CHAPTER XIII
THE PICTURE
'I wonder what that nice-looking beggar really means, and who hehappens to be?' That was what I said to myself when I returned to thelaboratory. 'If it is true that, now and again, Providence does write aman's character on his face, then there can't be the slightest shred ofa doubt that a curious one's been written on his. I wonder what hisconnection has been with the Apostle,--or if it's only part of his gameof bluff.'
I strode up and down,--for the moment my interest in the experiments Iwas conducting had waned.
'If it was all bluff I never saw a better piece of acting,--and yetwhat sort of finger can such a precisian as St Paul have in such a pie?The fellow seemed to squirm at the mere mention of therising-hope-of-the-Radicals' name. Can the objection be political? Letme consider,--what has Lessingham done which could offend the religiousor patriotic susceptibilities of the most fanatical of Orientals?Politically, I can recall nothing. Foreign affairs, as a rule, he hascarefully eschewed. If he has offended--and if he hasn't the seemingwas uncommonly good!--the cause will have to be sought upon some othertrack. But, then, what track?'
The more I strove to puzzle it out, the greater the puzzlement grew.
'Absurd!--The rascal has had no more connection with St Paul than StPeter. The probability is that he's a crackpot; and if he isn't, he hassome little game on foot--in close association with the hunt of theoof-bird!--which he tried to work off on me, but couldn't. As for--forMarjorie--my Marjorie!--only she isn't mine, confound it!--if I had hadmy senses about me, I should have broken his head in several places fordaring to allow her name to pass his lips,--the unbaptisedMohammedan!--Now to return to the chase of splendid murder!'
I snatched up my mask--one of the most ingenious inventions, by theway, of recent years; if the armies of the future wear my mask theywill defy my weapon!--and was about to re-adjust it in its place, whensomeone knocked at the door.
'Who's there?--Come in!'
It was Edwards. He looked round him as if surprised.
'I beg your pardon, sir,--I thought you were engaged. I didn't knowthat--that gentleman had gone.'
'He went up the chimney, as all that kind of gentlemen do.--Why thedeuce did you let him in when I told you not to?' 'Really, sir, I don'tknow. I gave him your message, and--he looked at me, and--that is all Iremember till I found myself standing in this room.'
Had it not been Edwards I might have suspected him of having had hispalm well greased,--but, in his case, I knew better. It was as Ithought,--my visitor was a mesmerist of the first class; he hadactually played some of his tricks, in broad daylight, on my servant,at my own front door,--a man worth studying. Edwards continued.
'There is someone else, sir, who wishes to see you,--Mr Lessingham.'
'Mr Lessingham!' At that moment the juxtaposition seemed odd, though Idaresay it was so rather in appearance than in reality. 'Show him in.'
Presently in came Paul.
I am free to confess,--I have owned it before!--that, in a sense, Iadmire that man,--so long as he does not presume to thrust himself intoa certain position. He possesses physical qualities which please myeye--speaking as a mere biologist like the suggestion conveyed by hisevery pose, his every movement, of a tenacious hold on life,--ofreserve force, of a repository of bone and gristle on which he can fallback at pleasure. The fellow's lithe and active; not hasty, yet agile;clean built, well hung,--the sort of man who might be relied upon tomake a good recovery. You might beat him in a sprint,--mental orphysical--though to do that you would have to be spry!--but in astaying race he would see you out. I do not know that he is exactly thekind of man whom I would trust,--unless I knew that he was on thejob,--which knowledge, in his case, would be uncommonly hard to attain.He is too calm; too self-contained; with the knack of looking all roundhim even in moments of extremest peril,--and for whatever he does hehas a good excuse. He has the reputation, both in the House and out ofit, of being a man of iron nerve,--and with some reason; yet I am notso sure. Unless I read him wrongly his is one of those individualitieswhich, confronted by certain eventualities, collapse,--to rise, themoment of trial having passed, like Phoenix from her ashes. However itmight be with his adherents, he would show no trace of his disaster.
