“ ‘I believe that the horror of that spectacle would have chained me to the spot for as long as that feast had lasted, but quite suddenly something happened that re-awakened all my sense of terror and caused me to rush blindly for the safety of my bedroom. Ah. You wait till you hear.
“ ‘You see, I was standing with the lamp high above my head, with the heat consequently driving up against the ceiling, which was, as the floor and walls, overrun with vermin. I cannot say what, but something, evidently overpowered by the heat of the lamp, lost its hold and fell—horrible—fell right into the chimney of the lamp, which for a second flared up, and then with a smell of singeing, went out, leaving me in the dark amidst that moving host.
“ ‘I shrieked once with terror, and dashing the lamp to the ground, surely upon the very spot where gorged those voracious spiders, I leapt through the darkness—a maniac. Across the hall I rushed—dashed up the old oak stairway, and as I ran, tore off my collar and tie, and last of all my smoking-jacket—for my very clothes seemed alive and repugnant to me.
“ ‘But as soon as I had gained my room I remembered that I had placed my matches in the pocket of my smoking-jacket, and having no mind to spend the night in the dark, it was essential to recover them. However, it took me a considerable time before I could rouse up sufficient courage, but at last I set out, groping my way to the head of the stairs.
“ ‘Down I went—stair by stair, stepping heavily in order to scare away the vermin. I was nearing the bottom when my footstep sounded muffled. I had trodden upon the coat, for I heard the rattle of the match-box. As I stooped to pick it up, something ran over my hand. I kicked out in terror, and in so doing, crunched the match-box, which with a smell of sulphur, spluttered flame, and in a second I realized the jacket was on fire. I kicked it clear of the oak stairs into the centre of the hall flagstones, and ran upstairs to get a jug of water. When I returned to the banisters the flames were leaping high, and by this weird light I could see all manner of dark creatures scuttling away into the shadows. I was about to empty the water-jug on the flames when I remembered my bedroom candle. I got it from my room, rushed down the stairs, and lit it from the fire. At least I should not now have to pass the night in the dark.
“ ‘When I had deposited this precious light within my room, I emptied carefully the ewer of water upon the now smouldering coat, and then returned towards my room, but as I passed the head of the stairs I heard the pattering of innumerable feet below, and I knew that the boldest of the creatures were investigating the remains of my jacket.
“ ‘Now in one respect the agents had acted fairly. They had carried out to the letter the decorations I had ordered for my bedroom. White furniture from London. White linoleum. Everything white and shining. Not a crack or blemish anywhere. How thankful I was for this fastidiousness, I need hardly say. A white enamelled oil stove too, with a kettle. The casements were new and close fitting, so I knew that despite the moths’ continual tattooing upon the panes, they could not effect an entrance, which so pleased me that I went close to the window and made jeering faces at the brutes, just as though they would understand. Perhaps they did, for they butted away with renewed energy and a bat came to join their flutterings.
“ ‘I pulled the casement curtains close and laughed.
“ ‘Indeed—I tried not to stop laughing, for when I did, I found myself listening to the hellish noises that came from the house. And then without warning and from beneath the door, there sprang into the room a great white moth.
“ ‘I leapt from the bed—dragged off the counterpane with an oath, and blocked the bottom of the door, for, you see, my first instinct was to prevent other and viler creatures from entering by the same breach.
“ ‘The moth settled at the base of my candlestick—and I at once perceived that it was too big to catch beneath my tooth glass. Besides, nothing on earth would make me open either the door or window, and I did not intend to have anything living in my room, my fortress, during the night. And now, Doctor Godden—listen well—that you may be able to make up your mind the quicker.
“ ‘There suddenly came over me a damnable delight—and you must guess what it was. Why—the lust for killing—an impulse stronger than fear. Yes—I had only now the lust for blood. Were that delicate white moth, matching the whiteness of the room, to have been turned into a human being, it would still have made no difference. I would have killed just the same, for never in my life had I felt such a diabolical enthusiasm, such a glow of cunning anticipation, as when I knotted my face-towel at the end and said calmly, “You shall die for this, you fool.”
