The Beetle: A Mystery

by Richard Marsh

  CHAPTER VI

  A SINGULAR FELONY

  I went to the window; I drew up the blind, unlatching the sash, I threwit open; and clad, or, rather, unclad as I was, I clambered through itinto the open air. I was not only incapable of resistance, I wasincapable of distinctly formulating the desire to offer resistance.Some compelling influence moved me hither and hither, with completestdisregard of whether I would or would not.

  And yet, when I found myself without, I was conscious of a sense ofexultation at having escaped from the miasmic atmosphere of that roomof unholy memories. And a faint hope began to dawn within my bosomthat, as I increased the distance between myself and it, I might shakeoff something of the nightmare helplessness which numbed and torturedme. I lingered for a moment by the window; then stepped over the shortdividing wall into the street; and then again I lingered.

  My condition was one of dual personality,--while, physically, I wasbound, mentally, to a considerable extent, I was free. But this measureof freedom on my mental side made my plight no better. For, among otherthings, I realised what a ridiculous figure I must be cutting,barefooted and bareheaded, abroad, at such an hour of the night, insuch a boisterous breeze,--for I quickly discovered that the windamounted to something like a gale. Apart from all other considerations,the notion of parading the streets in such a condition filled me withprofound disgust. And I do believe that if my tyrannical oppressor hadonly permitted me to attire myself in my own garments, I should havestarted with a comparatively light heart on the felonious mission onwhich he apparently was sending me. I believe, too, that theconsciousness of the incongruity of my attire increased my sense ofhelplessness, and that, had I been dressed as Englishmen are wont tobe, who take their walks abroad, he would not have found in me, on thatoccasion, the facile instrument which, in fact, he did.

  There was a moment, in which the gravelled pathway first made itselfknown to my naked feet, and the cutting wind to my naked flesh, when Ithink it possible that, had I gritted my teeth, and strained my everynerve, I might have shaken myself free from the bonds which shackledme, and bade defiance to the ancient sinner who, for all I knew, waspeeping at me through the window. But so depressed was I by theknowledge of the ridiculous appearance I presented that, before I couldtake advantage of it the moment passed,--not to return again that night.

  I did catch, as it were, at its fringe, as it was flying past me,making a hurried movement to one side,--the first I had made, of my owninitiative, for hours. But it was too late. My tormentor,--as if,though unseen, he saw--tightened his grip, I was whirled round, andsped hastily onwards in a direction in which I certainly had no desireof travelling.

  All the way I never met a soul. I have since wondered whether in thatrespect my experience was not a normal one; whether it might not havehappened to any. If so, there are streets in London, long lines ofstreets, which, at a certain period of the night, in a certain sort ofweather--probably the weather had something to do with it--are cleandeserted; in which there is neither foot-passenger nor vehicle,--noteven a policeman. The greater part of the route along which I wasdriven--I know no juster word--was one with which I had some sort ofacquaintance. It led, at first, through what, I take it, was some partof Walham Green; then along the Lillie Road, through Brompton, acrossthe Fulham Road, through the network of streets leading to SloaneStreet, across Sloane Street into Lowndes Square. Who goes that waygoes some distance, and goes through some important thorough fares; yetnot a creature did I see, nor, I imagine, was there a creature who sawme. As I crossed Sloane Street, I fancied that I heard the distantrumbling of a vehicle along the Knightsbridge Road, but that was theonly sound I heard.

  It is painful even to recollect the plight in which I was when I wasstopped,--for stopped I was, as shortly and as sharply, as the beast ofburden, with a bridle in its mouth, whose driver puts a period to hiscareer. I was wet,--intermittent gusts of rain were borne on thescurrying wind; in spite of the pace at which I had been brought, I waschilled to the bone; and--worst of all!--my mud-stained feet, all cutand bleeding, were so painful--for, unfortunately, I was stillsusceptible enough to pain--that it was agony to have them come intocontact with the cold and the slime of the hard, unyielding pavement.

