best.… I find, having lost Farrell, thatI cannot do without him."You have been endlessly good to me. Remember me as I was once on a time, and so I shall always be—Yours,""Jack."
"My dear Roddy,—I shall use the old name, since it is the last time I shall address you; and you, starting for France, will have no time to reach me and say that it is forbidden."I have killed Farrell. It was a stupid and a sorry ending. At the last it was even quite brutal—bestially different from anything I had imagined—and I had imagined many ways—while I had control of the show."I have gone through madness. That again was part of the bestiality I had not reckoned with.… And unless I take steps I shall soon be back in worse bestiality, worse madness. But I am taking steps.… And in the meantime, when you read this you are to be sure that it is written by a man perfectly sane."It is nothing that I have killed Farrell. I could have killed him, as he could have killed me, at any time. I still think that, while the pursuit lay with me, my methods were the more delicate, and that I should never have goaded him to strike as he goaded me."But I will grant that his methods were effective enough: and along one line I should have allowed them to be original, if I didn't know that he had picked up the hint of it on theI'll Away. It wasrumourthat had cursed me there, and he started to work upon rumour. I had put up a plate in Harley Street, as you know, upon the dregs of my capital. This meant a certain bluff upon credit. If my reputation lasted me out six months, all would be well. He divined this and struck at it. To do him justice, I suppose that if he had walked up brutally to the Medical Association and given them his story, I should have been struck off the Register. He worked more subtly than that. Indefinable reports started up, spread and followed me. Out of the skies a net of suspicion descended between me and my quite reputable past. For no reason given, my fellow-practitioners began to shun me."I had a bad case, and no money to carry it through. I have heard, Roddy, that he let you into the secret of the island and that you are like to prosper on it: and I wish you well. But I, who brought him to it, lingering him to land—I, but for whose treasured flask he would never have lived to see Santa Island— could set up no claim on any of that wealth."I had deserved this. It was all quite right, and I make no complaint. But I had to throw up Harley Street, and for two years I steadily sank. In the end I came to know worse hunger than I was prepared for. Though you won't have me at any price, I think you would pity if I told you of some of the holes to which I have crept to sleep."I suppose—and now I think of it, I might have borrowed some comfort from the thought—I suppose that all the while, being rich, Farrell had hired eyes to watch me. It is certain that he ran across me—always at night, and always in evening dress. Once, on the Embankment, as I was coiling on a bench, he came down from the Savoy and along, bringing his dog for a walk. The dog scented me and growled; but I lay out stiff, pretending to sleep."Even when it came to a Salvation Army shelter, we were disturbed by a company of the benevolent; Farrell one of them, in a furred coat with an astrachan collar. He saw me stretched there with closed eyes, and said that one half of the world never knows how the other half lives."It was going like that with me when the War broke out. Then—broken, beaten, and in rags—I put all pride in my pocket, walked across the bridge to Silversmiths' College, rang in on Travers, and demanded a job."Travers was shocked.… I could see also that he was suspicious. Rumour had been at him, too. Finding him less than frank, I turned more than proud: and, his back being up and his conscience uneasy, he did what I could have pardoned in a weaker man; lost his temper, to excuse himself in his own eyes for treating me unjustly. He had scarcely spoken six words before I detected the slime of Farrell's trail. The man had managed to sow rumours, somehow, within the gates of Silversmiths' College, of all places!—rumours that had nothing to do with the island, but suggested that, after all (there being no smoke without fire), therehadbeen dubious and uncleanly experiments in the laboratory during my professorship. I believe that this, when I came to think it over, started my recovery: yes, my recovery. For it showed me that Farrell was deteriorating, and, renewing a little of my old contempt for the man, raised me by so much above the abject fear of him into which I had sunk. From that moment hope was renewed in me, and I nursed it. So long as he worked on the truth he had me at his mercy: playing with falsehood in this fashion, he was vulnerable, might come to be mortally vulnerable if I watched and waited, and then I should regain the lost mastery, dearer to me than life."For the moment, however, Travers