And this was the man whom Marjorie loved. Well, she could show somecause. He was a man of position,--destined, probably, to rise muchhigher; a man of parts,--with capacity to make the most of them; notill-looking; with agreeable manners,--when he chose; and he came withinthe lady's definition of a gentleman, 'he always did the right thing,at the right time, in the right way.' And yet--! Well, I take it thatwe are all cads, and that we most of us are prigs; for mercy's sake donot let us all give ourselves away.
He was dressed as a gentleman should be dressed,--black frock coat,black vest, dark grey trousers, stand-up collar, smartly-tied bow,gloves of the proper shade, neatly brushed hair, and a smile, which ifwas not childlike, at any rate was bland.
'I am not disturbing you?'
'Not at all.'
'Sure?--I never enter a place like this, where a man is matchinghimself with nature, to wrest from her her secrets, without feelingthat I am crossing the threshold of the unknown. The last time I was inthis room was just after you had taken out the final patents for yourSystem of Telegraphy at Sea, which the Admiraltypurchased,--wisely--What is it, now?'
'Death.'
'No?--really?--what do you mean?'
'If you are a member of the next government, you will possibly learn; Imay offer them the refusal of a new wrinkle in the art of murder.'
'I see,--a new projectile.--How long is this race to continue betweenattack and defence?'
'Until the sun grows cold.'
'And then?'
'There'll be no defence,--nothing to defend.'
He looked at me with his calm, grave eyes.
'The theory of the Age of Ice towards which we are advancing is not acheerful one.' He began to finger a glass retort which lay upon atable. 'By the way, it was very good of you to give me a look in lastnight. I am afraid you thought me peremptory,--I have come toapologise.'
'I don't know that I thought you peremptory; I thought you--queer.'
'Yes.' He glanced at me with that expressionless look upon his facewhich he could summon at will, and which is at the bottom of thesuperstition about his iron nerve. 'I was worried, and not well.Besides, one doesn't care to be burgled, even by a maniac.'
'Was he a maniac?'
'Did you see him?'
'Very clearly.'
'Where?'
'In the street.'
'How close were you to him?'
'Closer than I am to you.'
'Indeed. I didn't know you were so close to him as that. Did you try tostop him?'
'Easier said than done,--he was off at such a rate.'
'Did you see how he was dressed,--or, rather, undressed?'
'I did.'
'In nothing but a cloak on such a night. Who but a fanatic would haveattempted burglary in such a costume?'
'Did he take anything?'
'Absolutely nothing.'
'It seems to have been a curious episode.'
He moved his eyebrows,--according to members of the House the onlygesture in which he has been known to indulge.
'We become accustomed to curious episodes. Oblige me by not mentioningit to anyone,--to anyone.' He repeated the last two words, as if togive them emphasis. I wondered if he was thinking of Marjorie. 'I amcommunicating with the police. Until they move I don't want it to getinto the papers,--or to be talked about. It's a worry,--you understand?'
I nodded. He changed the theme.
'This that you're engaged upon,--is it a projectile or a weapon?'
'If you are a member of the next government you will possibly know; ifyou aren't you possibly won't.'
'I suppose you have to keep this sort of thing secret?'
'I do. It seems that matters of much less moment you wish to keepsecret.'
&n
bsp; 'You mean that business of last night? If a trifle of that sort getsinto the papers, or gets talked about,--which is the same thing!--youhave no notion how we are pestered. It becomes an almost unbearablenuisance. Jones the Unknown can commit murder with less inconvenienceto himself than Jones the Notorious can have his pocket picked,--thereis not so much exaggeration in that as there sounds.--Good-bye,--thanksfor your promise.' I had given him no promise, but that was by the way.He turned as to go,--then stopped. 'There's another thing,--I believeyou're a specialist on questions of ancient superstitions and extinctreligions.'
'I am interested in such subjects, but I am not a specialist.'
