The Strange Adventures of a Private Secretary in New York

by Algernon Blackwood

IIt was never quite clear to me how Jim Shorthouse managed to get hisprivate secretaryship; but, once he got it, he kept it, and for someyears he led a steady life and put money in the savings bank.One morning his employer sent for him into the study, and it was evidentto the secretary's trained senses that there was something unusual inthe air."Mr. Shorthouse," he began, somewhat nervously, "I have never yet hadthe opportunity of observing whether or not you are possessed ofpersonal courage."Shorthouse gasped, but he said nothing. He was growing accustomed to theeccentricities of his chief. Shorthouse was a Kentish man; Sidebothamwas "raised" in Chicago; New York was the present place of residence."But," the other continued, with a puff at his very black cigar, "I mustconsider myself a poor judge of human nature in future, if it is not oneof your strongest qualities."The private secretary made a foolish little bow in modest appreciationof so uncertain a compliment. Mr. Jonas B. Sidebotham watched himnarrowly, as the novelists say, before he continued his remarks."I have no doubt that you are a plucky fellow and--" He hesitated, andpuffed at his cigar as if his life depended upon it keeping alight."I don't think I'm afraid of anything in particular, sir--except women,"interposed the young man, feeling that it was time for him to make anobservation of some sort, but still quite in the dark as to his chief'spurpose."Humph!" he grunted. "Well, there are no women in this case so far as Iknow. But there may be other things that--that hurt more.""Wants a special service of some kind, evidently," was the secretary'sreflection. "Personal violence?" he asked aloud."Possibly (puff), in fact (puff, puff) probably."Shorthouse smelt an increase of salary in the air. It had a stimulatingeffect."I've had some experience of that article, sir," he said shortly; "butI'm ready to undertake anything in reason.""I can't say how much reason or unreason there may prove to be in thisparticular case. It all depends."Mr. Sidebotham got up and locked the door of his study and drew down theblinds of both windows. Then he took a bunch of keys from his pocket andopened a black tin box. He ferreted about among blue and white papersfor a few seconds, enveloping himself as he did so in a cloud of bluetobacco smoke."I feel like a detective already," Shorthouse laughed."Speak low, please," returned the other, glancing round the room. "Wemust observe the utmost secrecy. Perhaps you would be kind enough toclose the registers," he went on in a still lower voice. "Open registershave betrayed conversations before now."Shorthouse began to enter into the spirit of the thing. He tiptoedacross the floor and shut the two iron gratings in the wall that inAmerican houses supply hot air and are termed "registers." Mr.Sidebotham had meanwhile found the paper he was looking for. He held itin front of him and tapped it once or twice with the back of his righthand as if it were a stage letter and himself the villain of themelodrama."This is a letter from Joel Garvey, my old partner," he said at length."You have heard me speak of him."The other bowed. He knew that many years before Garvey & Sidebotham hadbeen well known in the Chicago financial world. He knew that the amazingrapidity with which they accumulated a fortune had only been surpassedby the amazing rapidity with which they had immediately afterwardsdisappeared into space. He was further aware--his position affordedfacilities--that each partner was still to some extent in the other'spower, and that each wished most devoutly that the other would die.The sins of his employer's early years did not concern him, however. Theman was kind and just, if eccentric; and Shorthouse, being in New York,did not probe to discover more particularly the sources whence hissalary was so regularly paid. Moreover, the two men had grown to likeeach other and there was a genuine feeling of trust and respect betweenthem."I hope it's a pleasant communication, sir," he said in a low voice."Quite the reverse," returned the other, fingering the paper nervouslyas he stood in front of the fire."Blackmail, I suppose.""Precisely." Mr. Sidebotham's cigar was not burning well; he struck amatch and applied it to the uneven edge, and presently his voice spokethrough clouds of wreathing smoke."There are valuable papers in my possession bearing his signature. Icannot inform you of their nature; but they are extremely valuable tome. They belong, as a matter of fact, to Garvey as much as to me. OnlyI've got them--""I see.""Garvey writes that he wants to have his signature removed--wants to cutit out with his own hand. He gives reasons which incline me to considerhis request--""And you would like me to take him the papers and see that he does it?""And bring them back again with you," he whispered, screwing up his eyesinto a shrewd grimace."And bring them back again with me," repeated the secretary. "Iunderstand perfectly."Shorthouse knew from unfortunate experience more than a little of thehorrors of blackmail. The pressure Garvey was bringing to bear upon hisold enemy must be exceedingly strong. That was quite clear. At the sametime, the commission that was being entrusted to him seemed somewhatquixotic in its nature. He had already "enjoyed" more than oneexperience of his employer's eccentricity, and he now caught himselfwondering whether this same eccentricity did not sometimes go--furtherthan eccentricity."I cannot read the letter to you," Mr. Sidebotham was explaining, "but Ishall give it into your hands. It will prove that you are my--er--myaccredited representative. I shall also ask you not to read the packageof papers. The signature in question you will find, of course, on thelast page, at the bottom."There was a pause of several minutes during which the end of the cigarglowed eloquently."Circumstances compel me," he went on at length almost in a whisper, "orI should never do this. But you understand, of course, the thing is aruse. Cutting out the signature is a mere pretence. It is nothing.What Garvey wants are the papers themselves."The confidence reposed in the private secretary was not misplaced.Shorthouse was as faithful to Mr. Sidebotham as a man ought to be to thewife that loves him.The commission itself seemed very simple. Garvey lived in solitude inthe remote part of Long Island. Shorthouse was to take the papers tohim, witness the cutting out of the signature, and to be specially onhis guard against any attempt, forcible or otherwise, to gain possessionof them. It seemed to him a somewhat ludicrous adventure, but he did notknow all the facts and perhaps was not the best judge.The two men talked in low voices for another hour, at the end of whichMr. Sidebotham drew up the blinds, opened the registers and unlocked thedoor.Shorthouse rose to go. His pockets were stuffed with papers and his headwith instructions; but when he reached the door he hesitated and turned."Well?" said his chief.Shorthouse looked him straight in the eye and said nothing."The personal violence, I suppose?" said the other. Shorthouse bowed."I have not seen Garvey for twenty years," he said; "all I can tell youis that I believe him to be occasionally of unsound mind. I have heardstrange rumours. He lives alone, and in his lucid intervals studieschemistry. It was always a hobby of his. But the chances are twenty toone against his attempting violence. I only wished to warn you--incase--I mean, so that you may be on the watch."He handed his secretary a Smith and Wesson revolver as he spoke.Shorthouse slipped it into his hip pocket and went out of the room.