Chapter II: Part 2

The latter threw eight. Dropping the box he darted forward and clawed up the cheque, with a strangled, animal-like cry. The others exchanged glances of disgust; all, that is to say, except my master. He shot a look of passionate menace at the artist and called him in a dreadful voice by name.

Mr. Cavanagh stood erect, shaking and ghastly. He seemed convulsed with shame.

"I--I--forgive me, I am not myself to-night," he muttered.

"A fine, a fine," shouted Mr. Humphreys. "He has pleaded his ill-health."

"Ay, ay," cried the others, "a fine!"

"Twenty pounds!" said Sir William Dagmar.

Mr. Cavanagh paid the money to my master without demur. Sir William gave it to Dr. Fulton, and a second later all were seated at the table.

I served them with coffee, and they began to play. My master had no luck that night--he lost about four hundred pounds. Mr. Cavanagh also lost rather heavily, and so did Dr. Fulton. The principal winners were Mr. Pardoe and Sir Charles Venner; Mr. Humphreys left off as he commenced, while Mr. Husband disgustedly declared that he had won a paltry sovereign. As before, on the first stroke of midnight the game broke up and all arose. As before, no farewell greetings were exchanged, but the guests departed after curtly nodding to their host. My master looked more wearied than I had ever seen him. He retired at once to bed, and he was half asleep before he touched the pillow with his head. But I was more than pleased thereat, for the time was ripe to prosecute the first move of my plan. As soon as he dismissed me, I hurried to my room, and in less than twenty minutes I was Sir William Dagmar to the life, save for one tiny circumstance. My master, as I have previously mentioned, possessed a fine set of teeth, but his right incisor was lacking. When I had impersonated him for Butts' benefit, that detail had not troubled me, for Butts was a dull, unobservant creature. I reflected, however, that Mr. Cavanagh might be of a different calibre, and I dared run no risks. Now every tooth in my head is false. Moreover, I was wearing at that moment my stage set, which was so peculiarly constructed that with very little bother and a screw driver I might remove any tooth I pleased. I therefore whipped out the plate from my mouth, and with the aid of a penknife, I presently abstracted my right incisor. A glance in the mirror made me tingle with triumph. I believe that had Sir William seen me at that moment he would have swooned with sheer shock at seeing so perfect a double of himself. Having provided myself with a latch-key, I stole downstairs and abstracted from the hall my master's hat and cloak. A few minutes afterwards I was flying towards Mr. Cavanagh's studio and residence at St. John's Wood, in a hansom, which I chose wisely, for the horse was a speedy brute, and he drew up at Hamilton Crescent in less than half an hour.

In answer to my vigorous tug at the bell, the door opened quickly and a servant's face appeared.

"Be good enough to ask Mr. Cavanagh to let me see him for a moment, my name is Dagmar," I said haughtily, "Sir William Dagmar," I added, for the fellow seemed to hesitate.

He admitted me forthwith. "Mr. Cavanagh has not long come in," he volunteered in sleepy tones. "He is in the studio--step this way, if you please, sir." He yawned in my face and turned about. I followed him down a spacious dimly lighted hall, furnished with almost regal magnificence in the oriental style. He opened a door at the further end, announced me in quiet tones between two yawns and immediately withdrew. Sir William Dagmar would not have put up with such a servant for five minutes. Evidently, thought I, Mr. Cavanagh is not a hard man to please. I entered the studio and shut the door behind me; but to my astonishment, I perceived Mr. Cavanagh, seated in a deep saddle-bag chair beneath an immense arc glow lamp, fast asleep. His chin was sunk upon his chest, his arms hung at his side, and he was breathing stertorously. I glanced about the room. It was rich and commodious, but conventional. Priceless silks and satins covered the walls. Rugs and skins from all parts of the world bestrewed the polished parquet floor. A large crimson curtained easel stood upon a dais of carven oak beside Mr. Cavanagh's chair, and in a far corner glimmered an ebony framed grand piano. Beyond a few pieces of rather fine statuary, a prodigious chesterfield, and half a dozen antique throne-shaped chairs, the place contained no other furniture of note. I had expected something out of the common rather than rich, and I felt keenly disappointed, for I had seen a dozen such studios pictured in the monthly magazines and fashionable periodicals. I marched straight up to Mr. Cavanagh and placed a heavy hand upon his shoulder. He opened his eyes and looked up at me in a dazed questioning fashion, but having grasped the situation as it was apparent to him, he sprang to his feet with a cry of consternation.

"Dagmar!" he gasped. "You--you--you!" His voice trailed off in an ascending inflection into a whisper of what I considered terrified amazement.

I pointed to the chair he had just quitted, "Sit down!" I commanded sternly.

He obeyed limply; his eyes were dilated, fixed and staring. It was plain that he stood in real fear of me. I determined grimly to discover why.

Standing before him I folded my arms, and bending my brows together I surveyed him, as I had seen Irving in some of his heavy parts confront a character he was destined by his playwright to subdue.

This for two full minutes in a silence like that of the tomb. The wretched man began to shake and shiver.

"For God's sake, Dagmar," he stammered at last. His voice was as hoarse as a raven's croak.

"Cavanagh!" said I, "what are you intending to do with the money given you by the dice to-night?"

