The Beetle Part 21

'Yes, Paul Lessingham's,-the man who made the speech,-the man whom Marjorie went away with.'

'How do you know it's his?'

'I don't know it is, but I believe it is,-I choose to believe it is!-I intend to believe it is!-It was outside his house, therefore it's his cat,-that's how I argue. I can't get Lessingham inside that box, so I get his cat instead.'

'Whatever for?'

'You shall see.-You observe how happy it is?'

'It don't seem happy.'

'We've all our ways of seeming happy,-that's its way,'

The creature was behaving like a cat gone mad, dashing itself against the sides of its gla.s.s prison, leaping to and fro, and from side to side, squealing with rage, or with terror, or with both. Perhaps it foresaw what was coming,-there is no fathoming the intelligence of what we call the lower animals.

'It's a funny way.'

'We some of us have funny ways, beside cats. Now, attention! Observe this little toy,-you've seen something of its kind before. It's a spring gun; you pull the spring-drop the charge into the barrel-release the spring-and the charge is fired. I'll unlock this safe, which is built into the wall. It's a letter lock, the combination just now, is "whisky,"-you see, that's a hint to you. You'll notice the safe is strongly made,-it's air- tight, fire-proof, the outer casing is of triple-plated drill- proof steel,-the contents are valuable-to me!-and devilish dangerous,-I'd pity the thief who, in his innocent ignorance, broke in to steal. Look inside-you see it's full of b.a.l.l.s,-gla.s.s b.a.l.l.s, each in its own little separate nest; light as feathers; transparent,-you can see right through them. Here are a couple, like tiny pills. They contain neither dynamite, nor cordite, nor anything of the kind, yet, given a fair field and no favour, they'll work more mischief than all the explosives man has fashioned. Take hold of one-you say your heart is broken!- squeeze this under your nose-it wants but a gentle pressure-and in less time than no time you'll be in the land where they say there are no broken hearts.'

He shrunk back.

'I don't know what you're talking about.-I don't want the thing.

-Take it away.'

'Think twice,-the chance may not recur.'

'I tell you I don't want it.'

'Sure?-Consider!'

'Of course I'm sure!'

'Then the cat shall have it.'

'Let the poor brute go!'

'The poor brute's going,-to the land which is so near, and yet so far. Once more, if you please, attention. Notice what I do with this toy gun. I pull back the spring; I insert this small gla.s.s pellet; I thrust the muzzle of the gun through the opening in the gla.s.s box which contains the Apostle's cat,-you'll observe it fits quite close, which, on the whole, is perhaps as well for us. -I am about to release the spring.-Close attention, please.- Notice the effect.'

'Atherton, let the brute go!'

'The brute's gone! I've released the spring-the pellet has been discharged-it has struck against the roof of the gla.s.s box-it has been broken by the contact,-and, hey presto! the cat lies dead,-and that in face of its nine lives. You perceive how still it is,-how still! Let's hope that, now, it's really happy. The cat which I choose to believe is Paul Lessingham's has received its quietus; in the morning I'll send it back to him, with my respectful compliments. He'll miss it if I don't.-Reflect! think of a huge bomb, filled with what we'll call Atherton's Magic Vapour, fired, say, from a hundred and twenty ton gun, bursting at a given elevation over the heads of an opposing force. Properly managed, in less than an instant of time, a hundred thousand men, -quite possibly more!-would drop down dead, as if smitten by the lightning of the skies. Isn't that something like a weapon, sir?'

'I'm not well!-I want to get away!-I wish I'd never come!'

That was all Woodville had to say.

'Rubbish!-You're adding to your stock of information every second, and, in these days, when a member of Parliament is supposed to know all about everything, information's the one thing wanted. Empty your gla.s.s, man,-that's the time of day for you!'

I handed him his tumbler. He drained what was left of its contents, then, in a fit of tipsy, childish temper he flung the tumbler from him. I had placed-carelessly enough-the second pellet within a foot of the edge of the table. The shock of the heavy beaker striking the board close to it, set it rolling. I was at the other side. I started forward to stop its motion, but I was too late. Before I could reach the crystal globule, it had fallen off the edge of the table on to the floor at Woodville's feet, and smashed in falling. As it smashed, he was looking down, wondering, no doubt, in his stupidity, what the pother was about,-for I was shouting, and making something of a clatter in my efforts to prevent the catastrophe which I saw was coming. On the instant, as the vapour secreted in the broken pellet gained access to the air, he fell forward on to his face. Rushing to him, I s.n.a.t.c.hed his senseless body from the ground, and dragged it, staggeringly, towards the door which opened on to the yard. Flinging the door open, I got him into the open air.

As I did so, I found myself confronted by someone who stood outside. It was Lessingham's mysterious Egypto-Arabian friend,-my morning's visitor.

CHAPTER XVII

MAGIC?-OR MIRACLE?

The pa.s.sage into the yard from the electrically lit laboratory was a pa.s.sage from brilliancy to gloom. The shrouded figure, standing in the shadow, was like some object in a dream. My own senses reeled. It was only because I had resolutely held my breath, and kept my face averted that I had not succ.u.mbed to the fate which had overtaken Woodville. Had I been a moment longer in gaining the open air, it would have been too late. As it was, in placing Woodville on the ground, I stumbled over him. My senses left me. Even as they went I was conscious of exclaiming,-remembering the saying about the engineer being hoist by his own petard,

'Atherton's Magic Vapour!'