* * * * *A drizzling cold rain was falling on fields covered with half-meltedsnow when Shorthouse stood, late in the afternoon, on the platform ofthe lonely little Long Island station and watched the train he had justleft vanish into the distance.It was a bleak country that Joel Garvey, Esq., formerly of Chicago, hadchosen for his residence and on this particular afternoon it presented amore than usually dismal appearance. An expanse of flat fields coveredwith dirty snow stretched away on all sides till the sky dropped down tomeet them. Only occasional farm buildings broke the monotony, and theroad wound along muddy lanes and beneath dripping trees swathed in thecold raw fog that swept in like a pall of the dead from the sea.It was six miles from the station to Garvey's house, and the driver ofthe rickety buggy Shorthouse had found at the station was notcommunicative. Between the dreary landscape and the drearier driver hefell back upon his own thoughts, which, but for the spice of adventurethat was promised, would themselves have been even drearier than either.He made up his mind that he would waste no time over the transaction.The moment the signature was cut out he would pack up and be off. Thelast train back to Brooklyn was 7.15; and he would have to walk the sixmiles of mud and snow, for the driver of the buggy had refusedpoint-blank to wait for him.For purposes of safety, Shorthouse had done what he flattered himselfwas rather a clever thing. He had made up a second packet of papersidentical in outside appearance with the first. The inscription, theblue envelope, the red elastic band, and even a blot in the lowerleft-hand corner had been exactly reproduced. Inside, of course, wereonly sheets of blank paper. It was his intention to change the packetsand to let Garvey see him put the sham one into the bag. In case ofviolence the bag would be the point of attack, and he intended to lockit and throw away the key. Before it could be forced open and thedeception discovered there would be time to increase his chances ofescape with the real packet.It was five o'clock when the silent Jehu pulled up in front of ahalf-broken gate and pointed with his whip to a house that stood in itsown grounds among trees and was just visible in the gathering gloom.Shorthouse told him to drive up to the front door but the man refused."I ain't runnin' no risks," he said; "I've got a family."This cryptic remark was not encouraging, but Shorthouse did not pause todecipher it. He paid the man, and then pushed open the rickety old gateswinging on a single hinge, and proceeded to walk up the drive that laydark between close-standing trees. The house soon came into full view.It was tall and square and had once evidently been white, but now thewalls were covered with dirty patches and there were wide yellow streakswhere the plaster had fallen away. The windows stared black anduncompromising into the night. The garden was overgrown with weeds andlong grass, standing up in ugly patches beneath their burden of wetsnow. Complete silence reigned over all. There was not a sign of life.Not even a dog barked. Only, in the distance, the wheels of theretreating carriage could be heard growing fainter and fainter.As he stood in the porch, between pillars of rotting wood, listening tothe rain dripping from the roof into the puddles of slushy snow, he wasconscious of a sensation of utter desertion and loneliness such as hehad never before experienced. The forbidding aspect of the house had theimmediate effect of lowering his spirits. It might well have been theabode of monsters or demons in a child's wonder tale, creatures thatonly dared to come out under cover of darkness. He groped for thebell-handle, or knocker, and finding neither, he raised his stick andbeat a loud tattoo on the door. The sound echoed away in an empty spaceon the other side and the wind moaned past him between the pillars as ifstartled at his audacity. But there was no sound of approachingfootsteps and no one came to open the door. Again he beat a tattoo,louder and longer than the first one; and, having done so, waited withhis back to the house and stared across the unkempt garden into the fastgathering shadows.Then he turned suddenly, and saw that the door was standing ajar. It hadbeen quietly opened and a pair of eyes were peering at him round theedge. There was no light in the hall beyond and he could only just makeout the shape of a dim human face."Does Mr. Garvey live here?" he asked in a firm voice."Who are you?" came in a man's tones."I'm Mr. Sidebotham's private secretary. I wish to see Mr. Garvey onimportant business.""Are you expected?""I suppose so," he said impatiently, thrusting a card through theopening. "Please take my name to him at once, and say I come from Mr.Sidebotham on the matter Mr. Garvey wrote about."The man took the card, and the face vanished into the darkness, leavingShorthouse standing in the cold porch with mingled feelings ofimpatience and dismay. The door, he now noticed for the first time, wason a chain and could not open more than a few inches. But it was themanner of his reception that caused uneasy reflections to stir withinhim--reflections that continued for some minutes before they wereinterrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps and the flicker of alight in the hall.The next instant the chain fell with a rattle, and gripping his bagtightly, he walked into a large ill-smelling hall of which he could onlyjust see the ceiling. There was no light but the nickering taper held bythe man, and by its uncertain glimmer Shorthouse turned to examine him.He saw an undersized man of middle age with brilliant, shifting eyes, acurling black beard, and a nose that at once proclaimed him a Jew. Hisshoulders were bent, and, as he watched him replacing the chain, he sawthat he wore a peculiar black gown like a priest's cassock reaching tothe feet. It was altogether a lugubrious figure of a man, sinister andfunereal, yet it seemed in perfect harmony with the general character ofits surroundings. The hall was devoid of furniture of any kind, andagainst the dingy walls stood rows of old picture frames, empty anddisordered, and odd-looking bits of wood-work that appeared doublyfantastic as their shadows danced queerly over the floor in the shiftinglight."If you'll come this way, Mr. Garvey will see you presently," said theJew gruffly, crossing the floor and shielding the taper with a bonyhand. He never once raised his eyes above the level of the visitor'swaistcoat, and, to Shorthouse, he somehow suggested a figure from thedead rather than a man of flesh and blood. The hall smelt decidedly ill.All the more surprising, then, was the scene that met his eyes when theJew opened the door at the further end and he entered a room brilliantlylit with swinging lamps and furnished with a degree of taste and comfortthat amounted to luxury. The walls were lined with handsomely boundbooks, and armchairs were arranged round a large mahogany desk in themiddle of the room. A bright fire burned in the grate and neatly framedphotographs of men and women stood on the mantelpiece on either side ofan elaborately carved clock. French windows that opened like doors werepartially concealed by warm red curtains, and on a sideboard against thewall stood decanters and glasses, with several boxes of cigars piled ontop of one another. There was a pleasant odour of tobacco about theroom. Indeed, it was in such glowing contrast to the chilly poverty ofthe hall that Shorthouse already was conscious of a distinct rise in thethermometer of his spirits.Then he turned and saw the Jew standing in the doorway with his eyesfixed upon him, somewhere about the middle button of his waistcoat. Hepresented a strangely repulsive appearance that somehow could not beattributed to any particular detail, and the secretary associated him inhis mind with a monstrous black bird of prey more than anything else."My time is short," he said abruptly; "I hope Mr. Garvey will not keepme waiting."A strange flicker of a smile appeared on the Jew's ugly face andvanished as quickly as it came. He made a sort of deprecating bow by wayof reply. Then he blew out the taper and went out, closing the doornoiselessly behind him.Shorthouse was alone. He felt relieved. There was an air of obsequiousinsolence about the old Jew that was very offensive. He began to takenote of his surroundings. He was evidently in the library of the house,for the walls were covered with books almost up to the ceiling. Therewas no room for pictures. Nothing but the shining backs of well-boundvolumes looked down upon him. Four brilliant lights hung from theceiling and a reading lamp with a polished reflector stood among thedisordered masses of papers on the desk.The lamp was not lit, but when Shorthouse put his hand upon it he foundit was warm. The room had evidently only just been vacated.Apart from the testimony of the lamp, however, he had already felt,without being able to give a reason for it, that the room had beenoccupied a few moments before he entered. The atmosphere over the deskseemed to retain the disturbing influence of a human being; aninfluence, moreover, so recent that he felt as if the cause of it werestill in his immediate neighbourhood. It was difficult to realise thathe was quite alone in the room and that somebody was not in hiding. Thefiner counterparts of his senses warned him to act as if he were beingobserved; he was dimly conscious of a desire to fidget and look round,to keep his eyes in every part of the room at once, and to conducthimself generally as if he were the object of careful human observation.How far he recognised the cause of these sensations it is impossible tosay; but they were sufficiently marked to prevent his carrying out astrong inclination to get up and make a search of the room. He sat quitestill, staring alternately at the backs of the books, and at the redcurtains; wondering all