'Can you tell me what were the exact tenets of the worshippers of Isis?'
'Neither I nor any man,--with scientific certainty. As you know, shehad a brother; the cult of Osiris and Isis was one and the same. What,precisely, were its dogmas, or its practices, or anything about it,none, now, can tell. The Papyri, hieroglyphics, and so on, which remainare very far from being exhaustive, and our knowledge of those which doremain, is still less so.'
'I suppose that the marvels which are told of it are purely legendary?'
'To what marvels do you particularly refer?'
'Weren't supernatural powers attributed to the priests of Isis?'
'Broadly speaking, at that time, supernatural powers were attributed toall the priests of all the creeds.'
'I see.' Presently he continued. 'I presume that her cult is long sinceextinct,--that none of the worshippers of Isis exist to-day.'
I hesitated,--I was wondering why he had hit on such a subject; if hereally had a reason, or if he was merely asking questions as a coverfor something else,--you see, I knew my Paul.
'That is not so sure.'
He looked at me with that passionless, yet searching glance of his.
'You think that she still is worshipped?
'I think it possible, even probable, that, here and there, inAfrica--Africa is a large order!--homage is paid to Isis, quite in thegood old way.'
'Do you know that as a fact?'
'Excuse me, but do you know it as a fact?--Are you aware that you aretreating me as if I was on the witness stand?--Have you any specialpurpose in making these inquiries?'
He smiled.
'In a kind of a way I have. I have recently come across rather acurious story; I am trying to get to the bottom of it.'
'What is the story?'
'I am afraid that at present I am not at liberty to tell it you; when Iam I will. You will find it interesting,--as an instance of a singularsurvival.--Didn't the followers of Isis believe in transmigration?'
'Some of them,--no doubt.'
'What did they understand by transmigration?'
'Transmigration.'
'Yes,--but of the soul or of the body?'
'How do you mean?--transmigration is transmigration. Are you driving atsomething in particular? If you'll tell me fairly and squarely what itis I'll do my best to give you the information you require; as it is,your questions are a bit perplexing.'
'Oh, it doesn't matter,--as you say, "transmigration istransmigration."' I was eyeing him keenly; I seemed to detect in hismanner an odd reluctance to enlarge on the subject he himself hadstarted. He continued to trifle with the retort upon the table. 'Hadn'tthe followers of Isis a--what shall I say?--a sacred emblem?'
'How?'
'Hadn't they an especial regard for some sort of a--wasn't it some sortof a--beetle?'
'You mean Scarabaeus sacer,--according to Latreille, ScarabaeusEgyptiorum? Undoubtedly,--the scarab was venerated throughoutEgypt,--indeed, speaking generally, most things that had life, forinstance, cats; as you know, Orisis continued among men in the figureof Apis, the bull.'
'Weren't the priests of Isis--or some of them--supposed to assume,after death, the form of a--scarabaeus?'
'I never heard of it.'
'Are you sure?--think!'
'I shouldn't like to answer such a question positively, offhand, but Idon't, on the spur of the moment, recall any supposition of the kind.'
'Don't laugh at me--I'm not a lunatic!--but I understand that recentresearches have shown that even in some of the most astounding of theancient legends there was a substratum of fact. Is it absolutelycertain that there could be no shred of truth in such a belief?'
'In what belief?'
'In the belief that a priest of Isis--or anyone--assumed after deaththe form of a scarabaeus?'
'It seems to me, Lessingham, that you have lately come across someuncommonly interesting data, of a kind, too, which it is your boundenduty to give to the world,--or, at any rate, to that portion of theworld which is represented by me. Come,--tell us all about it!--whatare you afraid of?'
'I am afraid of nothing,--and some day you shall be told,--but not now.At present, answer my question.'
'Then repeat your question,--clearly.'
'Is it absolutely certain that there could be no foundation of truth inthe belief that a priest of Isis--or anyone--assumed after death theform of a beetle?'