claimed all the scorn I carried inside me for use. He hinted that the College had suffered by the scandal of the riot: which no doubt was true to some extent, but not true enough to hide a lie or to cover a meditated betrayal. He said that he had always looked a little askance on my researches, and particularly upon my demonstrations; that they were doubtless astonishing, but had lain, to his taste, a little too near the border-line of quackery,—Yes, Roddy, he said the word, and it did not choke him. On the whole and speaking as a friend (yes, he used that word, too), he must express a hope that I would not press to renew my connection with the Silversmiths' College. It would pain him inexpressibly, remembering old times, to be forced to give me a direct refusal.… But was there anything else he could do for me?"That, Roddy, was the valley of the shadow of my death, and I had no rod or staff to comfort me."I did not answer him in words. I gave him a look, and walked out."My purpose had been to apply for temporary work, to relieve some younger teacher who wished to enlist for medical work at the front. Had you been in London, Roddy, I'd have pocketed shame and come to you, and borrowed the price of a suit of clothes; inside of which—and may be with your support—I might have walked up boldly for a commission in the R.A.M.C.—for there was nothing definite against me: only I was ruined, and my old credentials, set against my present squalor, were so comparatively splendid as to raise instant suspicion of drink and disgrace. But it was part of my just punishment that, when I most needed help, you should be far abroad searching for the very island on which I had shipwrecked all."Finally I found work as a dresser in one of those temporary hospitals which sprang up everywhere in such hurry as the streams of wounded began to pour back from France. Ours was pitched in a derelict pleasure-ground on the right bank of Thames some way below Greenwich.… I don't suppose you ever visited Casterville Gardens: as neither had I until I entered them to do stretcher-drill, tend moaning men, and carry bloody slops in the overgrown alleys that wound among its tawdry, abandoned glories. It had a half-rotted pier of its own, upon which, in Victorian days, the penny steam-boats had discharged many thousands of crowds of pleasure-seekers. The gardens occupied the semicircle of an old quarry, on which the decorative landscape gardener had fallen to work with gusto, planting it with conifers and stucco statues in winding walks that landed you straight from the sightless wisdom of Socrates and Milton, or the equally sightless allurement of Venus, shielding her breasts, upon a skittle-alley, a bandstand, a dancing-saloon, or a bar at which stood, for contrast, another Venus, not eyeless, dispensing beer. The conifers, flourishing there, have grown to magnificent height. The effect of rain upon the statues has not been so happy, and I have set my pail down to pick a snail off the saddle-nose of Socrates and meditate and wonder what he would have thought of it all."The dancing-saloon—still advertising itself as 'Baronial Hall'—had been converted into a main ward, holding forty beds. It was there that Farrell found me at work, that night. He had interviewed the Adjutant—as we called the harassed secretary who, brayed daily between the upper and nether millstones of official instructions and 'voluntary effort,' never left his desk nor dared to wander abroad for fresh air—the gardens having been specially laid out to trick the absent-minded and induce them to lose their way. Farrell had simply told the Adjutant that he wished to see me on urgent personal business. The Adjutant could not hesitate before a presence that might, in its dress-clothes and sable-lined overcoat, have stood among the statues outside for personified Opulence."'Very good,' said he. 'Oh, yes, certainly. I will send for the man.… Your business is private, you say?… I am very sorry: we are all at sixes and sevens here, with every office crowded. But there's an empty saloon—one of those absurdities with which the management in old days sought to tickle the public taste. They are going to turn it into a ward in a couple of days, and that's why we have left it unoccupied. If that will do, and you'll come with me, we'll see if the electric light functions. I believe the fitters were at work there this afternoon.'""That, as Farrell told me ten minutes later, was how it happened. For me, when answering the message that a stranger had called to see me on urgent business, I walked as directed, across the matted moonlit lawn to this building which I had never visited before—and when, pushing the door wide, I saw Farrell standing under the electric lamps, with his dog beside him—I fell back a pace and half-turned to run for it."For he was alone, yet not alone: a hundred Farrells stood there. No, a battalion, and all of them Farrells! And a battalion of dogs!"I stepped back from the ledge of the threshold. Above the doorway an inscription in faded gilt letters shone out against the moon—'VERSAILLES GALLERY OF MIRRORS. ADMISSION 3D.'"Then I understood. This absurd and ghastly apartment was lined, all around its walls, with mirrors, in panels separated only by thin gilt edgings. Dust lay thick on the floor; cobwebs hung from the ceiling in festoons; there was not a stick of furniture in the place. But a battalion of Farrells stood in it, and there entered to it, and stood, under the new electric fittings, a battalion of Foes."Farrell's aspect was grave. His eyebrows went up at the choke of half-insane laughter with which I greeted him. 