the time if he was really being watched, or ifit was only the imagination playing tricks with him.A full quarter of an hour passed, and then twenty rows of volumessuddenly shifted out towards him, and he saw that a door had opened inthe wall opposite. The books were only sham backs after all, and whenthey moved back again with the sliding door, Shorthouse saw the figureof Joel Garvey standing before him.Surprise almost took his breath away. He had expected to see anunpleasant, even a vicious apparition with the mark of the beastunmistakably upon its face; but he was wholly unprepared for theelderly, tall, fine-looking man who stood in front of him--well-groomed,refined, vigorous, with a lofty forehead, clear grey eyes, and a hookednose dominating a clean shaven mouth and chin of considerablecharacter--a distinguished looking man altogether."I'm afraid I've kept you waiting, Mr. Shorthouse," he said in apleasant voice, but with no trace of a smile in the mouth or eyes. "Butthe fact is, you know, I've a mania for chemistry, and just when youwere announced I was at the most critical moment of a problem and wasreally compelled to bring it to a conclusion."Shorthouse had risen to meet him, but the other motioned him to resumehis seat. It was borne in upon him irresistibly that Mr. Joel Garvey,for reasons best known to himself, was deliberately lying, and he couldnot help wondering at the necessity for such an elaboratemisrepresentation. He took off his overcoat and sat down."I've no doubt, too, that the door startled you," Garvey went on,evidently reading something of his guest's feelings in his face. "Youprobably had not suspected it. It leads into my little laboratory.Chemistry is an absorbing study to me, and I spend most of my timethere." Mr. Garvey moved up to the armchair on the opposite side of thefireplace and sat down.Shorthouse made appropriate answers to these remarks, but his mind wasreally engaged in taking stock of Mr. Sidebotham's old-time partner. Sofar there was no sign of mental irregularity and there was certainlynothing about him to suggest violent wrong-doing or coarseness ofliving. On the whole, Mr. Sidebotham's secretary was most pleasantlysurprised, and, wishing to conclude his business as speedily aspossible, he made a motion towards the bag for the purpose of openingit, when his companion interrupted him quickly--"You are Mr. Sidebotham's private secretary, are you not?" he asked.Shorthouse replied that he was. "Mr. Sidebotham," he went on to explain,"has entrusted me with the papers in the case and I have the honour toreturn to you your letter of a week ago." He handed the letter toGarvey, who took it without a word and deliberately placed it in thefire. He was not aware that the secretary was ignorant of its contents,yet his face betrayed no signs of feeling. Shorthouse noticed, however,that his eyes never left the fire until the last morsel had beenconsumed. Then he looked up and said, "You are familiar then with thefacts of this most peculiar case?"Shorthouse saw no reason to confess his ignorance."I have all the papers, Mr. Garvey," he replied, taking them out of thebag, "and I should be very glad if we could transact our business asspeedily as possible. If you will cut out your signature I--""One moment, please," interrupted the other. "I must, before we proceedfurther, consult some papers in my laboratory. If you will allow me toleave you alone a few minutes for this purpose we can conclude the wholematter in a very short time."Shorthouse did not approve of this further delay, but he had no optionthan to acquiesce, and when Garvey had left the room by the private doorhe sat and waited with the papers in his hand. The minutes went by andthe other did not return. To pass the time he thought of taking thefalse packet from his coat to see that the papers were in order, and themove was indeed almost completed, when something--he never knewwhat--warned him to desist. The feeling again came over him that he wasbeing watched, and he leaned back in his chair with the bag on his kneesand waited with considerable impatience for the other's return. For morethan twenty minutes he waited, and when at length the door opened andGarvey appeared, with profuse apologies for the delay, he saw by theclock that only a few minutes still remained of the time he had allowedhimself to catch the last train."Now I am completely at your service," he said pleasantly; "you must, ofcourse, know, Mr. Shorthouse, that one cannot be too careful in mattersof this kind--especially," he went on, speaking very slowly andimpressively, "in dealing with a man like my former partner, whose mind,as you doubtless may have discovered, is at times very sadly affected."Shorthouse made no reply to this. He felt that the other was watchinghim as a cat watches a mouse."It is almost a wonder to me," Garvey added, "that he is still at large.Unless he has greatly improved it can hardly be safe for those who areclosely associated with him."The other began to feel uncomfortable. Either this was the other side ofthe story, or it was the first signs of mental irresponsibility."All business matters of importance require the utmost care in myopinion, Mr. Garvey," he said at length, cautiously."Ah! then, as I thought, you have had a great deal to put up with fromhim," Garvey said, with his eyes fixed on his companion's face. "And, nodoubt, he is still as bitter against me as he was years ago when thedisease first showed itself?"Although this last remark was a deliberate question and the questionerwas waiting with fixed eyes for an answer, Shorthouse elected to takeno notice of it. Without a word he pulled the elastic band from the blueenvelope with a snap and plainly showed his desire to conclude thebusiness as soon as possible. The tendency on the other's part to delaydid not suit him at all."But never personal violence, I trust, Mr. Shorthouse," he added."Never.""I'm glad to hear it," Garvey said in a sympathetic voice, "very glad tohear it. And now," he went on, "if you are ready we can transact thislittle matter of business before dinner. It will only take a moment."He drew a chair up to the desk and sat down, taking a pair of scissorsfrom a drawer. His companion approached with the papers in his hand,unfolding them as he came. Garvey at once took them from him, and afterturning over a few pages he stopped and cut out a piece of writing atthe bottom of the last sheet but one.Holding it up to him Shorthouse read the words "Joel Garvey" in fadedink."There! That's my signature," he said, "and I've cut it out. It must benearly twenty years since I wrote it, and now I'm going to burn it."He went to the fire and stooped over to burn the little slip of paper,and while he watched it being consumed Shorthouse put the real papers inhis pocket and slipped the imitation ones into the bag. Garvey turnedjust in time to see this latter movement."I'm putting the papers back," Shorthouse said quietly; "you've donewith them, I think.""Certainly," he replied as, completely deceived, he saw the blueenvelope disappear into the black bag and watched Shorthouse turn thekey. "They no longer have the slightest interest for me." As he spoke hemoved over to the sideboard, and pouring himself out a small glass ofwhisky asked his visitor if he might do the same for him. But thevisitor declined and was already putting on his overcoat when Garveyturned with genuine surprise on his face."You surely are not going back to New York to-night, Mr. Shorthouse?" hesaid, in a voice of astonishment."I've just time to catch the 7.15 if I'm quick.""But I never heard of such a thing," Garvey said. "Of course I took itfor granted that you would stay the night.""It's kind of you," said Shorthouse, "but really I must return to-night.I never expected to stay."The two men stood facing each other. Garvey pulled out his watch."I'm exceedingly sorry," he said; "but, upon my word, I took it forgranted you would stay. I ought to have said so long ago. I'm such alonely fellow and so little accustomed to visitors that I fear I forgotmy manners altogether. But in any case, Mr. Shorthouse, you cannot catchthe 7.15, for it's already after six o'clock, and that's the last trainto-night." Garvey spoke very quickly, almost eagerly, but his voicesounded genuine."There's time if I walk quickly," said the young man with decision,moving towards the door. He glanced at his watch as he went. Hitherto hehad gone by the clock on the mantelpiece. To his dismay he saw that itwas, as his host had said, long after six. The clock was half an hourslow, and he realised at once that it was no longer possible to catchthe train.Had the hands of the clock been moved back intentionally? Had he beenpurposely detained? Unpleasant thoughts flashed into his brain and madehim hesitate before taking the