“ ‘And now Doctor Godden, you know my trouble. Now you can see for yourself what my vocation in the world is. For, as I struck that sideways whistling blow with the towel—as I heard the feeble fluttered thud upon the linoleum, I knew that I was a disciple of Cain—a life-taker.
“ ‘All that night and for the long nights and days to come, my mind ran havoc. I drafted out a programme of blood. Diabolical crimes—despicable orgies. Yes—I had found my profession. So by the way I used to look at things, isn’t it expedient that you should put me away? What is your decision?’
“Somehow the weakness in his peculiar face had given place to a fierce determination, and thinking that here was a very ugly young man to be reckoned with, I was the more surprised at Doctor Godden’s summing-up.
“ ‘My dear Nathaniel Skinner,’ he said kindly, ‘I have an objection to people wasting their money—especially young people. My rooms here, as it happens, are all full, and with the best will in the world I could not take in another patient, and there will be no vacancy for over a month. But even had I room to spare, I should not persuade you to take it, because I dislike the money-making side of my profession, and do my best to avoid excessive profit. Oh, I am not saying that I couldn’t treat you so that you would be more than satisfied. But a home of this class is naturally more expensive than the best hotel. I have to cater for a large and experienced staff, and the likes and dislikes of my patients are often embarrassing. I have King John of England staying here at the moment. He is really an auctioneer, but he flies into most kingly rages if lampreys and peaches are not served at every meal, and his Sunday joint must always be a peacock. Well—he has to be humoured, since bad tempers are bad for his very high blood-pressure. But there is no need to humour you at all. I should be cheating you, as I do not attach the least importance to these presentiments of yours. My advice is—take a holiday—anywhere attractive—from place to place would be best—stay at hotels where you will see plenty of people, and don’t buy any more bogey houses. And at the back of your mind—without forcing it—think out seriously what you would like to become. From your extraordinary flow of words and powers of description, why not try writing? And don’t bother your head about tendencies and that kind of thing. I assure you there’s nothing radically wrong with your mind, if you develop your sense of humour. Now, I see by your card,’ and he picked it up from the tray which the bewildered Robertson had left on the table, ‘that you are staying at the Hydro, and have given me that number to ring in case I was out when you called. Well—go back there and have a good night, which no doubt you will need after your unpleasant stay at Golt Farm. If you feel like it come in and see me again. Not as a consultant but a friend.’
“ ‘Ah—yes—consultation,’ replied the Albino. ‘What do I owe you for this one?’
“ ‘Under the circumstances—nothing at all. You’ve told us a good bed-time story. I should like to go and hunt up those spiders myself. There’s a short cut to your hotel through my woods—only a step or two that way—but it’s dark. I’ll get Robertson to show you the way with his lantern. He’ll be going your way to post my letters, while Mr. Hogarth hare takes the opposite direction. Good night, Nathaniel Skinner.’
“Well, I was for home, too, and not in the mood for any more last act of Simon Lee, which we agreed to tackle the next night, for I was grateful to the Doctor for letting me stay to
hear such a peculiar story. I stayed for a minute or so, chatting to the Doctor at his front door. He was going back to the study to cut the pages of a new volume received that day from his London booksellers—it was entitled, Adelphi Dramas, which as he said, promised him a real treat. So I left him just as the last swing of Robertson’s lantern disappeared into the darkness of the woods. And now comes a curious part of the story which will interest you, my dear Kent. You remember two concurrences of events which heralded your arrival here the other day. Every night for a whole month you were summoned in your dreams by two—shall we call them ghosts? And although they were not able to convey to you exactly what they wanted you to do for them, they did compel you to drive towards the coast. On the road they succeeded in commanding the powerful elements of storm to arrest your passage violently at the nearest spot on the high road to this house, where they are earth-bound. At the same time they had been warning me, through the same medium of dreams, to expect you, and to give you stranger’s welcome at these gates. I even knew that there would be an accident, and that you would need crutches. I was so certain of your subsequent arrival that I spent the best part of a day putting that deckchair you are using on to hospital wheels.
