The Wiles of the Wicked

by William Le Queux

railings.

  In the hall, although the gas had been extinguished, there remained asmall hand-lamp alight, evidently placed there for his use. This hetook, and conducted me to a front room, upon what the landlady of such aresidence would term her "drawing-room floor." The house smelled closeand stuffy; the furniture of the sitting-room was covered with plushwhich had once been crimson, but which was now sadly worn and badlymoth-eaten; the threadbare carpet had been perforated in many places byhot cigarette-ends carelessly thrown down, and there was a general airof disorder about the place which seemed incongruous with my friend'ssmart air and general demeanour. I believed him to be a gentleman, yetfound that he lived in a not over-clean lodging. To the practicalLondoner, whose fate it is to live in "diggings," apartments in theneighbourhood of the King's Road are notable as being both dear anddirty.

  He threw off his overcoat, tossed his hat aside, and pulled up a long,comfortable wicker-chair for me. Then he opened the buffet, and tooktherefrom a bottle of whisky and a couple of sodas, with which heproceeded to mix the drinks, his cigar-stump still in his mouth, eventhough he talked all the time, recounting some amusing stories whichcaused me to laugh.

  I could not quite make him out. The remarks he let fall while, over ourcoffee, we had discussed the chances at roulette, led me to thesuspicion that he was a practised gambler, and here in his rooms Idetected evidence that he was fond of sport, of betting, and of othergames of hazard.

  We had lit fresh cigars from his own box, and as he sat in his bigarmchair he lifted his glass to me merrily, expressing pleasure at ourmeeting.

  "I hope," he added, "that we shall meet very often. But take my tip, mydear fellow, and don't fall in love with Mabel Anson."

  Why he should emphasise this warning just as Channing had done struck meas very curious. It might be, of course, that he was in love with herhimself, and regarded me as a possible rival. This, indeed, was theimpression conveyed to me by his words, and it aroused within me a vaguefeeling of distrust. That quick sinister glance when I had beenintroduced still lingered in my memory.

  "I can't think why you should so repeatedly warn me," I remarked,laughing with affected amusement. "It really isn't likely that I shallfall in love with her."

  He made no response. He only puffed slowly at his cigar, and smiledcynically through the veil of smoke he created.

  I replaced my cigar in my mouth--for my friend was evidently aconnoisseur of Havanas, and this was an excellent one--but at thatinstant my tongue, as I twisted it in my mouth, came in contact with thecut end of the weed, and I felt pricked as if by some sharp point.Quickly I removed it and examined it closely, exclaiming--

  "Do they wrap up needles in your cigars? Look!" And I passed it acrossto him, indicating where, protruding from the end, which I had choppedoff with the cutter on my watchguard, was the tiny point of either aneedle or a pin.

  "Extraordinary!" he ejaculated, taking it from my hand and examining itcarefully.

  But ere a few moments had elapsed I felt a strange sensation creepingupon me; a curious chilliness ran down my spine, my tongue seemedswelling until it filled my mouth, and my brain felt aflame.

  "God?" I cried, springing to my feet in alarm. "Why, I believe I'mpoisoned!"

  "Nonsense!" he laughed. His voice seemed to sound afar off, and I sawhis dog's face slowly assume an expression of evil as he sat opposite,intently watching me.

  A sudden dizziness seized me; a spasm of sharp pain shot through all mylimbs from head to toe; my senses reeled, I could see nothingdistinctly. The man Hickman's ugly visage seemed slowly to fade in ablurred, blood-red mist.

  At that same instant my blood was frozen by terror, for I felt convincedthat this abrasion of my tongue had been planned by my companion'sdevilish ingenuity, and that upon that needle-point had been placed somebaneful substance, the action of which was rapid and certain. I saw itall, now that it was, alas! too late.

  With a wild cry I stretched forth both hands to steady myself, but,staggering, only clutched the air.

  Then a strange and utterly unaccountable thing happened to me--strangerthan has ever happened to any other living man.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

  THE MARBLE HAND.