'Foe, my man,' said he, eyeing my khaki. 'So you have come to this, have you?'"He said it pompously, with a fine air of patronage, and I stifled a second laugh, hugging it inside my ribs: for now I felt that the time would not be long—that, at long last, he would pass me over the cards. 'We both seem to have come to this, don't we?' I answered with a shrug and a glance around."'I have run down here,' he went on, still betrayed back to his old Tottenham Court Road manner, 'because I have an announcement to make to you.… Have you read yourTimesto-day?'"He was priceless. Oh, he was falling to me—falling to me like a ripe peach! He held out a scrap of paper."'Do I look like a man that takes in theTimes?' I purred '—at twopence a day, and the price likely to go up, they tell me.… But I can guess your news, for I've watched the house. … You've come all this way to tell me that you're going to marry Constantia Denistoun.… Well?'"'You have been watching the house?' asked he, staring, as it took him aback."'Of course I have.… And she didn't tell you?… Gad! If she didn't tell you, she isn't yours yet, and I've a doubt if she's ever like to be. Did she give you leave to put in that announcement?'"Farrell cleared his throat. Before he could answer I had chipped in—'No, you liar! I hate men who clear their throats before speaking. It was an old trick of yours, of which I believed myself to have cured you at some pains.… So you have played over ardent, and there has been a row, and you have come down here to take it out ofme.… Man, you thought you would: but I have you beaten at last; for I see you—as she will see you—dissolving back into the cad you always were.'"'I am going to marry her,' Farrell persisted. 'Let that eat into your soul.'"'It has eaten,' said I, 'these weeks ago, just as far as ever it will get; and that's as far as a rat can gnaw into a marlinespike.… Come out of this into fresh air,' said I with another look round on our images repeated in the mirrors. 'There are too many Farrells and Foes here. When I ran the game, at Versailles that afternoon, it had a certain dignity. … But, you!… Your primal curse, Farrell, reasserts itself at length. I have done my best with you, but you reproduce it in tawdriness. Out of the Tottenham Court Road you came: and back to your vomit you go.'"'I am going to marry Miss Denistoun,' he repeated dully. 'I felt sure it would interest you to know.' He was losing grip."'Oh, yes,' said I. 'Whistle your dog, and let's get out of this for a walk by the river.… There's too many of us in this room, and we're all too cheap.… Damn it! I believe I could forgive you for anything but for lowering our hate tothis!'""We went out past the sentry, and walked down by the sullen river's edge, the dog padding behind us."'You have been provocative,' said Farrell, after a while, checking himself by an afterthought in the act of clearing his throat. 'Considering our relative positions, I am rather surprised at your daring to take this line.… But you used a word just now. It was 'forgive.' I came not only to say that I am going to marry Miss Denistoun, but to propose that henceforth the account is closed between us. You must tell yourself that I have won; and, having won, I bear no further malice. I would even make some reparation on the shrine of my affection for Miss Denistoun. She would esteem it, I feel sure, as a tribute. … Dear me, how fast we are walking!… You'll excuse me if I stop and take off this coat.… In the old days, as a working-man, more than half my time I walked without a coat, and an overcoat to this day always sets up a perspiration.… Well now, shall we shake hands at the end of it all and cry quits?