'I know no more than the man in the moon,--how the dickens should I?Such a belief may have been symbolical. Christians believe that afterdeath the body takes the shape of worms--and so, in a sense, itdoes,--and, sometimes, eels.'
'That is not what I mean.'
'Then what do you mean?'
'Listen. If a person, of whose veracity there could not be a vestige ofa doubt, assured you that he had seen such a transformation actuallytake place, could it conceivably be explained on natural grounds?'
'Seen a priest of Isis assume the form of a beetle?'
'Or a follower of Isis?'
'Before, or after death?'
He hesitated. I had seldom seen him wear such an appearance ofinterest,--to be frank, I was keenly interested too!--but, on a suddenthere came into his eyes a glint of something that was almost terror.When he spoke, it was with the most unwonted awkwardness.
'In--in the very act of dying.'
'In the very act of dying?'
'If--he had seen a follower of Isis in--the very act of dying,assume--the form of a--a beetle, on any conceivable grounds would sucha transformation be susceptible of a natural explanation?'
I stared,--as who would not? Such an extraordinary question wasrendered more extraordinary by coming from such a man,--yet I wasalmost beginning to suspect that there was something behind it moreextraordinary still.
'Look here, Lessingham, I can see you've a capital tale to tell,--sotell it, man! Unless I'm mistaken, it's not the kind of tale in whichordinary scruples can have any part or parcel,--anyhow, it's hardlyfair of you to set my curiosity all agog, and then to leave itunappeased.'
He eyed me steadily, the appearance of interest fading more and more,until, presently, his face assumed its wonted expressionlessmask,--somehow I was conscious that what he had seen in my face was notaltogether to his liking. His voice was once more bland andself-contained.
'I perceive you are of opinion that I have been told a taradiddle. Isuppose I have.'
'But what is the taradiddle?--don't you see I'm burning?'
'Unfortunately, Atherton, I am on my honour. Until I have permission tounloose it, my tongue is tied.' He picked up his hat and umbrella fromwhere he had placed them on the table. Holding them in his left hand,he advanced to me with his right outstretched. 'It is very good of youto suffer my continued interruption; I know, to my sorrow, what suchinterruptions mean,--believe me, I am not ungrateful. What is this?'
On the shelf, within a foot or so of where I stood, was a sheet ofpaper,--the size and shape of half a sheet of post note. At this hestooped to glance. As he did so, something surprising occurred. On theinstant a look came on to his face which, literally, transfigured him.His hat and umbrella fell from his grasp on to the floor. He retreated,gibbering, his hands held out as if to ward something off from him,until he reached the wall on the other side of the room. A more amazingspectacle than he presented I never saw.
'Lessingha
m!' I exclaimed. 'What's wrong with you?'
My first impression was that he was struck by a fit ofepilepsy,--though anyone less like an epileptic subject it would behard to find. In my bewilderment I looked round to see what could bethe immediate cause. My eye fell upon the sheet of paper, I stared atit with considerable surprise. I had not noticed it there previously, Ihad not put it there,--where had it come from? The curious thing wasthat, on it, produced apparently by some process of photogravure, wasan illustration of a species of beetle with which I felt that I oughtto be acquainted, and yet was not. It was of a dull golden green; thecolour was so well brought out,--even to the extent of seeming toscintillate, and the whole thing was so dexterously done that thecreature seemed alive. The semblance of reality was, indeed, so vividthat it needed a second glance to be assured that it was a mere trickof the reproducer. Its presence there was odd,--after what we had beentalking about it might seem to need explanation; but it was absurd tosuppose that that alone could have had such an effect on a man likeLessingham.
With the thing in my hand, I crossed to where he was,--pressing hisback against the wall, he had shrunk lower inch by inch till he wasactually crouching on his haunches.
'Lessingham!--come, man, what's wrong with you?'