To my astonishment he covered his face with his hands and his body began to heave with sobs. Without stirring a muscle I waited for his explanation. I divined that to be my cue. He grew calmer by degrees, and at length with a sheer muscular effort he forced himself to look at me. He shivered as he met my eyes and groaned aloud.

"Woman!" I muttered cuttingly.

"You--hard devil!" he hissed with sudden passion. He started forward, and our glances contended for a moment, but his quailed before mine.

"Answer me," I commanded.

He bit his lips until the blood appeared, and he gripped the sides of his chair with all his energy.

"Answer me," I repeated.

Of a sudden he began to cough. He coughed so violently that the convulsions racked his frame, and at length he sank back in his chair half-fainting, with half closed eyes.

I waited pitiless as fate. "Answer me," I repeated. "Must I wait for ever?"

But the fight had gone out of him. He heaved a sigh, and two salt tears trickled down his cheeks. "You know," he muttered, in a low, heartbroken wail. "You know--you know!"

"Answer me," I thundered. Sir William Dagmar might have known, you see, but I was ignorant.

"I am going to give it to her--to her," he murmured; his eyes were now quite closed and he seemed upon the verge of a collapse. This would never do!

I strode forward and shook him roughly by the shoulder.

"To whom?" I hissed.

"To Marion, Marion Le Mar." He sat up and looked dazedly around. "Oh, do what you please," he cried wildly, as he met my eyes. "What do I care--I have not long to live in any case. A few months more or less, what does it matter? And she--God help her, she needs it--needs it as well you know--you hard, inhuman devil!"

"You are mad!" I hissed. "What claim has that woman upon you?"

"The woman I love?" He sprang to his feet and faced me with just such a look as a tiger might defend his mate. "The woman I should have married, but for the accursed laws of the society which you enticed me into joining!"

"You are a consumptive, a death's head!" I sneered. "A nice man you to marry any woman! Fool that you are, ask yourself would she have married you?"

He gave me a look of almost sublime contempt. "She loves me!" he said, and there was in his bearing a dignity so proudly self-conscious, yet compassionate, that my heart went out to the man; I began to pity him profoundly, ay, and wish to help him. I could hardly understand myself. I had never felt like that for any living creature prior to that instant. But I had work to do, pressing work, and I put my feelings resolutely aside.

"George Cavanagh," said I, "you reproach me with having bound you to a society whose laws forbid your marrying the woman you love. But it seems to me you aspire to break another of its laws in giving her this money. What of that?"

"Fear nothing," he replied in tones of ice. "I shall pay the penalty. When next the society foregathers at your house, Fulton will announce your numbers lessened by one death."

In spite of myself I started. Aha! thought I--I grow hot upon the track.

"You will kill yourself?" I demanded.

He bowed his head, and sat down again. He had once more fallen to trembling. A curious man this, a mixture of strength and weakness. He was past redemption, wedded to the grave by his disease, and yet he shivered at the thought of death. And yet again, he could deliberately resolve to shorten his life.

I frowned down at him. "Cavanagh," said I, "I wish you to be good enough to repeat to me, word for word, the rule you dare to dream of breaking."

"Useless!" he retorted. "I have well considered it. For God's sake leave me, Dagmar, I am done and desperate. I believe you mean me well, but you are killing me."

I saw indeed that he was desperate, and straight away I changed my tactics.

"George," I murmured in a soft and winning voice, "I have come here to-night to save you if I can, not to break you. Listen to me--it has been well said that no rule or law was ever yet devised by human ingenuity which might not be evaded by a criminal with brains enough. You seek to be a criminal. Well, well!" I nodded my head mysteriously. "It is a pity--but I like you, boy--I don't want you to die just yet. There may be a way out, in spite of all. Now--trust me and obey me."

A curious pang altogether strange to my experience shot through my breast, as I watched the glow of hope that flashed into the poor fellow's eyes, and the colour flame into his ashen cheeks.

"Dagmar!" he gasped, "Dagmar!" and he stretched out his shaking hands as a child might do.

"Repeat it word for word!" I commanded. "Come, calm yourself--that is better; now!"

He could hardly articulate at first, but he grew calmer as he proceeded.

"Whosoever shall win!" he began, "shall win the proceeds of one completed month's joint contributions, shall--during--the succeeding month, apply the gold so gifted him by hazard of the dice unto the--the--purpose that--that is--is provided for by rule three. Should he, on the contrary, apply it--to--to--Ah! you know, Dagmar, you know."

"Ay!" said I, "I know what follows--it spells suicide in brief. But, my dear George--there is hope for you in rule three."

"Impossible!" he gasped. "Impossible!"

I smiled. "There is no such word in my vocabulary," I answered firmly. "Now, George, give me all your mind, every atom of your attention, and I shall show you a path from your dilemma--an honourable expedient. Repeat rule three!"

He knitted his brows together, and a curiously strained introspective look came into his eyes.

"You are trying me!" he muttered. "Dagmar--if you dared----"

"Fool!" I interrupted hoarsely--for my suspense was painfully intense. "What object could I serve? Do as I bid you! Do as I bid you!" I pressed his hands more tightly, and with all my strength I strove to subordinate his will to mine. I succeeded.