… Say the word, and I'll go one better. They've formed the syndicate for that island of ours. What do you say to a thousand shares, and to coming in on the Board?'"He was on the river side of me, quite close to the brink. I had been playing for some minutes with the knife in my pocket; and as I leapt on him and drove it in over the breast, he fell straight backwards. All the end of Farrell was a gasp, a sharp cry, and a splash."And both cry and splash were drowned instantly by the raging yelp of the dog as he sprang for me. I fisted him off by his throat and he fastened his teeth in my right hand, tearing the flesh down as I slipped the knife into my left hand. Then with my left I jabbed sideways under his ribs, and his bite relaxed, and he dropped."The embankment was steep. I ran down a little way and came to a disused landing-stage—four or five planks on rotting piles. Kneeling there, I lowered my bleeding hand, to bathe it. … As I knelt the body of Farrell came floating down-stream and was borne in towards me by the eddy. It lodged against the piles, chest uppermost, its white, wide-open eyes turned up to the moon."—And I stared on it, Roddy, crouching there.And I swear to God it was not Farrell's face but my own that I stared into."Yes… for I stared and stared at it—there, plain, looking up far beyond me, sightless—until a swirl of the tide washed it clear; and, as it passed out into darkness, it seemed to be sinking slowly, slowly."I dragged myself away and ran back to the dead dog. Farrell's overcoat lay close beside it, and his hat—which had fallen short of the edge of the embankment as he pitched backwards."I picked up the coat, put it on, and felt in its pockets. They were empty, but for a railway ticket. I picked up the hat, and smiled to find that it fitted me. Lastly I stopped, lifted the dog's corpse and flung it over to follow its master. All accounts thus closed, I stepped out for the station and caught the last train for Charing Cross."You know the rest."I borrowed your clothes, yesterday, and went down to the inquest. They admitted me to see the body, on my pretence that I had missed a relative and might be able to identify it. Farrell had gone back to his old features; death had made up its mind to hide the secret after all.… I am afraid that, having overtaxed my strength, I broke down on the revulsion, and may have given myself away."But it doesn't matter. That dog has done for me. Your Dr. Tredgold is a good fellow and has nursed me very prettily back from starvation. But I happen, as you know, to have studied canine virus with some attention, and I have an objection to rivalling some effects of it that I have witnessed. Before you receive this, I shall be dead. I shall not trouble your hospitable roof, and I am sorry to trouble Jephson. But the searchers may find my body in Bushey Park."So long!—and, on the whole, so best.… I find, having lost Farrell, thatI cannot do without him."You have been endlessly good to me. Remember me as I was once on a time, and so I shall always be—Yours,""Jack."
"My dear Roddy,—I shall use the old name, since it is the last time I shall address you; and you, starting for France, will have no time to reach me and say that it is forbidden."I have killed Farrell. It was a stupid and a sorry ending. At the last it was even quite brutal—bestially different from anything I had imagined—and I had imagined many ways—while I had control of the show."I have gone through madness. That again was part of the bestiality I had not reckoned with.… And unless I take steps I shall soon be back in worse bestiality, worse madness. But I am taking steps.… And in the meantime, when you read this you are to be sure that it is written by a man perfectly sane."It is nothing that I have killed Farrell. I could have killed him, as he could have killed me, at any time. I still think that, while the pursuit lay with me, my methods were the more delicate, and that I should never have goaded him to strike as he goaded me."But I will grant that his methods were effective enough: and along one line I should have allowed them to be original, if I didn't know that he had picked up the hint of it on theI'll Away. It wasrumourthat had cursed me there, and he started to work upon rumour. I had put up a plate in Harley Street, as you know, upon the dregs of my capital. This meant a certain bluff upon credit. If my reputation lasted me out six months, all would be well. He divined this and struck at it. To do him justice, I suppose that if he had walked up brutally to the Medical Association and given them his story, I should have been struck off the Register. He worked more subtly than that. Indefinable reports started up, spread and followed me. Out of the skies a net of suspicion descended between me and my quite reputable past. For no reason given, my fellow-practitioners began to shun me."I had a bad case, and no money to carry it through. I have heard, Roddy, that he let you into the secret of the island and that you are like to prosper on it: and I wish you well. But I, who brought him to it, lingering him to land—I, but for whose treasured flask he would never have lived to see Santa Island— could set up no claim on any of that wealth."I had deserved this. It was all quite right, and I make no complaint. But I had to throw up Harley Street, and for two years I steadily sank. In the end I came to know worse hunger than I was