The Weapons of Mystery, Joseph Hocking [the beach read .txt] 📗

'ousemaid heard on it, she says, 'I am so glad, Simon.' Then, says I, 'Susan, when people are married they're converted into one flesh. That's scripter. You get married to me,' says I, 'and you'll be kept free from small-pox, without goin' threw this yer willifyin' process.' Wi' that she looks at me, and she says, 'You are purty, and I'll try you for three months; if you don't get small-pox in that time, why then—we'll talk about it.' So I says, 'Say yes at once, Susan. The doctor says I can't get it, so there's no sort o' fear.' I wur young and simple then, and thowt doctors never made a mistake. Well, sur, in two months more I were down wi' small-pox, and when I got up again I wur a sight to behold. As soon as I wur fit to be seen I went to Susan to git a mite o' comfort, and then I see 'er a-courtin' wi' the coachman. And I says to myself, 'Simon Slowden,' I says, 'this yer is the last time you must be ever taken in;' and now I'm right mad that I should 'a bin licked in this yer way."

I could not help laughing at Simon's story, in spite of my heavy heart, and so I asked him what the doctor said when he found vaccination a failure.

"Sent me off without a character, sur," he replied grimly. "Said he couldn't keep a servant as would be a livin' advertisement as 'ow his pet 'obby wer a failure. And so I allays say as 'ow waccination is my ruin. It's ruined my blood and weakened my brain. Still," continued Simon, with a sly look, "I reckon as 'ow I'll be a match for that 'ere doubly waccinated ghost as frightened me so."

I could get nothing more from him. He had formed some notion about the apparition which he would not divulge, so we devoted our attention to sport, and, after frightening a good many rabbits, we returned to the hall.

Nothing of importance happened through the day, except an inquiry which Tom made among the servants. Each declared that they were entirely ignorant as to the appearance of the ghost, and all were evidently too frightened to doubt the truth of their statement. Thus when evening came nothing was known of it.

Kaffar did not speak to me from the time I had seen him in the morning to dinner-time, and evidently avoided me. Voltaire, on the contrary, was unusually bland and smiling. He was pleasant and agreeable to every one, especially so to me.

After dinner we all found our way to the drawing-room, when the usual singing, flirting, and dancing programme was carried out. Suddenly, however, there was comparative silence. One voice only was heard, and that was the Egyptian's.

"Yes," he was saying, "I am what is called a superstitious man. I believe in dreams, visions, and returned spirits of the dead. But, ah! I do not believe in made-up ghosts. Oh, you cold-blooded English people, don't mistake the impulsive Egyptian; don't accuse him of lack of faith in the unseen. So much do I believe in it, that sometimes I long to be with those who have gone. But, bah! the ghost last night was to deceive, to frighten. Got up by some villain for a purpose, and I can guess who he is."

"This is serious," said Tom Temple. "I have inquired of the servants, who all assure me of their entire ignorance of the matter, and I cannot think that any of my guests would assume the person of the traditional ghost for no other purpose than to frighten the housekeeper and two or three servants. I'm by no means superstitious, but I do not see how I can trace it to human origin."

"I cannot see why any guest should assume the person of the traditional ghost, but some men have deep designing minds. They are like clever draught-players; they see half-a-dozen moves ahead, and so do that which to a novice appears meaningless and absurd."

Then I heard another voice, one that caused my heart to beat wildly. It was Gertrude Forrest's. "Mr. Kaffar says he can guess who the person is who has personated this ghost," she said; "I think it fair to every guest that he should speak out."

"I would not like to say," he said insultingly; "perchance I should wound your tender feelings too deeply."

"Mr. Kaffar will remember he's speaking to a lady, I'm sure," said Tom
Temple.

"Pardon me," said Kaffar, excitedly; "I forgot I was in England, where men are the slaves of the ladies. With us it is different. We speak and they obey. I forgot I was not in Egypt. I have done very wrong. I implore the lady's pardon."

"I see no meaning in your words," said Miss Forrest, quietly, "therefore
I see nothing to forgive."

"Ah, I live again. A heavy load is gone from my heart! I have not merited the lady's displeasure."

"Still I think it right, if you have grounds for suspecting any one, that we should know," said a voice; "otherwise some one may be wrongly accused."

"Do not ask me," said Kaffar. "Ask Mr. Blake."

Instantly all eyes were turned on me, and, do as I might, I could not help an uncomfortable flush rising in my face. "I do not know what Mr. Kaffar means," I replied. "I am as ignorant as to the origin of the ghost as he is, perhaps more so."

Instantly Kaffar leapt from his chair, and came up to me, his hands clenched, his black eyes gleaming, his teeth set together as if in a terrible rage.

"You are a liar and a villain!" he screamed.

"Ah, remember this morning. I accused him, gentlemen, of being connected with this ghost only to-day, and he flushed guiltily and was silent. He looked like a Judas who betrayed his master."