"I'll trust you!" he muttered in a tense trembling whisper. "I'll trust you, Dagmar. God forgive you if you play me false!"

There was something so infectious in his emotion that I felt myself tremble too, and involuntarily I followed the terrified suspicious glances that he darted about the room.

"Amen!" I cried. "Now Cavanagh--"

But he uttered an exclamation. "Oh! You are hurting me!" he cried.

In my excitement I had forgotten the man's womanish physique, and I had cruelly crushed his hands. Upon such trifling incidents does an ironical malicious fate love to hang tremendous issues! I do not remember if I have previously mentioned the fact that the thumb of Sir William Dagmar's right hand lacks a joint. But such is the case. He had lost it through a gunshot when a lad. Now this circumstance constituted the one flaw in my disguise, for my hands are perfect. In the earlier part of the interview I had been careful to conceal them from view, but startled by Cavanagh's cry of pain and words of reproach I did an unpardonably foolish thing. I permitted myself, for one second, to be victimized by a human impulse. Forgetting everything except that I had hurt him and was sorry, I opened my hands--and looked down at his delicate crumpled fingers from which my brutal grasp had driven all the blood. On the instant I realized my own fatuity and attempted to repair my error. It was, however, too late.

Mr. Cavanagh staggered back a pace. At first he looked dazed, almost stunned, but his face turned livid as I watched it and his eyes filled with flame. They swept over me with glances that scorched, that wished intemperately to harm, to avenge--to kill! Finally they met my eyes, and for a long moment we gazed into each other's souls. His was full of rage, despair and terror--mine of savage self-contempt and baffled hope, and fiery but impotent regret.

"Who are you?" he hissed. "Curse you--who are you?"

Desperate diseases require desperate remedies. Already there floated before my eyes visions of police, of handcuffs, courthouses and gaols. I saw myself a prisoner serving sentence for criminal impersonation. A shudder of horror shot through my frame. Then came a blessed inspiration. "Mr. Cavanagh belongs to a society--" cried my thoughts--"which must have a criminal foundation, since its laws dare impose such a penalty as suicide for their infraction." I set my teeth together with a grim snap and hoarsely retorted to his question. "You wish to know who I am, sir. Well, I shall answer you in part. I am a detective from Scotland Yard!"

The effect of my announcement was completely terrible.

Mr. Cavanagh threw up his hands, and with a deep groaning gasp sank limp and insensible to the floor. His face was so ghastly that I thought him dead. I sprang to his side, and kneeling down pressed my ear to his breast. I could not hear his heart beat. With a moan of agony I stood erect. I was shaking like a man in an ague--and for the first time in my life fear took hold of me, sharp, senseless fear. My mastering wish was to escape quickly and without being seen. Darting to the door, I waited but to open it without sound, and then hurried through the hall, thanking Providence in my heart that I still wore my felt-soled shoes. No one hindered, no one saw me. In another second I was out of the house, and seated in my waiting hansom.

"Marble Arch!" I muttered to the driver, "and quickly man, quickly, if you wish to earn a double fare!"

When I reached the Marble Arch I was still panic-stricken and incapable of coherent thought. I do not wish it to be supposed that I am in any sense a craven. But this was the first great crisis of my career, and, like certain brave soldiers I have read of who had fled from the field during their first battle at the first fire, I was governed by an overwhelming blind impulse impossible to withstand immediately. I believe now that my excited imagination convinced me that I stood in peril of being caught and hanged for murder. At any rate, it seemed terribly necessary to hide myself, and adopt every conceivable expedient to shake all possible pursuers off my trail. Running down Oxford Street, I hailed the first cab I met and drove to London Bridge. There I took another hansom and doubled back to Piccadilly Circus. A third took me to Tottenham Court Road. A clock chimed two as I stepped upon the footpath. I was a good deal calmer then, although still in a wreck of jangling nerves. But I found that I could both control my thoughts and think. I set off at once at a brisk walk towards Holborn, growing more tranquil at every step. I racked my brain for a plan of action. I felt that I must get out of England at once and start life anew in some foreign land. Fear, you see, was still my tyrant. But how to effect my purpose? I had only three pounds in the world, for the cabs had run away with a sovereign. Bitterly I cursed my folly and the panic which had prevented me from rifling Mr. Cavanagh's pockets. They would have yielded me a golden harvest I doubted not! Of a sudden, as I strode along, I caught sight of my reflection in a tailor's window. I stopped short, shocked--horrified. I was still Sir William Dagmar to the life! For two minutes I stood there paralyzed in body and mind, then came a second inspiration. I swung on my heel and glanced about me. The street was almost deserted, but a belated hansom was approaching. I hailed the driver. "200 Harley Street," I cried and sprang inside. I had given the fellow Sir Charles Venner's address. In a very few minutes I was ringing at Sir Charles Venner's bell. After a long wait and three successive summons, the physician himself attired in an eiderdown dressing gown and slippers opened the door.

"What, Dagmar!" he cried, in great astonishment. "Come in. Whatever is the matter?"

"A call of private urgency!" I replied. "The fact is, Venner, you can do me a favour, if you will. A very dear friend of mine must get away from England before morning on a matter of life and death, and he needs more money in cash than I have by me in the house. If you'll be so good as to let me have three hundred pounds immediately, I shall post you a cheque within the next hour."