prepared for. Though you won't have me at any price, I think you would pity if I told you of some of the holes to which I have crept to sleep."I suppose—and now I think of it, I might have borrowed some comfort from the thought—I suppose that all the while, being rich, Farrell had hired eyes to watch me. It is certain that he ran across me—always at night, and always in evening dress. Once, on the Embankment, as I was coiling on a bench, he came down from the Savoy and along, bringing his dog for a walk. The dog scented me and growled; but I lay out stiff, pretending to sleep."Even when it came to a Salvation Army shelter, we were disturbed by a company of the benevolent; Farrell one of them, in a furred coat with an astrachan collar. He saw me stretched there with closed eyes, and said that one half of the world never knows how the other half lives."It was going like that with me when the War broke out. Then—broken, beaten, and in rags—I put all pride in my pocket, walked across the bridge to Silversmiths' College, rang in on Travers, and demanded a job."Travers was shocked.… I could see also that he was suspicious. Rumour had been at him, too. Finding him less than frank, I turned more than proud: and, his back being up and his conscience uneasy, he did what I could have pardoned in a weaker man; lost his temper, to excuse himself in his own eyes for treating me unjustly. He had scarcely spoken six words before I detected the slime of Farrell's trail. The man had managed to sow rumours, somehow, within the gates of Silversmiths' College, of all places!—rumours that had nothing to do with the island, but suggested that, after all (there being no smoke without fire), therehadbeen dubious and uncleanly experiments in the laboratory during my professorship. I believe that this, when I came to think it over, started my recovery: yes, my recovery. For it showed me that Farrell was deteriorating, and, renewing a little of my old contempt for the man, raised me by so much above the abject fear of him into which I had sunk. From that moment hope was renewed in me, and I nursed it. So long as he worked on the truth he had me at his mercy: playing with falsehood in this fashion, he was vulnerable, might come to be mortally vulnerable if I watched and waited, and then I should regain the lost mastery, dearer to me than life."For the moment, however, Travers claimed all the scorn I carried inside me for use. He hinted that the College had suffered by the scandal of the riot: which no doubt was true to some extent, but not true enough to hide a lie or to cover a meditated betrayal. He said that he had always looked a little askance on my researches, and particularly upon my demonstrations; that they were doubtless astonishing, but had lain, to his taste, a little too near the border-line of quackery,—Yes, Roddy, he said the word, and it did not choke him. On the whole and speaking as a friend (yes, he used that word, too), he must express a hope that I would not press to renew my connection with the Silversmiths' College. It would pain him inexpressibly, remembering old times, to be forced to give me a direct refusal.… But was there anything else he could do for me?"That, Roddy, was the valley of the shadow of my death, and I had no rod or staff to comfort me."I did not answer him in words. I gave him a look, and walked out."My purpose had been to apply for temporary work, to relieve some younger teacher who wished to enlist for medical work at the front. Had you been in London, Roddy, I'd have pocketed shame and come to you, and borrowed the price of a suit of clothes; inside of which—and may be with your support—I might have walked up boldly for a commission in the R.A.M.C.—for there was nothing definite against me: only I was ruined, and my old credentials, set against my present squalor, were so comparatively splendid as to raise instant suspicion of drink and disgrace. But it was part of my just punishment that, when I most needed help, you should be far abroad searching for the very island on which I had shipwrecked all."Finally I found work as a dresser in one of those temporary hospitals which sprang up everywhere in such hurry as the streams of wounded began to pour back from France. Ours was pitched in a derelict pleasure-ground on the right bank of Thames some way below Greenwich.