“The easiest way of explaining all this is to accept the fact that there are such things as ghosts. So was it in this case of Doctor Godden. In less than an hour after watching Robertson’s lantern light, I was sound asleep at my cousins’. And I had a vivid dream. I was back in Godden’s study. He didn’t know I was there. He was reading Adelphi Dramas. As he tried to turn over a page, he found that it was uncut. He stretched out his hand for the dagger paper-knife, and found it wasn’t there. He got up and walked about the room looking for it. It was obvious that he couldn’t see me. I was invisible. But I had the power to know exactly what he was thinking. He remembered like I did that Nathaniel Skinner had picked it up during his recital, and must have absent-mindedly put it in his overcoat pocket. Godden felt irritated. That knife had for years been one of his household gods. He comforted himself with the thought that the Albino would either return it personally or put it in the post. He became more irritated when it dawned upon him that he would have to go and borrow a knife from the pantry because he was very careful over his books and wanted a sharp knife. He rang the bell in case Robertson had not gone to bed. Then he remembered that he had not heard the old butler come back. He glanced at the clock. It was half-past eleven. ‘Nonsense,’ thought he, ‘I was so engrossed in my book that I didn’t hear him.’
“But it was always Robertson’s custom to bid his master good night before retiring. ‘The old boy’s in a huff, because I flashed out at him. He’s gone to bed in the sulks. I’ll make it all right in the morning.’ Then he went to the pantry and found a steel knife, but instead of settling down to read in his study arm-chair, he decided to take knife and book up to bed.
“The next thing in my dream I was standing outside the study in the dark hall, when there came a violent knocking at the front door. This went on—louder and louder, till the staircase lights were switched on and a very irritated Doctor Godden came hurrying down in his dressing-gown.
“He was thinking—‘If this row goes on, I shall have all the patients awake.’ He opened the front door. It was the Albino. ‘Can’t keep away, you see,’ he said, smiling, as he brushed past the Doctor and took his stand by the light switch.
“ ‘I suppose you’ve come to return my paper-knife,’ said the Doctor. ‘You could have waited till the morning.’
“ ‘I’m not waiting,’ was the answer. ‘I’m going away.’
“ ‘Well, there’s a post, at least——’ protested the Doctor.
“ ‘Post?’ queried the Albino mildly. ‘We shouldn’t send ugly things through the post.’
“ ‘Oh—give me the knife and be off,’ demanded the Doctor in a growing fury.
“ ‘Seen Robertson?’ asked the other. ‘If so, how do you think he’s looking?’
“ ‘Robertson?’ repeated the Doctor. ‘Asleep, I suppose.’
“ ‘Suppose? Hadn’t you better find out?’
“ ‘What do you mean?’
“ ‘I have come to the conclusion that your judgment is not very sound, Doctor Godden. You made the last mistake of your life when you sent me away from this madhouse.’
“ ‘For heaven’s sake—go,’ cried the Doctor. ‘Come along, give me the knife!’
“ ‘Certainly. With great delight.’ And the Albino switched off the light and in the darkness I heard a gasp.
“In the dark I followed him as he closed the front door behind him. He strode through the wood, chuckling aloud, ‘Two in one night—and with a paper-knife. I have found my profession.’
“Suddenly he turned at right angles—left the beaten track and plunged into the undergrowth, and I knew he was not returning to the Hydro. Then I saw the light of a lantern. I hurried towards it and found it was a death-candle burning by the side of Robertson’s blood-soaked body.
“I stared at the candle to avoid the look in the old man’s eyes, and presently the candle began to move towards me, and my shoulder was gripped by strong fingers.
“I awoke with a cry and found it was the local sergeant of police holding a candle in one hand and shaking me with the other. Behind him in the shadows, wrapped in dressing-gowns, stood the full complement of grown-up cousins. It was only four o’clock, but the double murder was already discovered, owing to the screams of one of the patients.