We were standing confronting each other in the hall beneath a low turned swinging gas jet. He raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders.

"Will three hundred do?" he asked.

"Yes, thank you!"

"Then excuse me for a moment."

I waited in breathless suspense, but he returned almost immediately, carrying a bag of gold and notes from which he counted three hundred pounds into my hand--you may be sure--into my left hand. I kept my right behind me.

I curtly thanked him, begged him to excuse me, and hastily withdrew. But he stood at the door and watched me enter the cab.

I was therefore obliged to give the cabby Sir William Dagmar's address. "Back to Curzon Street!" I called out. As soon as we had turned the first corner, however, I redirected the driver to Victoria Station, and during the journey I set to work to alter my appearance as much as lay in my power. I tore off my false eyebrows, and with my kerchief I vigorously rubbed the paint from my cheeks and brow. A mirror set in an angle of the hansom showed me, by the light of a match, a blotchy nondescript face that nevertheless could not be mistaken for my master's. Better satisfied, I began to reflect on my position, and to my intense gratification I found that I was no longer the slave of fear. Arrived at the station, I discharged the cab and made inquiries for the trains to the south. I found that I should have to wait a great while. I therefore selected a dark corner and gave myself up to thought. In ten minutes I was wondering what on earth I had ever been afraid of--and calling myself moreover by very nasty names. Even if Mr. Cavanagh were dead, and I began to doubt if my perturbed examination of his body had given me the truth, who could accuse me of his death? Again, if he lived, he would infallibly, on his recovery, still believe me a detective. He had not remotely guessed at my identity. Oh! the fool I had been! But what next? Were I to fly to France, I should give myself away! My master would search my room and discover my make-up box and various disguises. Were I to stay it would probably never enter his mind to suspect me! Ai! Ai! With patience, boldness, and a little luck, I might even yet convert the defeat I had sustained that night into a triumph. I felt the blood bound in my veins. Waiting for no more I sprang to my feet and hurried from the station. Ten minutes later I noiselessly inserted my latch-key into Sir William Dagmar's door, and gently as any burglar stepped into the house. The place was profoundly still. I hung up my master's coat and hat in the hall and crept upstairs. At Sir William's bedroom door I stopped, and stooping pressed my ear to the key-hole. I distinctly heard him breathing. He was a heavy sleeper, and his respirations were deep and somewhat laboured. I passed on with a smile of purest joy. Upon my dressing table stood my make-up box and a profusion of wigs, beards and moustaches. The sight gave me pause. "It is wise to be bold!" I thought, "but not rash. Here is danger. When Mr. Cavanagh recovers and informs Sir William of to-night's happenings--Ah!--and when, moreover, Sir Charles Venner discovers that he has been swindled! What then? It is unlikely, but at the same time just possible that my master's thoughts may turn to me!"

I caught up the wigs and stuffed them into the box which I locked. Where to hide it? Not in my room, nor in the pantry! nor in any place under my control! Search would reveal it there--infallibly. I must then dispose it in some place not likely to be searched. Where then? For a third time in one evening I was suddenly inspired. Seizing the box, I stole downstairs into my master's private study and, using the utmost caution, I bestowed it behind some mounds of books that were covered with many summers' dust. Heaving a deep sigh of relief and satisfaction I returned to my little chamber and leisurely undressed. Three o'clock chimed as I pulled off my boots. I then removed the last traces of my disguise with a lavish application of soap and water, and last of all I screwed back into its plate the tooth I had removed from my false set earlier in the evening in order more perfectly to resemble my master. After that I got into bed. I felt secure and almost happy--was I not a capitalist? Under my pillow reposed three hundred pounds, and never in my life until then had I possessed more than a paltry fraction of that sum. I rejoiced in determining to bank it on the morrow, and I sleepily assured myself that I would make it the seed of a great fortune. I should have been quite happy, save for one thing. I was already beginning to repent the magnanimity or cowardice which had prevented me from asking Sir William Venner for six hundred pounds instead of three. I felt sure he would have given me six as readily as three, and it was a great opportunity wasted. Wasted! It is terribly sad to look back upon wasted opportunities; a heartrending thing indeed. Even now I recall that circumstance with melancholy. I dreamed of death and murders and shadowy unutterable horrors. Soon after dawn I awoke, bathed in perspiration, and shivering in every limb. There was a sound of rushing waters in my ears, and I retained a shuddersome impression of a dark brooding figure bending over me. With a gasp of terror I plunged my hand beneath my pillow, but my three hundred pounds were safe. The delight of that discovery quickly dispelled the phantoms of my tired fancies, and I arose, with a glad heart, to begin the work of the day, by performing the work that I should have done on the previous night--the clearing up from the dinner party.

III

THE KINGSMERE HOSPITAL FOR CONSUMPTIVES

I prepared a particularly tasty breakfast that morning for my master, and I took special pains to please him as I assisted him to dress. He was not a man given to paying compliments, but when he entered the dining-room, and was unable to discover a single trace of last night's feast, he did not dissemble his surprise.

"You have re-established order very quickly--here at all events," he remarked, "Butts always took a day or two to clear up."