next step. His employer's warning rang inhis ears. The alternative was six miles along a lonely road in thedark, or a night under Garvey's roof. The former seemed a directinvitation to catastrophe, if catastrophe there was planned to be. Thelatter--well, the choice was certainly small. One thing, however, herealised, was plain--he must show neither fear nor hesitancy."My watch must have gained," he observed quietly, turning the hands backwithout looking up. "It seems I have certainly missed that train andshall be obliged to throw myself upon your hospitality. But, believe me,I had no intention of putting you out to any such extent.""I'm delighted," the other said. "Defer to the judgment of an older manand make yourself comfortable for the night. There's a bitter stormoutside, and you don't put me out at all. On the contrary it's a greatpleasure. I have so little contact with the outside world that it'sreally a god-send to have you."The man's face changed as he spoke. His manner was cordial and sincere.Shorthouse began to feel ashamed of his doubts and to read between thelines of his employer's warning. He took off his coat and the two menmoved to the armchairs beside the fire."You see," Garvey went on in a lowered voice, "I understand yourhesitancy perfectly. I didn't know Sidebotham all those years withoutknowing a good deal about him--perhaps more than you do. I've no doubt,now, he filled your mind with all sorts of nonsense about me--probablytold you that I was the greatest villain unhung, eh? and all that sortof thing? Poor fellow! He was a fine sort before his mind becameunhinged. One of his fancies used to be that everybody else was insane,or just about to become insane. Is he still as bad as that?""Few men," replied Shorthouse, with the manner of making a greatconfidence, but entirely refusing to be drawn, "go through hisexperiences and reach his age without entertaining delusions of one kindor another.""Perfectly true," said Garvey. "Your observation is evidently keen.""Very keen indeed," Shorthouse replied, taking his cue neatly; "but, ofcourse, there are some things"--and here he looked cautiously over hisshoulder--"there are some things one cannot talk about toocircumspectly.""I understand perfectly and respect your reserve."There was a little more conversation and then Garvey got up and excusedhimself on the plea of superintending the preparation of the bedroom."It's quite an event to have a visitor in the house, and I want to makeyou as comfortable as possible," he said. "Marx will do better for alittle supervision. And," he added with a laugh as he stood in thedoorway, "I want you to carry back a good account to Sidebotham."IIThe tall form disappeared and the door was shut. The conversation of thepast few minutes had come somewhat as a revelation to the secretary.Garvey seemed in full possession of normal instincts. There was no doubtas to the sincerity of his manner and intentions. The suspicions of thefirst hour began to vanish like mist before the sun. Sidebotham'sportentous warnings and the mystery with which he surrounded the wholeepisode had been allowed to unduly influence his mind. The loneliness ofthe situation and the bleak nature of the surroundings had helped tocomplete the illusion. He began to be ashamed of his suspicions and achange commenced gradually to be wrought in his thoughts. Anyhow adinner and a bed were preferable to six miles in the dark, no dinner,and a cold train into the bargain.Garvey returned presently. "We'll do the best we can for you," he said,dropping into the deep armchair on the other side of the fire. "Marx isa good servant if you watch him all the time. You must always stand overa Jew, though, if you want things done properly. They're tricky anduncertain unless they're working for their own interest. But Marx mightbe worse, I'll admit. He's been with me for nearly twenty years--cook,valet, housemaid, and butler all in one. In the old days, you know, hewas a clerk in our office in Chicago."Garvey rattled on and Shorthouse listened with occasional remarks thrownin. The former seemed pleased to have somebody to talk to and the soundof his own voice was evidently sweet music in his ears. After a fewminutes, he crossed over to the sideboard and again took up the decanterof whisky, holding it to the light. "You will join me this time," hesaid pleasantly, pouring out two glasses, "it will give us an appetitefor dinner," and this time Shorthouse did not refuse. The liquor wasmellow and soft and the men took two glasses apiece."Excellent," remarked the secretary."Glad you appreciate it," said the host, smacking his lips. "It's veryold whisky, and I rarely touch it when I'm alone. But this," he added,"is a special occasion, isn't it?"Shorthouse was in the act of putting his glass down when something drewhis eyes suddenly to the other's face. A strange note in the man's voicecaught his attention and communicated alarm to his nerves. A new lightshone in Garvey's eyes and there flitted momentarily across his strongfeatures the shadow of something that set the secretary's nervestingling. A mist spread before his eyes and the unaccountable beliefrose strong in him that he was staring into the visage of an untamedanimal. Close to his heart there was something that was wild, fierce,savage. An involuntary shiver ran over him and seemed to dispel thestrange fancy as suddenly as it had come. He met the other's eye with asmile, the counterpart of which in his heart was vivid horror."It is a special occasion," he said, as naturally as possible, "and,allow me to add, very special whisky."Garvey appeared delighted. He was in the middle of a devious taledescribing how the whisky came originally into his possession when thedoor opened behind them and a grating voice announced that dinner wasready. They followed the cassocked form of Marx across the dirty hall,lit only by the shaft of light that followed them from the library door,and entered a small room where a single lamp stood upon a table laid fordinner. The walls were destitute of pictures, and the windows hadVenetian blinds without curtains. There was no fire in the grate, andwhen the men sat down facing each other Shorthouse noticed that, whilehis own cover was laid with its due proportion of glasses and cutlery,his companion had nothing before him but a soup plate, without fork,knife, or spoon beside it."I don't know what there is to offer you," he said; "but I'm sure Marxhas done the best he can at such short notice. I only eat one course fordinner, but pray take your time and enjoy your food."Marx presently set a plate of soup before the guest, yet so loathsomewas the immediate presence of this old Hebrew servitor, that thespoonfuls disappeared somewhat slowly. Garvey sat and watched him.Shorthouse said the soup was delicious and bravely swallowed anothermouthful. In reality his thoughts were centred upon his companion, whosemanners were giving evidence of a gradual and curious change. There wasa decided difference in his demeanour, a difference that the secretaryfelt at first, rather than saw. Garvey's quiet self-possession wasgiving place to a degree of suppressed excitement that seemed so farinexplicable. His movements became quick and nervous, his eye shiftingand strangely brilliant, and his voice, when he spoke, betrayed anoccasional deep tremor. Something unwonted was stirring within him andevidently demanding every moment more vigorous manifestation as the mealproceeded.Intuitively Shorthouse was afraid of this growing excitement, and whilenegotiating some uncommonly tough pork chops he tried to lead theconversation on to the subject of chemistry, of which in his Oxford dayshe had been an enthusiastic student. His companion, however, would noneof it. It seemed to have lost interest for him, and he would barelycondescend to respond. When Marx presently returned with a plate ofsteaming eggs and bacon the subject dropped of its own accord."An inadequate dinner dish," Garvey said, as soon as the man was gone;"but better than nothing, I hope."Shorthouse remarked that he was exceedingly fond of bacon and eggs, and,looking up with the last word, saw that Garvey's face was twitchingconvulsively and that he was almost wriggling in his chair. He quieteddown, however, under the secretary's gaze and observed, though evidentlywith an effort--"Very good of you to say so. Wish I could join you, only I never eatsuch stuff. I only take one course for dinner."Shorthouse began to feel some curiosity as to what the nature of thisone course might be, but he made no further remark and contented himselfwith noting mentally that his companion's excitement seemed to berapidly growing beyond his control. There was something uncanny aboutit, and he began to wish he had chosen the alternative of the walk tothe station."I'm glad