  I had been stopped on the opposite side of the square,--that nearest tothe hospital; in front of a house which struck me as being somewhatsmaller than the rest. It was a house with a portico; about the pillarsof this portico was trelliswork, and on the trelliswork was trainedsome climbing plant. As I stood, shivering, wondering what would happennext, some strange impulse mastered me, and, immediately, to my ownunbounded amazement, I found myself scrambling up the trellis towardsthe verandah above. I am no gymnast, either by nature or by education;I doubt whether, previously, I had ever attempted to climb anythingmore difficult than a step ladder. The result was, that, though theimpulse might be given me, the skill could not, and I had only ascendeda yard or so when, losing my footing, I came slithering down upon myback. Bruised and shaken though I was, I was not allowed to inquireinto my injuries. In a moment I was on my feet again, and again I wasimpelled to climb,--only, however, again to come to grief. This timethe demon, or whatever it was, that had entered into me, seeming toappreciate the impossibility of getting me to the top of that verandah,directed me to try another way. I mounted the steps leading to thefront door, got on to the low parapet which was at one side, thence onto the sill of the adjacent window,--had I slipped then I should havefallen a sheer descent of at least twenty feet to the bottom of thedeep area down below. But the sill was broad, and--if it is proper touse such language in connection with a transaction of the sort in whichI was engaged--fortune favoured me. I did not fall. In my clenched fistI had a stone. With this I struck the pane of glass, as with a hammer.Through the hole which resulted, I could just insert my hand, and reachthe latch within. In another minute the sash was raised, and I was inthe house,--I had committed burglary.

  As I look back and reflect upon the audacity of the whole proceeding,even now I tremble. Hapless slave of another's will although in verytruth I was, I cannot repeat too often that I realised to the full justwhat it was that I was being compelled to do--a fact which was very farfrom rendering my situation less distressful!--and every detail of myinvoluntary actions was projected upon my brain in a series ofpictures, whose clear-cut outlines, so long as memory endures, willnever fade. Certainly no professional burglar, nor, indeed, anycreature in his senses, would have ventured to emulate my surprisingrashness. The process of smashing the pane of glass--it was plateglass--was anything but a noiseless one. There was, first, the blowitself, then the shivering of the glass, then the clattering offragments into the area beneath. One would have thought that the wholething would have made din enough to have roused the Seven Sleepers.But, here, again the weather was on my side. About that time the windwas howling wildly,--it came shrieking across the square. It ispossible that the tumult which it made deadened all other sounds.

  Anyhow, as I stood within the room which I had violated, listening forsigns of someone being on the alert, I could hear nothing. Within thehouse there seemed to be the silence of the grave. I drew down thewindow, and made for the door.

  It proved by no means easy to find. The windows were obscured by heavycurtains, so that the room inside was dark as pitch. It appeared to beunusually full of furniture,--an appearance due, perhaps, to my being astranger in the midst of such Cimmerian blackness. I had to feel myway, very gingerly indeed, among the various impedimenta. As it was Iseemed to come into contact with most of the obstacles there were tocome into contact with, stumbling more than once over footstools, andover what seemed to be dwarf chairs. It was a miracle that my movementsstill continued to be unheard,--but I believe that the explanation was,that the house was well built; that the servants were the only personsin it at the time; that their bedrooms were on the top floor; that theywere fast asleep; and that they were little likely to be disturbed byanything that might occur in the room which I had entered.
r />   Reaching the door at last, I opened it,--listening for any promise ofbeing interrupted--and--to adapt a hackneyed phrase--directed by thepower which shaped my end, I went across the hall and up the stairs. Ipassed up the first landing, and, on the second, moved to a door uponthe right. I turned the handle, it yielded, the door opened, I entered,closing it behind me. I went to the wall just inside the door, found ahandle, jerked it, and switched on the electric light,--doing, I makeno doubt, all these things, from a spectator's point of view, sonaturally, that a judge and jury would have been with difficultypersuaded that they were not the product of my own volition.

  In the brilliant glow of the electric light I took a leisurely surveyof the contents of the room. It was, as the man in the bed had said itwould be, a study,--a fine, spacious apartment, evidently intendedrather for work than for show. There were three separatewriting-tables, one very large and two smaller ones, all covered withan orderly array of manuscripts and papers. A typewriter stood at theside of one. On the floor, under and about them, were piles of books,portfolios, and official-looking documents. Every available foot ofwall space on three sides of the room was lined with shelves, full asthey could hold with books. On the fourth side, facing the door, was alarge lock-up oak bookcase, and, in the farther corner, a quaint oldbureau. So soon as I saw this bureau I went for it, straight as anarrow from a bow,--indeed, it would be no abuse of metaphor to say thatI was propelled towards it like an arrow from a bow.