… I don't suppose you ever visited Casterville Gardens: as neither had I until I entered them to do stretcher-drill, tend moaning men, and carry bloody slops in the overgrown alleys that wound among its tawdry, abandoned glories. It had a half-rotted pier of its own, upon which, in Victorian days, the penny steam-boats had discharged many thousands of crowds of pleasure-seekers. The gardens occupied the semicircle of an old quarry, on which the decorative landscape gardener had fallen to work with gusto, planting it with conifers and stucco statues in winding walks that landed you straight from the sightless wisdom of Socrates and Milton, or the equally sightless allurement of Venus, shielding her breasts, upon a skittle-alley, a bandstand, a dancing-saloon, or a bar at which stood, for contrast, another Venus, not eyeless, dispensing beer. The conifers, flourishing there, have grown to magnificent height. The effect of rain upon the statues has not been so happy, and I have set my pail down to pick a snail off the saddle-nose of Socrates and meditate and wonder what he would have thought of it all."The dancing-saloon—still advertising itself as 'Baronial Hall'—had been converted into a main ward, holding forty beds. It was there that Farrell found me at work, that night. He had interviewed the Adjutant—as we called the harassed secretary who, brayed daily between the upper and nether millstones of official instructions and 'voluntary effort,' never left his desk nor dared to wander abroad for fresh air—the gardens having been specially laid out to trick the absent-minded and induce them to lose their way. Farrell had simply told the Adjutant that he wished to see me on urgent personal business. The Adjutant could not hesitate before a presence that might, in its dress-clothes and sable-lined overcoat, have stood among the statues outside for personified Opulence."'Very good,' said he. 'Oh, yes, certainly. I will send for the man.… Your business is private, you say?… I am very sorry: we are all at sixes and sevens here, with every office crowded. But there's an empty saloon—one of those absurdities with which the management in old days sought to tickle the public taste. They are going to turn it into a ward in a couple of days, and that's why we have left it unoccupied. If that will do, and you'll come with me, we'll see if the electric light functions. I believe the fitters were at work there this afternoon.'""That, as Farrell told me ten minutes later, was how it happened. For me, when answering the message that a stranger had called to see me on urgent business, I walked as directed, across the matted moonlit lawn to this building which I had never visited before—and when, pushing the door wide, I saw Farrell standing under the electric lamps, with his dog beside him—I fell back a pace and half-turned to run for it."For he was alone, yet not alone: a hundred Farrells stood there. No, a battalion, and all of them Farrells! And a battalion of dogs!"I stepped back from the ledge of the threshold. Above the doorway an inscription in faded gilt letters shone out against the moon—'VERSAILLES GALLERY OF MIRRORS. ADMISSION 3D.'"Then I understood. This absurd and ghastly apartment was lined, all around its walls, with mirrors, in panels separated only by thin gilt edgings. Dust lay thick on the floor; cobwebs hung from the ceiling in festoons; there was not a stick of furniture in the place. But a battalion of Farrells stood in it, and there entered to it, and stood, under the new electric fittings, a battalion of Foes."Farrell's aspect was grave. His eyebrows went up at the choke of half-insane laughter with which I greeted him. 'Foe, my man,' said he, eyeing my khaki. 'So you have come to this, have you?'"He said it pompously, with a fine air of patronage, and I stifled a second laugh, hugging it inside my ribs: for now I felt that the time would not be long—that, at long last, he would pass me over the cards. 'We both seem to have come to this, don't we?' I answered with a shrug and a glance around."'I have run down here,' he went on, still betrayed back to his old Tottenham Court Road manner, 'because I have an announcement to make to you.… Have you read yourTimesto-day?'"He was priceless. Oh, he was falling to me—falling to me like a ripe peach! He held out a scrap of paper."'Do I look like a man that takes in theTimes?' I purred '—at twopence a day, and the price likely to go up, they tell me.… But I can guess your news, for I've watched the house. … You've come all this way to tell me that you're going to marry Constantia Denistoun.… Well?'"'You have been watching the house?' asked he, staring, as it took him aback."'Of course I have.… And she didn't tell you?… Gad! If she didn't tell you, she isn't yours yet, and I've a doubt if she's ever like to be. Did she give you leave to put in that announcement?'"Farrell cleared his throat. Before he could answer I had chipped in—'No, you liar! I hate men who clear their throats before speaking. It was an old trick of yours, of which I believed myself to have cured you at some pains.… So you have played over ardent, and there has been a row, and you have come down here to take it out ofme.… Man, you thought you would: but I have you beaten at last; for I see you—as she will see you—dissolving back into the cad you always were.'"'I am going to marry her,' Farrell persisted. 'Let that eat into your soul.'"'It has eaten,' said I, 'these weeks ago, just as far as ever it will get; and that's as far as a rat can gnaw into a marlinespike.