DEVEREUX'S DREAM.
I give you this story only at second-hand; but you have it insubstance--and he wasted few words over it--as Paul Devereux told it me.
It was not the only queer story he could have told about himself if hehad chosen, by a good many, I should say. Paul's life had been aneminently unconventional one: the man's face certified to that--hard,bronzed, war-worn, seamed and scarred with strange battle-marks--theface of a man who had dared and done most things.
It was not his custom to speak much of what he had done, however.Probably only because he and I were little likely to meet again that hetold me this I am free to tell you now.
We had come across one another for the first time for years thatafternoon on the Italian Boulevart. Paul had landed a couple of weekspreviously at Marseilles from a long yacht-cruise in southern waters,the monotony of which we heard had been agreeably diversified by alittle pirate-hunting and slaver-chasing--the evil tongues called itpiracy and slave-running; and certainly Devereux was quite equal toeither _metier_; and he was about starting on a promising littlefilibustering expedition across the Atlantic, where the chances were hewould be shot, and the certainty was that he would be starved. Soperhaps he felt inclined to be a trifle more communicative than usual,as we sat late that night over a blazing pyre of logs and in a cloud ofCavendish. At all events he was, and after this fashion.
I forget now exactly how the subject was led up to. Expression of somephilosophic incredulity on my part regarding certain matters, followedby a ten-minutes' silence on his side pregnant with unwonted words tocome--that was it, perhaps. At last he said, more to himself, it seemed,than to me:
"'Such stuff as dreams are made of.' Well, who knows? You're a Sadducee,Bertie; you call this sort of thing, politely, indigestion. Perhapsyou're right. But yet I had a queer dream once."
"Not unlikely," I assented.
"You're wrong; I never dream, as a rule. But, as I say, I had a queerdream once; and queer because it came literally true three yearsafterward."
"Queer indeed, Paul."
"Happens to be true. What's queerer still, my dream was the means of myfinding a man I owed a long score, and a heavy one, and of my paying himin full."
"Bad for the payee!" I thought.
Paul's face had grown terribly eloquent as he spoke those last words. Ona sudden the expression of it changed--another memory was stirring inhim. Wonderfully tender the fierce eyes grew; wonderfully tender thefaint, sad smile, that was like sunshine on storm-scathed granite. Thatsmile transfigured the man before me.
"Ah, poor child--poor Lucille!" I heard him mutter.
That was it, was it? So I let him be. Presently he lifted his head. Ifhe had let himself get the least thing out of hand for a moment, he hadgot back his self-mastery the next.
"I'll tell you that queer story, Bertie, if you like," he said.
The proposition was flatteringly unusual, but the voice was quite hisown.
"Somehow I'd sooner talk than think about--_her_," he went on after apause.
I nodded. He might talk about this, you see, but _I_ couldn't. He beganwith a question--an odd one:
"Did you ever hear I'd been married?"
Paul Devereux and a wife had always seemed and been to me a mostunheard-of conjunction. So I laconically said:
"No."
"Well, I was once, years ago. She was my wife--that child--for a week.And then----"
I easily filled up the pause; but, as it happened, I filled it upwrongly; for he added:
"And then she was murdered."
I was not unused to our Paul's stony style of talk; but this lastsentence was sufficiently startling.
"Eh?"
"Murdered--in her sleep. They never found the man who did it either,though I had Durbec and all the Rue de Jerusalem at work. But I forgavethem that, for I found the man myself, and killed him."
He was filling his pipe again as he told me this, and he perhaps rammedthe Cavendish in a little tighter, but that was all. The thing was amatter of course; I knew my Paul, well enough to know that. Of course hekilled him.
"Mind you," he continued, kindling the black _brule-gueule_ thewhile--"mind you, I'd never seen this man before, never known of hisexistence, except in a way that--however, it was this way."
He let his grizzled head drop back on the cushions of his chair, and hiseyes seemed to see the queer story he was telling enacted once morebefore him in the red hollows of the fire.
"As I said, it was years ago. I was waiting here in Paris for somefellows who were to join me in a campaign we'd arranged against theAfrican big game. I never was more fit for anything of that sort than Iwas then. I only tell you this to show you that the thing can't beaccounted for by my nerves having been out of order at all.
"Well: I was dining alone that day, at the Cafe Anglais. It was latewhen I sat down to my dinner in the little salon as usual. Only twoother men were still lingering over theirs. All the time they stayedthey bored me so persistently with some confounded story of a murderthey were discussing, that I was once or twice more than half-inclinedto tell them so. At last, though, they went away.
"But their talk kept buzzing abominably in my head. When the waiterbrought me the evening paper, the first thing that caught my eye was acircumstantial account of the _probable_ way the fellow did his murder.I say probable, for they never caught him; and, as you will seedirectly, they could only suppose how it occurred.
"It seemed that a well-known Paris banker, who was ascertained beyonddoubt to have left one station alive and well, and with a couple ofhundred thousand francs in a leathern _sac_ under his seat, arrived atthe next station the train stopped at with his throat cut and _minus_all his money, except a few bank-notes to no great amount, which theassassin had been wise enough to leave behind him. The train was a nightexpress on one of the southern lines; the banker travelled quite alone,in a first-class carriage; and the murder must have taken place betweenmidnight and 1 A.M. next morning. The newspapers supposed--rightlyenough, I think--that the murderer must have entered the carriage _fromwithout_, stabbed his victim in his sleep--there were no signs of anystruggle--opened the _sac_, taken what he wanted, and retreated, lootand all, by the way he came. I fully indorsed my particular writer'sopinion that the murderer was an uncommonly cool and clever individual,especially as I fancy he got clear off and was never afterward laidhands on.