to see you never speak when Marx is in the room," said Garveypresently. "I'm sure it's better not. Don't you think so?"He appeared to wait eagerly for the answer."Undoubtedly," said the puzzled secretary."Yes," the other went on quickly. "He's an excellent man, but he hasone drawback--a really horrid one. You may--but, no, you could hardlyhave noticed it yet.""Not drink, I trust," said Shorthouse, who would rather have discussedany other subject than the odious Jew."Worse than that a great deal," Garvey replied, evidently expecting theother to draw him out. But Shorthouse was in no mood to hear anythinghorrible, and he declined to step into the trap."The best of servants have their faults," he said coldly."I'll tell you what it is if you like," Garvey went on, still speakingvery low and leaning forward over the table so that his face came closeto the flame of the lamp, "only we must speak quietly in case he'slistening. I'll tell you what it is--if you think you won't befrightened.""Nothing frightens me," he laughed. (Garvey must understand that at allevents.) "Nothing can frighten me," he repeated."I'm glad of that; for it frightens me a good deal sometimes."Shorthouse feigned indifference. Yet he was aware that his heart wasbeating a little quicker and that there was a sensation of chilliness inhis back. He waited in silence for what was to come."He has a horrible predilection for vacuums," Garvey went on presentlyin a still lower voice and thrusting his face farther forward under thelamp."Vacuums!" exclaimed the secretary in spite of himself. "What in theworld do you mean?""What I say of course. He's always tumbling into them, so that I can'tfind him or get at him. He hides there for hours at a time, and for thelife of me I can't make out what he does there."Shorthouse stared his companion straight in the eyes. What in the nameof Heaven was he talking about?"Do you suppose he goes there for a change of air, or--or to escape?" hewent on in a louder voice.Shorthouse could have laughed outright but for the expression of theother's face."I should not think there was much air of any sort in a vacuum," he saidquietly."That's exactly what I feel," continued Garvey with ever growingexcitement. "That's the horrid part of it. How the devil does he livethere? You see--""Have you ever followed him there?" interrupted the secretary. Theother leaned back in his chair and drew a deep sigh."Never! It's impossible. You see I can't follow him. There's not roomfor two. A vacuum only holds one comfortably. Marx knows that. He's outof my reach altogether once he's fairly inside. He knows the best sideof a bargain. He's a regular Jew.""That is a drawback to a servant, of course--" Shorthouse spoke slowly,with his eyes on his plate."A drawback," interrupted the other with an ugly chuckle, "I call it adraw-in, that's what I call it.""A draw-in does seem a more accurate term," assented Shorthouse. "But,"he went on, "I thought that nature abhorred a vacuum. She used to, whenI was at school--though perhaps--it's so long ago--"He hesitated and looked up. Something in Garvey's face--something he hadfelt before he looked up--stopped his tongue and froze the words inhis throat. His lips refused to move and became suddenly dry. Again themist rose before his eyes and the appalling shadow dropped its veil overthe face before him. Garvey's features began to burn and glow. Then theyseemed to coarsen and somehow slip confusedly together. He stared for asecond--it seemed only for a second--into the visage of a ferocious andabominable animal; and then, as suddenly as it had come, the filthyshadow of the beast passed off, the mist melted out, and with a mightyeffort over his nerves he forced himself to finish his sentence."You see it's so long since I've given attention to such things," hestammered. His heart was beating rapidly, and a feeling of oppressionwas gathering over it."It's my peculiar and special study on the other hand," Garvey resumed."I've not spent all these years in my laboratory to no purpose, I canassure you. Nature, I know for a fact," he added with unnatural warmth,"does not abhor a vacuum. On the contrary, she's uncommonly fond of'em, much too fond, it seems, for the comfort of my little household. Ifthere were fewer vacuums and more abhorrence we should get on better--adamned sight better in my opinion.""Your special knowledge, no doubt, enables you to speak with authority,"Shorthouse said, curiosity and alarm warring with other mixed feelingsin his mind; "but how can a man tumble into a vacuum?""You may well ask. That's just it. How can he? It's preposterous and Ican't make it out at all. Marx knows, but he won't tell me. Jews knowmore than we do. For my part I have reason to believe--" He stopped andlistened. "Hush! here he comes," he added, rubbing his hands together asif in glee and fidgeting in his chair.Steps were heard coming down the passage, and as they approached thedoor Garvey seemed to give himself completely over to an excitement hecould not control. His eyes were fixed on the door and he beganclutching the tablecloth with both hands. Again his face was screened bythe loathsome shadow. It grew wild, wolfish. As through a mask, thatconcealed, and yet was thin enough to let through a suggestion of, thebeast crouching behind, there leaped into his countenance the strangelook of the animal in the human--the expression of the were-wolf, themonster. The change in all its loathsomeness came rapidly over hisfeatures, which began to lose their outline. The nose flattened,dropping with broad nostrils over thick lips. The face rounded, filled,and became squat. The eyes, which, luckily for Shorthouse, no longersought his own, glowed with the light of untamed appetite and bestialgreed. The hands left the cloth and grasped the edges of the plate, andthen clutched the cloth again."This is my course coming now," said Garvey, in a deep guttural voice.He was shivering. His upper lip was partly lifted and showed the teeth,white and gleaming.A moment later the door opened and Marx hurried into the room and set adish in front of his master. Garvey half rose to meet him, stretchingout his hands and grinning horribly. With his mouth he made a sound likethe snarl of an animal. The dish before him was steaming, but the slightvapour rising from it betrayed by its odour that it was not born of afire of coals. It was the natural heat of flesh warmed by the fires oflife only just expelled. The moment the dish rested on the table Garveypushed away his own plate and drew the other up close under his mouth.Then he seized the food in both hands and commenced to tear it with histeeth, grunting as he did so. Shorthouse closed his eyes, with a feelingof nausea. When he looked up again the lips and jaw of the man oppositewere stained with crimson. The whole man was transformed. A feastingtiger, starved and ravenous, but without a tiger's grace--this was whathe watched for several minutes, transfixed with horror and disgust.Marx had already taken his departure, knowing evidently what was notgood for the eyes to look upon, and Shorthouse knew at last that he wassitting face to face with a madman.The ghastly meal was finished in an incredibly short time and nothingwas left but a tiny pool of red liquid rapidly hardening. Garvey leanedback heavily in his chair and sighed. His smeared face, withdrawn nowfrom the glare of the lamp, began to resume its normal appearance.Presently he looked up at his guest and said in his natural voice--"I hope you've had enough to eat. You wouldn't care for this, you know,"with a downward glance.Shorthouse met his eyes with an inward loathing, and it was impossiblenot to show some of the repugnance he felt. In the other's face,however, he thought he saw a subdued, cowed expression. But he foundnothing to say."Marx will be in presently," Garvey went on. "He's either listening, orin a vacuum.""Does he choose any particular time for his visits?" the secretarymanaged to ask."He generally goes after dinner; just about this time, in fact. But he'snot gone yet," he added, shrugging his shoulders, "for I think I hearhim coming."Shorthouse wondered whether vacuum was possibly synonymous with winecellar, but gave no expression to his thoughts. With chills of horrorstill running up and down his back, he saw Marx come in with a basin andtowel, while Garvey thrust up his face just as an animal puts up itsmuzzle to be rubbed."Now we'll have coffee in the library, if you're ready," he said, in thetone of a gentleman addressing his guests after a dinner party.Shorthouse picked up the bag, which had lain all this time between hisfeet, and walked through the door his host held open for him. Side byside they crossed the dark hall together, and, to his disgust, Garveylinked an arm in his, and with his face so close to the