My sensations on returning to consciousness were curious. I found myself being supported in someone's arms, a stranger's face was bending over me, and the most extraordinary pair of eyes I had ever seen were looking into mine.

'Who the deuce are you?' I asked.

Then, understanding that it was my uninvited visitor, with scant ceremony I drew myself away from him. By the light which was streaming through the laboratory door I saw that Woodville was lying close beside me,-stark and still.

'Is he dead?' I cried. 'Percy.-speak, man!-it's not so bad with you as that!'

But it was pretty bad,-so bad that, as I bent down and looked at him, my heart beat uncomfortably fast lest it was as bad as it could be. His heart seemed still,-the vapour took effect directly on the cardiac centres. To revive their action and that instantly, was indispensable. Yet my brain was in such a whirl that I could not even think of how to set about beginning. Had I been alone, it is more than probable Woodville would have died. As I stared at him, senselessly, aimlessly, the stranger, pa.s.sing his arms beneath his body, extended himself at full length upon his motionless form. Putting his lips to Percy's, he seemed to be pumping life from his own body into the unconscious man's. As I gazed bewildered, surprised, presently there came a movement of Percy's body. His limbs twitched, as if he was in pain. By degrees, the motions became convulsive,-till on a sudden he bestirred himself to such effect that the stranger was rolled right off him. I bent down,-to find that the young gentleman's condition still seemed very far from satisfactory. There was a rigidity about the muscles of his face, a clamminess about his skin, a disagreeable suggestiveness about the way in which his teeth and the whites of his eyes were exposed, which was uncomfortable to contemplate.

The stranger must have seen what was pa.s.sing through my mind,-not a very difficult thing to see. Pointing to the rec.u.mbent Percy, he said, with that queer foreign tw.a.n.g of his, which, whatever it had seemed like in the morning, sounded musical enough just then.

'All will be well with him.'

'I am not so sure.'

The stranger did not deign to answer. He was kneeling on one side of the victim of modern science, I on the other. Pa.s.sing his hand to and fro in front of the unconscious countenance, as if by magic all semblance of discomfort vanished from Percy's features, and, to all appearances, he was placidly asleep.

'Have you hypnotised him?'

'What does it matter?'

If it was a case of hypnotism, it was very neatly done. The conditions were both unusual and trying, the effect produced seemed all that could be desired,-the change brought about in half a dozen seconds was quite remarkable. I began to be aware of a feeling of quasi-respect for Paul Lessingham's friend. His morals might be peculiar, and manners he might have none, but in this case, at any rate, the end seemed to have justified the means. He went on.

'He sleeps. When he awakes he will remember nothing that has been.

Leave him,-the night is warm,-all will be well.'

As he said, the night was warm,-and it was dry. Percy would come to little harm by being allowed to enjoy, for a while, the pleasant breezes. So I acted on the stranger's advice, and left him lying in the yard, while I had a little interview with the impromptu physician.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE APOTHEOSIS OF THE BEETLE

The laboratory door was closed. The stranger was standing a foot or two away from it. I was further within the room, and was subjecting him to as keen a scrutiny as circ.u.mstances permitted. Beyond doubt he was conscious of my observation, yet he bore himself with an air of indifference, which was suggestive of perfect unconcern. The fellow was oriental to the finger-tips,- that much was certain; yet in spite of a pretty wide personal knowledge of oriental people I could not make up my mind as to the exact part of the east from which he came. He was hardly an Arab, he was not a fellah,-he was not, unless I erred, a Mohammedan at all. There was something about him which was distinctly not Mussulmanic. So far as looks were concerned, he was not a flattering example of his race, whatever his race might be. The portentous size of his beak-like nose would have been, in itself, sufficient to d.a.m.n him in any court of beauty. His lips were thick and shapeless,-and this, joined to another peculiarity in his appearance, seemed to suggest that, in his veins there ran more than a streak of negro blood. The peculiarity alluded to was his semblance of great age. As one eyed him one was reminded of the legends told of people who have been supposed to have retained something of their pristine vigour after having lived for centuries. As, however, one continued to gaze, one began to wonder if he really was so old as he seemed,-if, indeed, he was exceptionally old at all. Negroes, and especially negresses, are apt to age with extreme rapidity. Among coloured folk' one sometimes encounters women whose faces seem to have been lined by the pa.s.sage of centuries, yet whose actual tale of years would ent.i.tle them to regard themselves, here in England, as in the prime of life. The senility of the fellow's countenance, besides, was contradicted by the juvenescence of his eyes. No really old man could have had eyes like that. They were curiously shaped, reminding me of the elongated, faceted eyes of some queer creature, with whose appearance I was familiar, although I could not, at the instant, recall its name. They glowed not only with the force and fire, but, also, with the frenzy of youth. More uncanny-looking eyes I had never encountered,-their possessor could not be, in any sense of the word, a clubable person. Owing, probably, to some peculiar formation of the optic-nerve one felt, as one met his gaze, that he was looking right through you. More obvious danger signals never yet were placed in a creature's head. The individual who, having once caught sight of him, still sought to cultivate their owner's acquaintance, had only himself to thank if the very worst results of frequenting evil company promptly ensued.