  I approach this and the following chapters of my secret personal historywith feelings of amazement and of thankfulness that I should still bealive and able to write down the truth freely and without fear, for theevents were certainly most remarkable and utterly mystifying.

  In no man's history has there ever been such a strange, bewildering pageas the one I am about to reveal to you.

  Reader, as I have taken you into my confidence, so also I tell youconfidentially that I myself, an ordinary man, would never have believedthat in this life of ours such things were possible, had I not myselfexperienced them, and personally endured the frightful agony of mindwhich they entailed. But I am writing down in black and white uponthese pages the solid unvarnished facts, fearless of contradiction, sothat the whole of the strange truth shall be known, and hat she who isdearest to me on earth may be adjudged by the world with fairness andwith justice. For that sole reason I have resolved to relate thisromance of real life, otherwise it would ever remain in that crabbedwriting in that small portfolio, or secret dossier as it is called,numbered, docketed, and reposing in the archives of the Ministry of theInterior of a certain European Power.

  Well, I have written the truth here, so that all who read may judge.

  Immediately after the slight abrasion of my tongue, caused by thescratch of the needle so cunningly concealed in the cigar, I must havelost all consciousness. Of that I have no doubt. The recollections Ihave are only the faintest ones, blurred and indistinct, like shadows ina dream. I remember shouting in alarm and fighting fiercely against thedrowsiness and general debility which seemed to overcome me, but all waswith little or no effect. The last I remember was the ugly face ofHickman glaring evilly into mine. His hideous grin seemed to render hisdog's face the more repulsive, and his laugh of triumph sounded in myears harsh and discordant, showing plainly that the spirit of murder wasin his heart.

  At the same instant that I had made a movement towards him, I seemed tohave received a stunning blow upon the top of the skull, which so dulledmy senses that I was powerless to combat the curious giddiness thatseized me, and sank senseless upon the floor of that shabby room,helpless as a log.

  The last thought that surged through my brain was the reflection that Iwas powerless in the hands of an enemy. My first estimate of this manHickman had been correct, and I regretted that I did not allow myinstinctive caution to overrule my desire to become on friendly termswith him. He had enticed me to that place with an evil purpose--possibly that I might share the same fate as did that young man on thefateful night at The Boltons.

  The prick of an ordinary needle upon the tongue would never have createdsuch an electrical effect upon me, therefore it was certain that thepoint had been smeared with some powerful drug or poison. The ingenuitywith which the cigar had been prepared was shown by the fact that aneedle placed within would, as the tobacco became moistened by thesaliva, gradually work downward towards the tongue, while the heat atthe further end of the needle would, of course, render liquid anycoating placed upon it. Without doubt I had been the victim of adeeply-laid plot, prepared with a cunning that seemed almost beyondcomprehension.

  The blank in my mind, caused by my sudden unconsciousness, did notappear to me to be of very long duration. All I know is that I wasutterly ignorant of every event that transpired about me, and knewnothing whatever of any of the incidents which afterwards took place inthat dark, obscure house, or elsewhere. And yet they must have been ofa character absolutely unheard of.

  I have said that the period of my benighted senses did not appear to beprolonged. Indeed, now on reflection in the calmness of the present, Iam inclined to put down the lapse of time during which, in myestimation, I was lost to all knowledge of things about me at two, orperhaps three, hours. O
f course, it is difficult to fix time when weawaken after sleeping, except by the degree of light in the heavens. Ifit is still dark, it is always difficult to gauge the hour. So it waswith me when, with a heavy, bruised feeling about the top of my skull, Islowly struggled back to a knowledge of the world.

  My first thought as I opened my eyes was of Hickman. My second was afeeling of surprise that I had been unconscious so long, for while itwas about two o'clock in the morning when my tongue had, been pricked bythe concealed needle, and my adversary had dealt me a crushing blow uponmy skull as I had rushed upon him, yet straight before my eyes the sunwas shining full upon the carpet, and the particles of dust were dancingin its golden rays.

  Surely, I thought, I could not have remained unconscious for nearlytwelve hours.

  The pain in my skull was excruciating. I put my hand to the wound, andwhen I withdrew it found blood upon it. I felt a huge bump, but