… Come out of this into fresh air,' said I with another look round on our images repeated in the mirrors. 'There are too many Farrells and Foes here. When I ran the game, at Versailles that afternoon, it had a certain dignity. … But, you!… Your primal curse, Farrell, reasserts itself at length. I have done my best with you, but you reproduce it in tawdriness. Out of the Tottenham Court Road you came: and back to your vomit you go.'"'I am going to marry Miss Denistoun,' he repeated dully. 'I felt sure it would interest you to know.' He was losing grip."'Oh, yes,' said I. 'Whistle your dog, and let's get out of this for a walk by the river.… There's too many of us in this room, and we're all too cheap.… Damn it! I believe I could forgive you for anything but for lowering our hate tothis!'""We went out past the sentry, and walked down by the sullen river's edge, the dog padding behind us."'You have been provocative,' said Farrell, after a while, checking himself by an afterthought in the act of clearing his throat. 'Considering our relative positions, I am rather surprised at your daring to take this line.… But you used a word just now. It was 'forgive.' I came not only to say that I am going to marry Miss Denistoun, but to propose that henceforth the account is closed between us. You must tell yourself that I have won; and, having won, I bear no further malice. I would even make some reparation on the shrine of my affection for Miss Denistoun. She would esteem it, I feel sure, as a tribute. … Dear me, how fast we are walking!… You'll excuse me if I stop and take off this coat.… In the old days, as a working-man, more than half my time I walked without a coat, and an overcoat to this day always sets up a perspiration.… Well now, shall we shake hands at the end of it all and cry quits?… Say the word, and I'll go one better. They've formed the syndicate for that island of ours. What do you say to a thousand shares, and to coming in on the Board?'"He was on the river side of me, quite close to the brink. I had been playing for some minutes with the knife in my pocket; and as I leapt on him and drove it in over the breast, he fell straight backwards. All the end of Farrell was a gasp, a sharp cry, and a splash."And both cry and splash were drowned instantly by the raging yelp of the dog as he sprang for me. I fisted him off by his throat and he fastened his teeth in my right hand, tearing the flesh down as I slipped the knife into my left hand. Then with my left I jabbed sideways under his ribs, and his bite relaxed, and he dropped."The embankment was steep. I ran down a little way and came to a disused landing-stage—four or five planks on rotting piles. Kneeling there, I lowered my bleeding hand, to bathe it. … As I knelt the body of Farrell came floating down-stream and was borne in towards me by the eddy. It lodged against the piles, chest uppermost, its white, wide-open eyes turned up to the moon."—And I stared on it, Roddy, crouching there.And I swear to God it was not Farrell's face but my own that I stared into."Yes… for I stared and stared at it—there, plain, looking up far beyond me, sightless—until a swirl of the tide washed it clear; and, as it passed out into darkness, it seemed to be sinking slowly, slowly."I dragged myself away and ran back to the dead dog. Farrell's overcoat lay close beside it, and his hat—which had fallen short of the edge of the embankment as he pitched backwards."I picked up the coat, put it on, and felt in its pockets. They were empty, but for a railway ticket. I picked up the hat, and smiled to find that it fitted me. Lastly I stopped, lifted the dog's corpse and flung it over to follow its master. All accounts thus closed, I stepped out for the station and caught the last train for Charing Cross."You know the rest."I borrowed your clothes, yesterday, and went down to the inquest. They admitted me to see the body, on my pretence that I had missed a relative and might be able to identify it. Farrell had gone back to his old features; death had made up its mind to hide the secret after all.… I am afraid that, having overtaxed my strength, I broke down on the revulsion, and may have given myself away."But it doesn't matter. That dog has done for me. Your Dr. Tredgold is a good fellow and has nursed me very prettily back from starvation. But I happen, as you know, to have studied canine virus with some attention, and I have an objection to rivalling some effects of it that I have witnessed. Before you receive this, I shall be dead. I shall not trouble your hospitable roof, and I am sorry to trouble Jephson. But the searchers may find my body in Bushey Park."So long!—and, on the whole, so best.… I find, having lost Farrell, thatI cannot do without him."You have been endlessly good to me. Remember me as I was once on a time, and so I shall always be—Yours,""Jack."