"That is not my way," I softly replied. "I could not sleep until I had cleared up everything. If you take the trouble to visit my pantry, sir, I will challenge you to find a stain on floor or wall, or a single speck on plate or cutlery."

"You appear to know your business," he conceded.

"From A to Z, sir," I answered. "Let me persuade you to try this omelette, Sir William. I cooked it myself."

A talent for making omelettes is one of the few accomplishments I had acquired from my father.

My master nodded, and helped himself to a dainty little roll. He tasted it, and actually smacked his lips.

"Excellent!" he observed. "Brown, I hope that Butts will not return, for his own sake. I wish you to take charge of my household henceforth from to-day. Your salary will be eight pounds a month."

"Thank you, sir," I murmured gratefully. "I shall do my best to please you, sir."

The street bell rang as I spoke. I slipped out, and opened the front door. Mr. George Cavanagh waited upon the steps, and on either side of him stood Sir Charles Venner and Dr. Fulton.

Well was it then that over my features I can exercise an admirable control, for at sight of that trio my heart felt like lead, and I shivered in my shoes.

"We must see Sir William Dagmar at once!" said Mr. Cavanagh. "Our business is of the utmost importance."

I bowed and invited him to enter. "Sir William is at breakfast, gentlemen," I muttered as I closed the door. "I shall warn him of your presence at once. In the meanwhile will you kindly step into this ante-room."

"No!" replied Sir Charles. "We shall go directly to him. Don't be alarmed, Brown, we are sufficiently intimate with Sir William to take such a liberty."

I shrugged my shoulders, and deferentially preceded them. Their faces were paste coloured and preternaturally solemn. I was, however, glad to see Mr. Cavanagh; I liked him, and it was a relief to be sure that he was still alive.

Tapping softly at the dining-room door, I opened it and entered, but I had no occasion to utter a word, for the others had trooped in on my heels.

"Excuse this intrusion, Dagmar," began Sir Charles in the French tongue, "you may believe me when I tell you that nothing could have induced me so to invade you except necessity."

My master leaned back in his chair, his mouth agape with astonishment. "Necessity!" he repeated. "What the deuce has happened?"

"Nothing less than a calamity. But first dismiss your servant--we must run no risks, the matter is too serious."

"Brown," said my master in English, "kindly leave the room. I shall ring when I require you."

I bowed and obeyed. I would have cheerfully given my three hundred pounds for an opportunity of listening unseen to their conversation. But my fate was in the balance, and I dared not play the spy. Making a virtue of necessity I retired to the pantry, and tried to eat. But in truth I had no appetite. My nerves were on the jump. I lighted a cigarette, and consumed it in half a dozen puffs. I chewed another to pulp, but smoked the third. The sixth restored me to calm. I felt myself again, and began to polish the glassware. I postured my indifference to myself and experienced an itch to whistle, just to show myself how brave I was. Needless to say, however, I suppressed the inclination. An hour passed so, and then the library bell smartly tingled. So they had left the dining-room. I hurried upstairs, smoothing my expression as I ran. My master met me at the door--a letter in his hand. "I wish you to go out at once, and post this at the nearest post-office--not in a letter box," he commanded. "It is an important missive."

"Certainly, sir!" I replied, and took the letter. He looked at me very keenly. His face was expressionless, but it bore traces of recent agitation. "I shall hurry back," I said.

"Not in a letter box!" he repeated. "Remember, Brown."

I bowed deeply and departed. In half a minute I was out of the house, but not until I had turned the corner did I so much as glance at the "important missive." It was directed to Mr. John Brown, Box 89, G.P.O. The envelope was of thin foreign parchment. I held it up to the sun and smiled. It contained a single sheet of blank paper. My message then was a ruse to withdraw me from the house while they searched my room. I felt so confident, however, that they would never discover my make-up box, that I smiled again, and to save myself the bother of walking, I took a cab. After posting the letter, I entered the first bank I came to, and requested the manager to allow me to make a deposit. He wished a reference, and I was bold enough to refer him to my master. I then paid into the credit of Agar Hume L290, and left the office. Two minutes later, I returned and paid in nine pounds. I thus procured two deposit slips. The one for L290 I tore in very small pieces, which I scattered far and wide; I was not afraid that the bank would swindle me. But the other I treasured carefully. I walked home very leisurely, and I found my master alone in his study. He was pacing the floor, with an abstracted air, his hands clasped tightly behind his back.

"I posted the letter, sir!" I announced.

He stopped in his walk and frowningly regarded me. "Very good, Brown," he replied. "By the way, my man, I want you to be very careful in admitting visitors here again. I don't refer to the three gentlemen who came this morning, they are friends of mine. But strangers."

"Yes, sir."

"Above all, Brown, permit no one, stranger or otherwise, to question you concerning me. If any one attempts to do such a thing, inform me at once!"

"Certainly, sir."

"That will do, you may go."

"I beg your pardon, sir," I muttered hesitatingly, "I hope you will forgive me, sir, but the fact is I have ventured to take a liberty with you this morning, sir."

"Ah!" He started and looked at me with piercing eyes.

"It's this way, sir," I said quickly, "I'm a saving man, sir, and I've always wished to have an account at a real bank, sir, not a post-office. Well, sir, I went into a bank while I was out just now, but they would not let me open an account without a reference. So--so I dared to give them your name, sir. I hope you'll excuse me, sir."