Taking him by the shoulder, I shook him with some vigour. My touch hadon him the effect of seeming to wake him out of a dream, of restoringhim to consciousness as against the nightmare horrors with which he wasstruggling. He gazed up at me with that look of cunning on his facewhich one associates with abject terror.
'Atherton?--Is it you?--It's all right,--quite right.--I'm well,--verywell.'
As he spoke, he slowly drew himself up, till he was standing erect.
'Then, in that case, all I can say is that you have a queer way ofbeing very well.'
He put his hand up to his mouth, as if to hide the trembling of hislips.
'It's the pressure of overwork,--I've had one or two attacks likethis,--but it's nothing, only--a local lesion.'
I observed him keenly; to my thinking there was something about himwhich was very odd indeed.
'Only a local lesion!--If you take my strongly-urged advice you'll geta medical opinion without delay,--if you haven't been wise enough tohave done so already.'
'I'll go to-day;--at once; but I know it's only mental overstrain.'
'You're sure it's nothing to do with this?'
I held out in front of him the photogravure of the beetle. As I did sohe backed away from me, shrieking, trembling as with palsy.
'Take it away! take it away!' he screamed.
I stared at him, for some seconds, astonished into speechlessness. ThenI found my tongue.
'Lessingham!--It's only a picture!--Are you stark mad?'
He persisted in his ejaculations.
'Take it away! take it away!--Tear it up!--Burn it!'
His agitation was so unnatural,--from whatever cause it arose!--that,fearing the recurrence of the attack from which he had just recovered,I did as he bade me. I tore the sheet of paper into quarters, and,striking a match, set fire to each separate piece. He watched theprocess of incineration as if fascinated. When it was concluded, andnothing but ashes remained, he gave a gasp of relief.
'Lessingham,' I said, 'you're either mad already, or you're goingmad,--which is it?'
'I think it's neither. I believe I am as sane as you. It's--it's thatstory of which I was speaking; it--it seems curious, but I'll tell youall about it--some day. As I observed, I think you will find it aninteresting instance of a singular survival.' He made an obvious effortto become more like his usual self. 'It is extremely unfortunate,Atherton, that I should have troubled you with such a display ofweakness,--especially as I am able to offer you so scant anexplanation. One thing I would ask of you,--to observe strictconfidence. What has taken place has been between ourselves. I am inyour hands, but you are my friend, I know I can rely on you not tospeak of it to anyone,--and, in particular, not to breathe a hint of itto Miss Lindon.'
'Why, in particular, not to Miss Lindon?'
'Can you not guess?'
I hunched my shoulder.
'If what I guess is what you mean is not that a cause the more whysilence would be unfair to her?'
'It is for me to speak, if for anyone. I shall not fail to do whatshould be done.--Give me your promise that you will not hint a word toher of what you have so unfortunately seen?'
I gave him the promise he required.
. . . . . . .
There was no more work for me that day. The Apostle, his divagations,his example of the coleoptera, his Arabian friend,--these things wereas microbes which, acting on a system already predisposed for theirreception, produced high fever; I was in a fever,--of unrest. Brain ina whirl!--Marjorie, Paul, Isis, beetle, mesmerism, in delirious jumble.Love's upsetting!--in itself a sufficiently severe disease; but whencomplications intervene, suggestive of mystery and novelties, so thatyou do not know if you are moving in an atmosphere of dreams or offrozen facts,--if, then, your temperature does not rise, like thatrocket of M. Verne's,--which reached the moon, then you are a freak ofan entirely genuine kind, and if the surgeons do not preserve you, andplace you on view, in pickle, they ought to, for the sake of historicaldoubters, for no one will believe that there ever was a man like you,unless you yourself are somewhere around to prove them Thomases.
Myself,--I am not that kind of man. When I get warm I grow heated, andwhen I am heated there is likely to be a variety show of a gaudy kind.When Paul had gone I tried to think things out, and if I had kept ontrying something would have happened--so I went on the river instead.
The Beetle: A Mystery Page 13