That is the end of the tale [concluded Otway], except for this—
Twelve months later, being on leave and wanting to clear up the mystery of the newspaper report, I took a train down to C—, past Gravesend, made inquiries of the police, and finally hunted up the juryman who had shown so much emotion at the inquest. I found a little whiskered grocer, weighing out margarine in a shed that was half shop, half canteen. All I extracted from him was this—
"Yes, to be sure, sir, I remember it perfectly. I only wish I didn't: for I dream of it at night: and, being a widower, I can't confide the trouble. The fact is, I must suffer from nerves and— what do they call 'em, sir?—hallucinations—yes, that's the word. But I was fresh from inspecting the body, and when that person broke in, wearing a face like the corpse's twin-brother, well, it knocked me clean out. Of course, it must have been a hallucination; none of the others saw the least resemblance—as they've told me since. But at the moment, I'd have wagered my life.…"
"Yes, that is the story," said Otway, sorting back the documents into his dispatch-case.
"Is it quite all the story, sir?" asked Polkinghorne, breaking the silence that followed its close.
Otway frowned, re-sorted the last three or four papers, laid them in the case and closed it with a couple of snaps.
"That's all," he answered, "that exists for publication. That is, unless you want a moral. I can give youthat, all right: and if you have any use for it you may apply it to this blasted War. As I see it, the more you beat Fritz by becoming like him, the more he has won. You may ride through his gates under an Arch of Triumph; but if he or his ghost sits on your saddle-bow, what's the use? You have demeaned yourself to him; you cannot shake him off, for his claws hook in you, and through the farther gate of Judgment you ride on, inseparables condemned.
"—And, oh, by the by! I am taking my leave next Wednesday. Sammy has been nosing suspiciously, these five days, around a wine-case which on the 22nd he shall have the honour of opening. It contains, if our friend the Transport Officer hasn't been beforehand with you, some Pommery 1900; with which you are to do your best. For it turns out that, with luck, I am to be married on that day. No flowers, by special request."
Otway re-opened the dispatch-case and again made sure of his last two exhibits, which he had not exhibited. The first was a note, folded three-corner-wise, which ran:
"Dear Roddy—Your last word to me was that you had no patience with people so clever that they lacked sense to come out of the rain. Well, I am willing to learn that silly skill, if you remain willing to teach me.—Yours,""CONSTANTIA."
"Dear Roddy—Your last word to me was that you had no patience with people so clever that they lacked sense to come out of the rain. Well, I am willing to learn that silly skill, if you remain willing to teach me.—Yours,""CONSTANTIA."
"Dear Roddy—Your last word to me was that you had no patience with people so clever that they lacked sense to come out of the rain. Well, I am willing to learn that silly skill, if you remain willing to teach me.—Yours,""CONSTANTIA."
The second of these exhibits, not exhibited, was a creased envelope containing the shredded petals of a rose.
THE END.