  It had drawers below, glass doors above, and between the drawers andthe doors was a flap to let down. It was to this flap my attention wasdirected. I put out my hand to open it; it was locked at the top. Ipulled at it with both hands; it refused to budge.

  So this was the lock I was, if necessary, to practise the arts of athief to open. I was no picklock; I had flattered myself that nothing,and no one, could make me such a thing. Yet now that I found myselfconfronted by that unyielding flap, I found that pressure, irresistiblepressure, was being put upon me to gain, by any and every means, accessto its interior. I had no option but to yield. I looked about me insearch of some convenient tool with which to ply the felon's trade. Ifound it close beside me. Leaning against the wall, within a yard ofwhere I stood, were examples of various kinds of weapons,--among them,spear-heads. Taking one of these spear-heads, with much difficulty Iforced the point between the flap and the bureau. Using the leveragethus obtained, I attempted to prise it open. The flap held fast; thespear-head snapped in two. I tried another, with the same result; athird, to fail again. There were no more. The most convenient thingremaining was a queer, heavy-headed, sharp-edged hatchet. This I took,brought the sharp edge down with all my force upon the refractory flap.The hatchet went through,--before I had done with it, it was open witha vengeance.

  But I was destined on the occasion of my first--and, I trust,last--experience of the burglar's calling, to carry the part completelythrough. I had gained access to the flap itself only to find that atthe back were several small drawers, on one of which my observation wasbrought to bear in a fashion which it was quite impossible todisregard. As a matter of course it was locked, and, once more, I hadto search for something which would serve as a rough-and-readysubstitute for the missing key.

  There was nothing at all suitable among the weapons,--I could hardlyfor such a purpose use the hatchet; the drawer in question was such alittle one that to have done so would have been to shiver it tosplinters. On the mantelshelf, in an open leather case, were a pair ofrevolvers. Statesmen, nowadays, sometimes stand in actual peril oftheir lives. It is possible that Mr Lessingham, conscious ofcontinually threatened danger, carried them about with him as anecessary protection. They were serviceable weapons, large, andsomewhat weighty,--of the type with which, I believe, upon occasion thepolice are armed. Not only were all the barrels loaded, but, in thecase itself there was a supply of cartridges more than sufficient tocharge them all again.

  I was handling the weapons, wondering--if, in my condition, the wordwas applicable--what use I could make of them to enable me to gainadmission to that drawer, when there came, on a sudden, from the streetwithout, the sound of approaching wheels. There was a whirring withinmy brain, as if someone was endeavouring to explain to me to whatservice to apply the revolvers, and I, perforce, strained every nerveto grasp the meaning of my invisible mentor. While I did so, the wheelsdrew rapidly nearer, and, just as I was expecting them to go whirlingby, stopped,--in front of the house. My heart leapt in my bosom. In aconvulsion of frantic terror, again, during the passage of one frenziedmoment, I all but burst the bonds that held me, and fled, haphazard,from the imminent peril. But the bonds were stronger than I,--it was asif I had been rooted to the ground.

  A key was inserted in the keyhole of the front door, the lock wasturned, the door thrown open, firm footsteps entered the house. If Icould I would not have stood upon the order of my going, but gone atonce, anywhere, anyhow; but, at that moment, my comings and goings werenot matters in which I was consulted. Panic fear raging within,outwardly I was calm as possible, and stood, turning the revolvers overand over, asking myself what it could be that I was intended to do withthem. All at once it came to me in an illuminating flash,--I was tofire at the lock of the drawer, and blow it open.

  A madder scheme it would have been impossible to hit upon. The servantshad slept through a good deal, but they would hardly sleep through thedischarge of a revolver in a room below them,--not to speak of theperson who had just entered the premises, and whose footsteps werealready audible as he came up the stairs. I struggled to make a dumbprotest against the insensate folly which was hurrying me to infallibledestruction, without success. For me there was only obedience. With arevolver in either hand I marched towards the bureau as unconcernedlyas if I would not have given my life to have escaped the denouementwhich I needed but a slight modicum of common sense to be aware wasclose at hand. I placed the muzzle of one of the revolvers against thekeyhole of the drawer to which my unseen guide had previously directedme, and pulled the trigger. The lock was shattered, the contents of thedrawer were at my mercy. I snatched up a bundle of letters, about whicha pink ribbon was wrapped. Startled by a noise behind me, immediatelyfollowing the report of the pistol, I glanced over my shoulder.

  The room door was open, and Mr Lessingham was standing with the handlein his hand.