“They did not have to tell me what had happened—for I had seen it in my dream. But I had plenty to tell them, for with the exception of the murderer, I was the last to see the unfortunate victims alive.
“Nathaniel Skinner had never returned to the Hydro. He had gone—no one knew where—and left his luggage behind. But as principal witness I was with the police when they motored to Golt Hollow, where we found the farm just as he had described it, even to the incubator.
“We saw no spiders there—I mean, no monsters as he had seen—but in the hall, close to a burnt-out jacket on the flagstones, lay the decapitated body of a cat, still bleeding, which the police said must have been the recent work of rats. But I knew better, for certainly on the table in the library was the book on tropical spiders, and I knew the Albino had told Doctor Godden the hideous truth.
“There was the bedroom too—all white, and as the police did not attach any importance to the little body of a white moth with a broken wing, I slipped it into an empty match-box. And there it is. The police never caught Nathaniel Skinner, though he was wanted for seven other brutal murders, including the death by stabbing of the agent who had the letting of the Golt Hollow property. Neither did they find the dagger. Both man and weapon disappeared completely. A long time ago—that series of unsolved crimes.”
“Any comments?” added Hogarth after a long pause.
“Yes——” said Carnaby with a grim smile. “I think it was damned lucky for you that your cousins’ house was in the opposite direction to the Hydro, or you would have copped it instead of Robertson.”
Hogarth nodded. “I shouldn’t have liked you to read on my tombstone—Murdered by an Albino. Curious people, Albinos. Not normal, of course. Generally rather simple—weak-minded—though I met one the last time I was in America who bore the strongest character. He was a preacher. Oh, a great orator. I heard of him in Pasadena, and went on a pilgrimage to his village in the mountains. He ran a church there for a community of Albinos. He had a following of some hundreds from all parts of the States. Did no end of good. I stayed at his house for a few days, and I can honestly say that in him I met one of the holiest men I have ever known. His sermons too were inspired. They all worshipped him—and I don’t wonder. We had many an interesting talk. I remember one discussion on dreams, in which he confessed that when he was overworked he often suffered from the same nightmare—that he was looking down from a staircase into an old stone-paved hall, and in the centre of it was a fire round which ran huge black spiders.
He asked me if I could interpret such a curious dream, and I told him ‘No.’ On parting, he said he would like to make me a present as a memento of his little community. Was there any little thing I would like to take with me? Well, I just picked up a paper-knife from his desk and said I would value it very much. He was delighted. It’s lying in the specimen case there now. Next to the moth. You see, I had recognized it as Doctor Godden’s dagger. That’s all.”
“And he was the Albino?” I asked.
“And you didn’t tell the police?” echoed Carnaby.
“I don’t think even Doctor Godden or Robertson would have liked me to disturb the saintly atmosphere he had created amongst those happy people. He had suffered much with some nervous malady, and when he recovered he tried to help others, and certainly succeeded. He had found the work he was fitted for and was utterly unconscious of ever having committed the smallest unkindness to any human creature. Oh, yes—he is a well-beloved man. Known everywhere as the White Prophet. No one calls him by his proper name—Nat Tanner. And it’s odd, isn’t it, that a tanner is a sort of skinner?”
Carnaby nodded as he examined the dagger. “You are quite right, Hogarth,” he said. “Even the policeman in me agrees that you could only have acted as you did.”
Then Hoadley came in and announced that breakfast was served in the morning-room.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“let me out! let me out!”
During breakfast I asked Carnaby what was going to happen to the Indians, whom I could see cooking at their camp-fire.
“Don’t worry about them,” he said casually. “They’ll hang about for a bit after what I told them, just in case they get a communication from their Holy Man, which by Jove, they are going to get to-night. But I’ll pop over and speak to them after breakfast. Or rather Nicholas Ramsbottom will. Then I am going to solve the mystery of the silk skirt in the Chapel. You two crocks can come and sit there and watch me at work.”
The Master of the Macabre Page 23