secretary's earthat he felt the warm breath, said in a thick voice--"You're uncommonly careful with that bag, Mr. Shorthouse. It surely mustcontain something more than the bundle of papers.""Nothing but the papers," he answered, feeling the hand burning upon hisarm and wishing he were miles away from the house and its abominableoccupants."Quite sure?" asked the other with an odious and suggestive chuckle. "Isthere any meat in it, fresh meat--raw meat?"The secretary felt, somehow, that at the least sign of fear the beast onhis arm would leap upon him and tear him with his teeth."Nothing of the sort," he answered vigorously. "It wouldn't hold enoughto feed a cat.""True," said Garvey with a vile sigh, while the other felt the hand uponhis arm twitch up and down as if feeling the flesh. "True, it's toosmall to be of any real use. As you say, it wouldn't hold enough to feeda cat."Shorthouse was unable to suppress a cry. The muscles of his fingers,too, relaxed in spite of himself and he let the black bag drop with abang to the floor. Garvey instantly withdrew his arm and turned with aquick movement. But the secretary had regained his control as suddenlyas he had lost it, and he met the maniac's eyes with a steady andaggressive glare."There, you see, it's quite light. It makes no appreciable noise when Idrop it." He picked it up and let it fall again, as if he had dropped itfor the first time purposely. The ruse was successful."Yes. You're right," Garvey said, still standing in the doorway andstaring at him. "At any rate it wouldn't hold enough for two," helaughed. And as he closed the door the horrid laughter echoed in theempty hall.They sat down by a blazing fire and Shorthouse was glad to feel itswarmth. Marx presently brought in coffee. A glass of the old whisky anda good cigar helped to restore equilibrium. For some minutes the men satin silence staring into the fire. Then, without looking up, Garvey saidin a quiet voice--"I suppose it was a shock to you to see me eat raw meat like that. Imust apologise if it was unpleasant to you. But it's all I can eat andit's the only meal I take in the twenty-four hours.""Best nourishment in the world, no doubt; though I should think it mightbe a trifle strong for some stomachs."He tried to lead the conversation away from so unpleasant a subject, andwent on to talk rapidly of the values of different foods, ofvegetarianism and vegetarians, and of men who had gone for long periodswithout any food at all. Garvey listened apparently without interest andhad nothing to say. At the first pause he jumped in eagerly."When the hunger is really great on me," he said, still gazing into thefire, "I simply cannot control myself. I must have raw meat--the first Ican get--" Here he raised his shining eyes and Shorthouse felt his hairbeginning to rise."It comes upon me so suddenly too. I never can tell when to expect it. Ayear ago the passion rose in me like a whirlwind and Marx was out and Icouldn't get meat. I had to get something or I should have bittenmyself. Just when it was getting unbearable my dog ran out from beneaththe sofa. It was a spaniel."Shorthouse responded with an effort. He hardly knew what he was sayingand his skin crawled as if a million ants were moving over it.There was a pause of several minutes."I've bitten Marx all over," Garvey went on presently in his strangequiet voice, and as if he were speaking of apples; "but he's bitter. Idoubt if the hunger could ever make me do it again. Probably that's whatfirst drove him to take shelter in a vacuum." He chuckled hideously ashe thought of this solution of his attendant's disappearances.Shorthouse seized the poker and poked the fire as if his life dependedon it. But when the banging and clattering was over Garvey continued hisremarks with the same calmness. The next sentence, however, was neverfinished. The secretary had got upon his feet suddenly."I shall ask your permission to retire," he said in a determined voice;"I'm tired to-night; will you be good enough to show me to my room?"Garvey looked up at him with a curious cringing expression behind whichthere shone the gleam of cunning passion."Certainly," he said, rising from his chair. "You've had a tiringjourney. I ought to have thought of that before."He took the candle from the table and lit it, and the fingers that heldthe match trembled."We needn't trouble Marx," he explained. "That beast's in his vacuum bythis time."IIIThey crossed the hall and began to ascend the carpetless wooden stairs.They were in the well of the house and the air cut like ice. Garvey,the flickering candle in his hand throwing his face into strong outline,led the way across the first landing and opened a door near the mouth ofa dark passage. A pleasant room greeted the visitor's eyes, and herapidly took in its points while his host walked over and lit twocandles that stood on a table at the foot of the bed. A fire burnedbrightly in the grate. There were two windows, opening like doors, inthe wall opposite, and a high canopied bed occupied most of the space onthe right. Panelling ran all round the room reaching nearly to theceiling and gave a warm and cosy appearance to the whole; while theportraits that stood in alternate panels suggested somehow theatmosphere of an old country house in England. Shorthouse was agreeablysurprised."I hope you'll find everything you need," Garvey was saying in thedoorway. "If not, you have only to ring that bell by the fireplace. Marxwon't hear it of course, but it rings in my laboratory, where I spendmost of the night."Then, with a brief good-night, he went out and shut the door after him.The instant he was gone Mr. Sidebotham's private secretary did apeculiar thing. He planted himself in the middle of the room with hisback to the door, and drawing the pistol swiftly from his hip pocketlevelled it across his left arm at the window. Standing motionless inthis position for thirty seconds he then suddenly swerved right roundand faced in the other direction, pointing his pistol straight at thekeyhole of the door. There followed immediately a sound of shufflingoutside and of steps retreating across the landing."On his knees at the keyhole," was the secretary's reflection. "Just asI thought. But he didn't expect to look down the barrel of a pistol andit made him jump a little."As soon as the steps had gone downstairs and died away across the hall,Shorthouse went over and locked the door, stuffing a piece of crumpledpaper into the second keyhole which he saw immediately above the first.After that, he made a thorough search of the room. It hardly repaid thetrouble, for he found nothing unusual. Yet he was glad he had made it.It relieved him to find no one was in hiding under the bed or in thedeep oak cupboard; and he hoped sincerely it was not the cupboard inwhich the unfortunate spaniel had come to its vile death. The Frenchwindows, he discovered, opened on to a little balcony. It looked on tothe front, and there was a drop of less than twenty feet to the groundbelow. The bed was high and wide, soft as feathers and covered withsnowy sheets--very inviting to a tired man; and beside the blazing firewere a couple of deep armchairs.Altogether it was very pleasant and comfortable; but, tired though hewas, Shorthouse had no intention of going to bed. It was impossible todisregard the warning of his nerves. They had never failed him before,and when that sense of distressing horror lodged in his bones he knewthere was something in the wind and that a red flag was flying over theimmediate future. Some delicate instrument in his being, more subtlethan the senses, more accurate than mere presentiment, had seen the redflag and interpreted its meaning.Again it seemed to him, as he sat in an armchair over the fire, that hismovements were being carefully watched from somewhere; and, not knowingwhat weapons might be used against him, he felt that his real safety layin a rigid control of his mind and feelings and a stout refusal to admitthat he was in the least alarmed.The house was very still. As the night wore on the wind dropped. Onlyoccasional bursts of sleet against the windows reminded him that theelements were awake and uneasy. Once or twice the windows rattled andthe rain hissed in the fire, but the roar of the wind in the chimneygrew less and less and the lonely building was at last lapped in a greatstillness. The coals clicked, settling themselves deeper in the grate,and the noise of the cinders dropping with a tiny report into the softheap of accumulated ashes was the only sound that punctuated thesilence.In proportion as the power of sleep grew upon him the dread of thesituation lessened; but so imperceptibly, so gradually, and soinsinuatingly that he scarcely realised the change. He thought he was aswide awake to his danger as ever. The successful exclusion