"Quietly, please," I replied. "You did come to me this morning with some foolish jargon about my being connected with last night's affair, but I was so surprised by the absurdity and foolishness of such a thing, that I could not answer you before you ran away."

"You hear?" shrieked the Egyptian. "So surprised, was he? If he was, it was because I had found him out."

"This man is mad," I said. "Surely he ought to be shut up."

"Mad, am I?" he shrieked. "Yes, and you are a liar, a coward, a villain!
You are engaged in a fiendish plot; you are deceiving an innocent lady.
Ah, I spurn you, spit upon you."

"Mr. Kaffar," said Tom Temple, "really this cannot be allowed. You must remember you are among gentlemen and ladies. Please act accordingly."

"Ladies there are, gentlemen there are," shrieked the Egyptian; "but he"—pointing at me—"is no gentleman. He is at once a viper, a villain, and a coward. I leave this house; I renounce pleasant society; I leave this country—for ever; but before I go I would like to fight hand to hand with that giant, who—Ha!" He stood close to me and spat at me. "There!" he cried, and then he struck me in the face with all his strength.

Instantly I leapt to my feet. This insult was too great. I could scarcely restrain from striking him to the ground. I mastered myself, however, and so did not touch him.

"I leave this house," he said wildly. "Herod, send on my baggage to Cairo. But"—turning to me—"you I challenge—you, with your big body and trained arms! But, bah! you dar'n't fight. You are a mooning coward."

He rushed out of the room as he spoke, and a minute later I heard the hall door slammed with vehemence.

At that moment I became possessed of a terrible passion. I seemed to be mad. I longed to avenge the insults that had been offered. I looked around the room, and all seemed astounded at the behaviour of the Egyptian, save Voltaire, who was apologizing in profuse terms for his friend. As I looked at his terrible eyes, my passion became greater, and I felt I could not govern myself if I stayed in the room. I think some one came up to me, and congratulated me on my coolness in dealing with the man who had insulted me so; but I did not listen—I could not. An overmastering impulse laid hold of me to follow the Egyptian, and I dimly remember going into the hall and out into the silent night.

I knew the probability was that I should be followed, but I did not know where to go, when I seemed to hear voices all around me uttering the words "Drearwater Pond!" With that I started running with all my might, knowing not where, yet dimly remembering that I had gone the road before. Then all memory and consciousness ceased.

CHAPTER XI DARK DREAMS AND NIGHT SHADOWS

I suppose I must have gone on blindly for some time, for when I again became conscious I stood beside a river, while tall trees waved their leafless branches overhead. Strange noises filled the air. Sometimes wailing sounds were wafted to me, which presently changed into hisses, until it seemed as if a thousand serpents were creeping all around me. The waters of the river looked black, while above me were weird, fantastic forms leaping in the stillness of the night. No words were spoken, no language was uttered, save that of wailing and hissing, and that somehow was indistinct, as if it existed in fancy and not in reality. By and by, however, I heard a voice.

"Onward!" it said, and I became unconscious.

* * * * *

Again I realized my existence in a vague shadowy way. I stood beneath the ruined walls of an Eastern temple. Huge columns arose in the air, surmounted by colossal architraves, while the ponderous stones of which the temple was built were covered with lichen. Large grey lizards crawled in and out among the crevices of the rocks, and seemed to laugh as they sported amidst what was once the expression of a great religious system, but which was now terrible in its weird desolation. By and by the great building seemed to assume its original shape and became inhabited by white-robed priests, who ministered to the people who came to worship. I watched eagerly, but they faded away, leaving nothing save the feeling that a terrible presence filled the place. I heard a noise behind; I turned and saw Kaffar, his black eyes shining, while in his hand he held a gleaming knife. He lifted it above his head as if to strike; but I had the strength of ten men, and I hurled him from me. He looked at me with a savage leer.

"Onward!" said a distant voice.

The temple vanished, and with it all my realization of life, save a vague fancy that I was moving somewhere, I knew not where.

* * * * *

I stood by a well-remembered spot. I was by the side of Drearwater Pond. Around me was a stretch of common land, on which grew heather and furze. In front of me were noiseless waters, a dismal sight at the best of times, but awful as I saw them. Across the pond in the near distance loomed the dark fir trees. No sound broke the stillness of the night. The wind had gone to rest, the moon shone dimly from behind the misty clouds.

I stood alone.

Each minute my surroundings became more real. I recognized more clearly the objects which had struck me during my first visit, while the stories which had been told came back to me with terrible distinctness. I remembered how it had been said that the pond had no bottom, and that it was haunted by the spirits of those that had been murdered. The story of its evil influence came back to me, and in my bewildered condition I wondered whether there was not some truth in what had been said.

What was that?

The waters moved; distinctly moved near to where I stood, and from their dark depths something appeared—I could not at first tell what.

What could it be? A monster of frightful mien? the ghost of some murdered man or woman?