His eyes bored through me like a pair of gimlets. "How much money have you saved?" he demanded.

"Nine pounds, sir. Here is the ticket!" I eagerly handed him the slip.

He glanced at it, and his face cleared immediately.

"That is all right, Brown!" he said, smiling slightly. "If they apply to me, I shall try to satisfy them that they have secured a worthy client. Good luck to you, my man, I am glad to know you are thrifty."

It is a curious thing how tenacious of life one's conscience is. My master looked at me so kindly, that I felt a perfect brute for having so mercilessly deceived him, and I vow that for one fateful moment I was on the point of voicing my compunction.

"You are t--too kind, sir," I began. "I--I'm afraid I----"

But he cut me short with a frown. "That will do, my man," he interrupted in harsh tones. "I am busy, and I wish to be alone."

Had he remained silent, or allowed me to proceed, it is just possible that these memories might never have had occasion to be written. As it was, I hastily backed out of the room, and my conscience yielded up its final spark in the passage.

Anxious to verify my suspicion, I proceeded to my bed-room. It appeared, at first glance, exactly as I had left it, but I am not a casual observer. The door of my wardrobe stood slightly ajar. I had latched it. My ready made evening suit was still lying neatly folded in its drawer, but the waistcoat occupied a different position from that to which I had formerly assigned it. Finally the napped edge of my counterpane was tucked beneath the bed-tick. I had left it hanging, so as to curtain the iron rail. I noted these trifling discrepancies with all the pride of an explorer who has discovered a new territory. There is no experience more gratifying to one's vanity than to have successfully penetrated and prevised another man's intention. I began to believe myself a prodigiously clever fellow, and even yet I dare to boast with reason. I have no deep learning, indeed, my knowledge of the sciences might be scratched with a pin, but I have nevertheless not permitted the talents God has given me to rust, and there is one book with whose contents I am fairly well acquainted, the book of life.

Immediately my master had gone out to lunch, I repaired to his study, and repossessed myself of my make-up box. This I carried to my bed-room, and placed in the wardrobe. I did not, however, intend to leave it there very long. I did not anticipate another search party, it is true, but I thought it thoroughly advisable to have clean hands at home. My idea was (now that I had capital to work upon) to secure a private room somewhere in the neighbourhood, which I might use as a stronghold, and to which I might repair whenever I should desire to disguise myself. During the next few days I took frequent excursions abroad in my leisure hours, and at last I discovered exactly the place I wanted. It was on the top floor of a bachelor apartment house in Bruton Street. The chamber was small, but excellently lighted, and it had this advantage, it was disconnected by an angle of the building from its fellows; moreover its door faced the stairs, and was not overlooked by any other. On that very account, it had long been untenanted, but me it suited perfectly. After a good deal of haggling with the agent, I secured it on lease for L25 a year, and by paying six months' rent in advance, I persuaded him to dispense with references. I furnished it only with things I absolutely needed. A bed-chair, in case I might ever be obliged to sleep there, an oil stove, a thick rug for the floor, a fine three-fly-full-length mirror set upon a revolving stand, a dressing-table, and a large cabinet. I procured a locksmith to fit the door with a practically impregnable latch lock, and with the key upon my chain, I felt as proud as the most bloated land-holder in Westminster. My next move was to purchase a fresh supply of paints, wigs and various other sartorial disguises including a number of new and second-hand character costumes. I have before remarked on the fact that every tooth in my head is false. Now in all the paraphernalia of disguises, there is nothing so important as the item of teeth. Teeth give expression to both mouth and voice. A difference of one twentieth fraction of an inch in their length for instance, will alter the voice beyond hope of recognition, even to a truly practised ear, however fine its sense of perception. As for the lips, they at once become drawn out, and utterly transformed in shape. My last and most tender care, therefore, was bestowed upon my teeth. I visited a dozen different dentists, and procured a dozen sets of varying shapes and sizes, whose only point of resemblance was, that they fitted my mouth. When all was done, my bank account was depleted by a hundred and fifty pounds, but I felt that I had acquired a first-rate stock-in-trade, and I did not repent of the expenditure.