of horriblemental pictures of what he had seen he attributed to his rigorouscontrol, instead of to their true cause, the creeping over him of thesoft influences of sleep. The faces in the coals were so soothing; thearmchair was so comfortable; so sweet the breath that gently pressedupon his eyelids; so subtle the growth of the sensation of safety. Hesettled down deeper into the chair and in another moment would have beenasleep when the red flag began to shake violently to and fro and he satbolt upright as if he had been stabbed in the back.Someone was coming up the stairs. The boards creaked beneath a stealthyweight.Shorthouse sprang from the chair and crossed the room swiftly, taking uphis position beside the door, but out of range of the keyhole. The twocandles flared unevenly on the table at the foot of the bed. The stepswere slow and cautious--it seemed thirty seconds between each one--butthe person who was taking them was very close to the door. Already hehad topped the stairs and was shuffling almost silently across the bitof landing.The secretary slipped his hand into his pistol pocket and drew backfurther against the wall, and hardly had he completed the movement whenthe sounds abruptly ceased and he knew that somebody was standing justoutside the door and preparing for a careful observation through thekeyhole.He was in no sense a coward. In action he was never afraid. It was thewaiting and wondering and the uncertainty that might have loosened hisnerves a little. But, somehow, a wave of intense horror swept over himfor a second as he thought of the bestial maniac and his attendant Jew;and he would rather have faced a pack of wolves than have to do witheither of these men.Something brushing gently against the door set his nerves tinglingafresh and made him tighten his grasp on the pistol. The steel was coldand slippery in his moist fingers. What an awful noise it would makewhen he pulled the trigger! If the door were to open how close he wouldbe to the figure that came in! Yet he knew it was locked on the insideand could not possibly open. Again something brushed against the panelbeside him and a second later the piece of crumpled paper fell from thekeyhole to the floor, while the piece of thin wire that had accomplishedthis result showed its point for a moment in the room and was thenswiftly withdrawn.Somebody was evidently peering now through the keyhole, and realisingthis fact the spirit of attack entered into the heart of the beleagueredman. Raising aloft his right hand he brought it suddenly down with aresounding crash upon the panel of the door next the keyhole--a crashthat, to the crouching eavesdropper, must have seemed like a clap ofthunder out of a clear sky. There was a gasp and a slight lurchingagainst the door and the midnight listener rose startled and alarmed,for Shorthouse plainly heard the tread of feet across the landing anddown the stairs till they were lost in the silences of the hall. Only,this time, it seemed to him there were four feet instead of two.Quickly stuffing the paper back into the keyhole, he was in the act ofwalking back to the fireplace when, over his shoulder, he caught sightof a white face pressed in outline against the outside of the window. Itwas blurred in the streams of sleet, but the white of the moving eyeswas unmistakable. He turned instantly to meet it, but the face waswithdrawn like a flash, and darkness rushed in to fill the gap where ithad appeared."Watched on both sides," he reflected.But he was not to be surprised into any sudden action, and quietlywalking over to the fireplace as if he had seen nothing unusual hestirred the coals a moment and then strolled leisurely over to thewindow. Steeling his nerves, which quivered a moment in spite of hiswill, he opened the window and stepped out on to the balcony. The wind,which he thought had dropped, rushed past him into the room andextinguished one of the candles, while a volley of fine cold rain burstall over his face. At first he could see nothing, and the darkness cameclose up to his eyes like a wall. He went a little farther on to thebalcony and drew the window after him till it clashed. Then he stood andwaited.But nothing touched him. No one seemed to be there. His eyes gotaccustomed to the blackness and he was able to make out the ironrailing, the dark shapes of the trees beyond, and the faint light comingfrom the other window. Through this he peered into the room, walking thelength of the balcony to do so. Of course he was standing in a shaft oflight and whoever was crouching in the darkness below could plainly seehim. Below?--That there should be anyone above did not occur to himuntil, just as he was preparing to go in again, he became aware thatsomething was moving in the darkness over his head. He looked up,instinctively raising a protecting arm, and saw a long black lineswinging against the dim wall of the house. The shutters of the windowon the next floor, whence it depended, were thrown open and movingbackwards and forwards in the wind. The line was evidently a thickishcord, for as he looked it was pulled in and the end disappeared in thedarkness.Shorthouse, trying to whistle to himself, peered over the edge of thebalcony as if calculating the distance he might have to drop, and thencalmly walked into the room again and closed the window behind him,leaving the latch so that the lightest touch would cause it to fly open.He relit the candle and drew a straight-backed chair up to the table.Then he put coal on the fire and stirred it up into a royal blaze. Hewould willingly have folded the shutters over those staring windows athis back. But that was out of the question. It would have been to cutoff his way of escape.Sleep, for the time, was at a disadvantage. His brain was full of bloodand every nerve was tingling. He felt as if countless eyes were upon himand scores of stained hands were stretching out from the corners andcrannies of the house to seize him. Crouching figures, figures ofhideous Jews, stood everywhere about him where shelter was, creepingforward out of the shadows when he was not looking and retreatingswiftly and silently when he turned his head. Wherever he looked, othereyes met his own, and though they melted away under his steady,confident gaze, he knew they would wax and draw in upon him the instanthis glances weakened and his will wavered.Though there were no sounds, he knew that in the well of the house therewas movement going on, and preparation. And this knowledge, inasmuchas it came to him irresistibly and through other and more subtlechannels than those of the senses kept the sense of horror fresh in hisblood and made him alert and awake.But, no matter how great the dread in the heart, the power of sleep willeventually overcome it. Exhausted nature is irresistible, and as theminutes wore on and midnight passed, he realised that nature wasvigorously asserting herself and sleep was creeping upon him from theextremities.To lessen the danger he took out his pencil and began to draw thearticles of furniture in the room. He worked into elaborate detail thecupboard, the mantelpiece, and the bed, and from these he passed on tothe portraits. Being possessed of genuine skill, he found the occupationsufficiently absorbing. It kept the blood in his brain, and that kepthim awake. The pictures, moreover, now that he considered them for thefirst time, were exceedingly well painted. Owing to the dim light, hecentred his attention upon the portraits beside the fireplace. On theright was a woman, with a sweet, gentle face and a figure of greatrefinement; on the left was a full-size figure of a big handsome manwith a full beard and wearing a hunting costume of ancient date.From time to time he turned to the windows behind him, but the vision ofthe face was not repeated. More than once, too, he went to the door andlistened, but the silence was so profound in the house that he graduallycame to believe the plan of attack had been abandoned. Once he went outon to the balcony, but the sleet stung his face and he only had time tosee that the shutters above were closed, when he was obliged to seek theshelter of the room again.In this way the hours passed. The fire died down and the room grewchilly. Shorthouse had made several sketches of the two heads and wasbeginning to feel overpoweringly weary. His feet and his hands were coldand his yawns were prodigious. It seemed ages and ages since the stepshad come to listen at his door and the face had watched him from thewindow. A feeling of safety had somehow come to him. In reality he wasexhausted. His one desire was to drop upon the soft white bed and yieldhimself up to sleep without any further struggle.He rose from his chair with a series of yawns that refused to be stifledand looked at his watch. It was close upon three in the