While I was busy with these arrangements, I by no means neglected my master. For a week or two after the disturbing visit paid by Sir Charles Venner, Mr. Cavanagh, and Dr. Fulton, he remained in a preoccupied and gloomy mood, and seemed unable to settle down to work. I listened in my pantry by the hour, to his footsteps restlessly pacing the floor of his library above my head. He also went out more frequently than was his custom, and remained longer away from the house. He was irritable and hard to please. However quietly I entered any room where he was, he heard and anxiously confronted me. He seemed constantly to expect an unwelcome visitor. Sometimes he swore at me for startling him, but he always apologised, and I saw that he was beginning to like me well. I longed for him to trust me, for I was burning with curiosity to know what determination his society had arrived at, regarding his daring impersonator. But that was out of the question, and I was obliged to content myself with guesses. Gradually his alarm passed off, and he resumed his literary labours as of yore. That pleased me, for I felt that his attitude might be relied upon to reflect the feelings of his fellow conspirators. I began to consider what further step I should take in my campaign to elucidate the mystery surrounding that strange brotherhood. After a great deal of reflection, I resolved to shadow Sir William on the next Sunday excursion, for I could not help suspecting that his regular absences from home on that day in each week had something to do with the secret society to which he belonged. With that end in view, on the following Saturday afternoon, I begged my master to allow me a holiday until the Monday morning, pleading by way of excuse a dear friend's sudden illness. He graciously consented, upon my promising to prepare his breakfast beforehand. I left the house about nine o'clock, and repaired to my little stronghold in Bruton Street, where I spent the night. Always an early riser, I arose at dawn, and made a hearty meal of the provisions which I had brought with me. I occupied the next few hours in selecting and perfecting a disguise. On this head, I may here remark, that I have never in my life committed a mistake of attempting to assume a character representative of a class. Such an undertaking requires too great a strain upon the imagination, and however clever one may be, breeds mischievous errors of detail and anachronisms, so to say, which may readily be detected by a keen observer. My method has always been to impersonate, that is, to duplicate as closely as possible, some living person, with whose habits and idiosyncrasies I am familiar. On this occasion I chose for my model an old actor with whom I had once upon a time shared rooms in Birmingham. His name was Francis Leigh. He was a tragedian of a bygone generation, and he had many tricks and mannerisms which I had delighted to imitate. When I had completed my make-up, I am sure that had Francis and I chanced to meet in the street, he would have believed that he looked upon his own counterfeit presentment in a mirror. I wore a frock suit of shabby genteel respectability, a frayed topper, and well-worn shoes. The original character of my mouth was altered by a set of false teeth, much longer than those I ordinarily made use of. Long iron-grey locks fell from my hat rim, to my collar, my nose was attenuated by skilfully-painted hollows, and a pair of heavily frowning false eyebrows cast my eyes into a natural and also a senna-tinted shade. I was quite ready by seven o'clock, but I occupied the hour I had to spare in practising gestures before the mirror. Perfectly satisfied at last, I strolled to Curzon Street, and before many minutes had elapsed I was gratified to perceive Sir William Dagmar emerge from his house, and set off at a brisk walk towards Park Lane. I followed him at a reasonable distance, keeping all my faculties alert. Entering Park Lane, he pursued his way towards Marble Arch, without once looking behind him. He was dressed in a sack suit of plain grey tweed, he wore a soft felt slouch hat, and he carried a stout walking stick, and a dark overcoat. Convinced that he was not in the least mindful of my existence, I gradually diminished the distance between us, until I could distinctly hear his somewhat laboured breathing. When almost at the corner of Oxford Street, he paused suddenly, glanced about him for a moment, as though he had forgotten where he was, and then abruptly crossed the road to the cab stand. He chose a hansom, and ordered the driver to take him to Hampstead Heath by way of Finchley Road and Frognal Rise. I waited until he had disappeared, then followed in a second hansom, which bore me leisurely in his wake. He alighted and dismissed his cab at the gates of the Heath. I did likewise. I had watched him enter the Heath, and proceed in the direction of Jack Straw's Castle, as my vehicle toiled up the hill. For a while I lost sight of him, but hurrying through the gates, I was just in time as I came to White Stone Pond, to perceive him enter the inn. He emerged as I approached, wiping his lips with his handkerchief. Evidently he had partaken of refreshments. Without wasting a glance at me, he turned down Heath Brow, and set off in a north-westerly direction, towards Heath House and Hendon. He descended the hill slowly, as though already fatigued, and often he rested in a musing fashion, looking steadily before him for a minute at a time. I lingered at a great distance, confident of overtaking him when I wished. It was a glorious morning, and the green sparkling Heath was dotted with still and moving figures of men and women, taking advantage of the sunshine, in which I was revelling. Sir William Dagmar looked, however, neither to right nor left. Either he was too bitter-minded to notice and rejoice in the beauties of the landscape, or he had some pressing business to perform, which absorbed his attention. Crossing the valley he began to climb an opposing slope, and at length entered a long straggling thicket. From where I stood, I could see three different paths emerging from the thicket's further side, and as the country thereabouts was rugged and broken up with rocks and trees, I waited for some time in order to discover which path he might choose, lest I should lose him. Ten minutes went by, however, and he did not appear. At the end of another five, I began to fear that he had given me the slip. Hurrying down the hill, I crossed the slowly rising vale and cautiously approached the thicket, by the route that my master had taken. It was less dense than it appeared at a distance, but in places it was thick enough for a man to hide in. A hundred paces brought me to the edge of a small, clear patch of fresh green-sward, furnished with a couple of rustic benches, set fairly close together. Upon the further bench, my master was seated, his face set towards me, in earnest converse with a woman. I almost cried aloud in my surprise. Indeed, I must have in some fashion exclaimed, for he raised his eyes and surveyed me with an intolerant annoyed expression, as though to inform me that I intruded. On instant I pretended to be the worse for liquor. Shambling forward, I sank down upon the first bench, stretched out my feet before me, and permitted my hands to fall limply by my sides. For three or four minutes a dead silence reigned. Conscious of their examination, I kept my face set straight, and frowning heavily. I heard at length the mutter of exchanged whispers, and fearing to drive them away, I began to act. Flinging out my right hand with a fiercely tragic gesture, I declaimed in a hoarse voice, broken with hiccoughs, portions of Hamlet's immortal soliloquy. This gave me opportunity for an occasional glance at my quarry. Sir William was very pale, and he looked weary. His companion was watching me, but her face was veiled. Her figure was lithe, and beautifully shaped, and she was richly dressed. I knew she must be young. Of a sudden I resolved upon a bold stroke. I rose up, and ceasing to declaim, staggered towards them. "Friends!" I cried, "in me you behold a wreck of former greatness, a shattered hulk, cast by unkind fate on a lee shore of fortune. Gaze on this battered form, this shrunken frame, these gaunt and famished limbs, and t--r--r--emble when I tell you that time was, when in happier hours, a shouting populace acclaimed their owner's frame immortal!" I paused, and swaying from side to side the while, I drew from my pocket a tattered kerchief. "Sic transit gloria mundi--Good friends," I wailed, "kind friends, if you have tears prepare to shed them now, for by'r Lady do I swear to ye that nor bite nor sup has passed these parched and fever-smitten lips these four and twenty hours!"