morning. He madeup his mind that he would lie down with his clothes on and get somesleep. It was safe enough, the door was locked on the inside and thewindow was fastened. Putting the bag on the table near his pillow heblew out the candles and dropped with a sense of careless and deliciousexhaustion upon the soft mattress. In five minutes he was sound asleep.There had scarcely been time for the dreams to come when he foundhimself lying side-ways across the bed with wide open eyes staring intothe darkness. Someone had touched him, and he had writhed away in hissleep as from something unholy. The movement had awakened him.The room was simply black. No light came from the windows and the firehad gone out as completely as if water had been poured upon it. He gazedinto a sheet of impenetrable darkness that came close up to his facelike a wall.His first thought was for the papers in his coat and his hand flew tothe pocket. They were safe; and the relief caused by this discovery lefthis mind instantly free for other reflections.And the realisation that at once came to him with a touch of dismay was,that during his sleep some definite change had been effected in theroom. He felt this with that intuitive certainty which amounts topositive knowledge. The room was utterly still, but the corroborationthat was speedily brought to him seemed at once to fill the darknesswith a whispering, secret life that chilled his blood and made thesheet feel like ice against his cheek.Hark! This was it; there reached his ears, in which the blood wasalready buzzing with warning clamour, a dull murmur of something thatrose indistinctly from the well of the house and became audible to himwithout passing through walls or doors. There seemed no solid surfacebetween him, lying on the bed, and the landing; between the landing andthe stairs, and between the stairs and the hall beyond.He knew that the door of the room was standing open! Therefore it hadbeen opened from the inside. Yet the window was fastened, also on theinside.Hardly was this realised when the conspiring silence of the hour wasbroken by another and a more definite sound. A step was coming along thepassage. A certain bruise on the hip told Shorthouse that the pistol inhis pocket was ready for use and he drew it out quickly and cocked it.Then he just had time to slip over the edge of the bed and crouch downon the floor when the step halted on the threshold of the room. The bedwas thus between him and the open door. The window was at his back.He waited in the darkness. What struck him as peculiar about the stepswas that there seemed no particular desire to move stealthily. There wasno extreme caution. They moved along in rather a slipshod way andsounded like soft slippers or feet in stockings. There was somethingclumsy, irresponsible, almost reckless about the movement.For a second the steps paused upon the threshold, but only for a second.Almost immediately they came on into the room, and as they passed fromthe wood to the carpet Shorthouse noticed that they became whollynoiseless. He waited in suspense, not knowing whether the unseen walkerwas on the other side of the room or was close upon him. Presently hestood up and stretched out his left arm in front of him, groping,searching, feeling in a circle; and behind it he held the pistol, cockedand pointed, in his right hand. As he rose a bone cracked in his knee,his clothes rustled as if they were newspapers, and his breath seemedloud enough to be heard all over the room. But not a sound came tobetray the position of the invisible intruder.Then, just when the tension was becoming unbearable, a noise relievedthe gripping silence. It was wood knocking against wood, and it camefrom the farther end of the room. The steps had moved over to thefireplace. A sliding sound almost immediately followed it and thensilence closed again over everything like a pall.For another five minutes Shorthouse waited, and then the suspense becametoo much. He could not stand that open door! The candles were closebeside him and he struck a match and lit them, expecting in the suddenglare to receive at least a terrific blow. But nothing happened, and hesaw at once that the room was entirely empty. Walking over with thepistol cocked he peered out into the darkness of the landing and thenclosed the door and turned the key. Then he searched the room--bed,cupboard, table, curtains, everything that could have concealed a man;but found no trace of the intruder. The owner of the footsteps haddisappeared like a ghost into the shadows of the night. But for one facthe might have imagined that he had been dreaming: the bag hadvanished!There was no more sleep for Shorthouse that night. His watch pointed to4 a.m. and there were still three hours before daylight. He sat down atthe table and continued his sketches. With fixed determination he wenton with his drawing and began a new outline of the man's head. There wassomething in the expression that continually evaded him. He had nosuccess with it, and this time it seemed to him that it was the eyesthat brought about his discomfiture. He held up his pencil before hisface to measure the distance between the nose and the eyes, and to hisamazement he saw that a change had come over the features. The eyes wereno longer open. The lids had closed!For a second he stood in a sort of stupefied astonishment. A push wouldhave toppled him over. Then he sprang to his feet and held a candleclose up to the picture. The eye-lids quivered, the eye-lashes trembled.Then, right before his gaze, the eyes opened and looked straight intohis own. Two holes were cut in the panel and this pair of eyes, humaneyes, just fitted them.As by a curious effect of magic, the strong fear that had governed himever since his entry into the house disappeared in a second. Angerrushed into his heart and his chilled blood rose suddenly to boilingpoint. Putting the candle down, he took two steps back into the room andthen flung himself forward with all his strength against the paintedpanel. Instantly, and before the crash came, the eyes were withdrawn,and two black spaces showed where they had been. The old huntsman waseyeless. But the panel cracked and split inwards like a sheet of thincardboard; and Shorthouse, pistol in hand, thrust an arm through thejagged aperture and, seizing a human leg, dragged out into the room--theJew!Words rushed in such a torrent to his lips that they choked him. The oldHebrew, white as chalk, stood shaking before him, the bright pistolbarrel opposite his eyes, when a volume of cold air rushed into theroom, and with it a sound of hurried steps. Shorthouse felt his armknocked up before he had time to turn, and the same second Garvey, whohad somehow managed to burst open the window came between him and thetrembling Marx. His lips were parted and his eyes rolled strangely inhis distorted face."Don't shoot him! Shoot in the air!" he shrieked. He seized the Jew bythe shoulders."You damned hound," he roared, hissing in his face. "So I've got you atlast. That's where your vacuum is, is it? I know your vile hiding-placeat last." He shook him like a dog. "I've been after him all night," hecried, turning to Shorthouse, "all night, I tell you, and I've got himat last."Garvey lifted his upper lip as he spoke and showed his teeth. They shonelike the fangs of a wolf. The Jew evidently saw them too, for he gave ahorrid yell and struggled furiously.Before the eyes of the secretary a mist seemed to rise. The hideousshadow again leaped into Garvey's face. He foresaw a dreadful battle,and covering the two men with his pistol he retreated slowly to thedoor. Whether they were both mad, or both criminal, he did not pause toinquire. The only thought present in his mind was that the sooner hemade his escape the better.Garvey was still shaking the Jew when he reached the door and turned thekey, but as he passed out on to the landing both men stopped theirstruggling and turned to face him. Garvey's face, bestial, loathsome,livid with anger; the Jew's white and grey with fear and horror;--bothturned towards him and joined in a wild, horrible yell that woke theechoes of the night. The next second they were after him at full speed.Shorthouse slammed the door in their faces and was at the foot of thestairs, crouching in the shadow, before they were out upon the landing.They tore shrieking down the stairs and past him, into the hall; and,wholly unnoticed, Shorthouse whipped up the stairs again, crossed thebedroom and dropped from the balcony into the soft snow.As he ran down the drive he heard behind him in the house the yells ofthe maniacs; and when he reached home several hours later Mr. Sidebothamnot only raised his salary but also told him to buy a new hat andovercoat, and send in the bill to him.

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