I put up my kerchief to my eyes, and sobbed aloud; but my hard-hearted auditors preserved a stony silence.

Without uncovering my face, I stretched out my left hand. "Charity, friends, charity!" I muttered brokenly.

"No, Marion," said my master's voice. "Cannot you see that the rogue is tipsy?"

"True, but a small gift may induce him to depart." The woman's tones were of dulcet softness, but the accent was distinctly foreign.

"Charity!" I hiccoughed, "Charity!"

"Be off with you, you rascal!" cried my master sharply. I clutched a shilling, and broke into a stream of drunken sobbing thanks. Moving off I collided designedly with the vacant bench, and sprawled upon the ground. There I lay pretending to be senseless. They came up, and turned me over on my back; Sir William Dagmar also kicked my ribs, but I answered all attempts to revive me with snores.

Satisfied apparently with my condition, they presently returned to their seats and began to converse. The crown of my head was presented to their gaze, so I could not see them, but I could hear, and not a word escaped me. "I thought for a moment he was really hurt," said the woman.

"He is half stunned and wholly asleep," replied my master, "nevertheless let us speak in French. We cannot be too careful, Marion."

"Would it not be as well to move on?" asked the woman.

"For you perhaps, my child. You are young and strong, but I am old, and my stroll has tired me out. Let us rest yet a little!"

"As you please, M'sieur."

"You were describing the effects of the picra toxic solution," suggested my master.

"That is true. Alas! M'sieur, we have once more a failure to record--so many failures!" she replied drearily. "The operation is always so perfect, so perfect, and yet always the patients die,--of shock!"

"Ah! Then the woman is dead."

"There will be a funeral to-morrow, M'sieur. The failure is complete. Sir Charles is sad. He does not speak, but he shuts his mouth, so!"

"And Fulton?"

"From the first he had no hope, M'sieur. He declared the drug a poison, a neurotic intoxicant--malignant, deadly. He smiles--so--like a dog, and shrugs his shoulders. But he too said little!"

"What next Marion?" asked my master in a hoarse hollow voice.

"God knows, M'sieur. Soon we shall have exhausted the pharmacopoeia. Providence is very cruel to us, very cruel. We have been vouchsafed one half of the secrets of life, and it seems to me that in seeking the remainder we expand our energies in vain. Meanwhile the hands of us all become more deeply dyed with blood! M'sieur, as God hears me, I sometimes think myself a murderess."

"Hush, Marion!"

"No, M'sieur, I shall speak what is in my heart. I cannot see these wretched creatures die, as day by day they perish, without often asking myself the question--are we justified? I have spoken to Sir Charles and Dr. Fulton, but they freeze me with their cold cold 'Science.' I swear to you, M'sieur, that were it not for George, I would be tempted to break my oath!"

"Foolish child, you must not trifle with this weakness. Crush it, subdue it!"

"Ah! Bah! M'sieur. Bid the breeze cease blowing. A woman's heart is weak!"

"But not the heart of a woman who loves, my child. Remember, this is George's life for which you are striving. And those others, what are they but worthless ones, condemned already past redemption. Granted perhaps that our experiments may hasten the inevitable end. Of what do we deprive them, but a few weeks or days of painful suffering. Ah, no my child, you must not turn back now. Any day the secret may be discovered, the door of life thrown open to us all. And that to you will mean the instant realizing of your dearest dreams. Think of it, Marion, your lover yours to wed, yours for long years of happiness."

The woman answered in a sobbing voice. "George is so miserable, M'sieur."

"Does he yet know?"

"Yes, and he speaks of death, he is filled with despair!"

"You must be firm with him, my child. I have discovered that he is in debt, deeply in debt. For that reason he most despairs, because he fears to leave you poor as well as desolate. I fear that he contemplates some desperate expedition. But you must persuade him to be patient. You know, Marion, that we are all pledged not to assist each other financially. On that account I dare not help your lover, though I care for him as if he were my son. But with you it is different."

"How, M'sieur?"

"Why, my dear--you are not of our order, being a woman, although you are attached to us by ties which may not be unravelled. Take this package, child. It contains a great sum of money. Ten thousand pounds. I shall not ask you to tell me what you do with it. No child, not a word."

"M'sieur, M'sieur!" cried the woman.