"When I had done that I thought I had done with the affair altogether.Not at all. I was regularly ridden with this confounded murder. You seethe banker was rather a swell; everybody knew him: and that, of course,made it so shocking. So everybody kept talking about him: they weretalking about him at the Opera, and over the _baccarat_ and _bouillotte_at La Topaze's later. To escape him I went to bed and smoked myself tosleep. And then a queer thing came to pass: I had a dream--I who neverdream; and this is what I dreamed:
"I saw a wide, rich country that I knew. A starless night hung over itlike a pall. I saw a narrow track running through it, straight, bothways, for leagues. Something sped along this track with a hurtling rushand roar. This something that at first had looked like a red-eyed devil,with dark sides full of dim fire, resolved itself, as I watched it,presently, into a more conventional night express-train. It flew along,though, as no express-train ever travelled yet; for all that, I was ableto keep it quite easily in view. I could count the carriages as theywhirled by. One--two--three--four--five--six; but I could only seedistinctly into one. Into that one with perfect distinctness. Into thatone I seemed forced to look.
"It was the fourth carriage. Two people were in it. They sat in oppositecorners; both were sleeping. The one who sat facing forward was awoman--a girl, rather. I could see that; but I couldn't see her face.The blind was drawn across the lamp in the roof, and the light was verydim; moreover, this girl lay back in the shadow. Yet I seemed to knowher, and I knew that her face was very fair. She wore a cloak thatshrouded her form completely, yet her form was familiar to me.
"The figure o
pposite to her was a man's. Strangely familiar to me toothis figure was. But, as he slept, his head had sunk upon his breast,and the shadow cast upon his face by the low-drawn travelling-cap hewore hid it from me. Yet if I had seemed to know the girl's face, I wascertain I knew the man's. But as I could see, so I could remember,neither. And there was an absolute torture in this which I can't explainto you,--in this inability, and in my inability to wake them from theirsleep.
"From the first I had been conscious of a desire to do that. This desiregrew stronger every second. I tried to call to them, and my tonguewouldn't move. I tried to spring toward them, to thrust out my arms andtouch them, and my limbs were paralyzed. And then I tried to shut myeyes to what I _knew_ must happen, and my eyes were held open anddragged to look on in spite of me. And I saw this:
"I saw the door of the carriage where these two sleepers, whose sleepwas so horribly sound, were sitting--I saw this door open, and out ofthe thick darkness another face look in.
"The light, as I have said, was very dim, but I could see his face asplainly as I can see yours. A large yellow face it was, like a wax mask.The lips were full, and lustful and cruel. The eyes were little eyes ofan evil gray. Thin yellow streaks marked the absence of the eyebrows;thin yellow hair showed itself under a huge fur travelling-cap. Thewhole face seemed to grow slowly into absolute distinctness as I looked,by the sort of devilish light that it, as it were, radiated. I hadchanced upon a good many damnable visages before then; but there was acold fiendishness about this one such as I had seen on no man's face,alive or dead, till then.
"The next moment the man this face belonged to was standing in thecarriage, that seemed to plunge and sway more furiously, as though towaken them that still slept on. He wore a long fur travelling-robe, girtabout the waist with a fur girdle. Abnormally tall and broad as he was,he looked in this dress gigantic. Yet there was a marvellous cat-likelightness and agility about all his movements.
"He bent over the girl lying there helpless in her sleep. I don't makerash bargains as a rule, but I felt I would have given years of my lifefor five minutes of my lost freedom of limb just then. I tell you thetorture was infernal.
"The assassin--I knew he was an assassin--bent awhile, gloatingly, overthe girl. His great yellow hands were both bare, and on the forefingerof the right hand I could see some great stone blazing like an evil eye.In that right hand there gleamed something else. I saw him draw itslowly from his sleeve, and, as he drew it, turn round and look at theother sleeper with an infernal triumphant malignity and hate the Devilhimself might have envied. But the man he looked at slept heavily on.And then--God! I feel the agony I felt in my dream then now!--then I sawthe great yellow hand, with the great evil eye upon it, liftedmurderously, and the bright steel it held shimmer as the assassin turnedagain and bent his yellow face down closer to that other face hiddenfrom me in the shadow--the girl's face, that I knew was so fair.
"How can I tell this?... The blade flashed and fell.... There was thesound of a heavy sigh stifled under a heavy hand....
"Then the huge form of the assassin was reared erect, and the bloatedyellow face seemed to laugh silently, while the hand that held thesteel pointed at the sleeping man in diabolical menace.
"And so the huge form and the bloated yellow face seemed to fade awaywhile I watched.
"The express rushed and roared through the blinding darkness without;the sleeping man slept on still; till suddenly a strong light fell fullupon him, and he woke.
"And then I saw why I had been so certain that I knew him. For as helifted his head, I saw his face in the strong light.
"_And the face was my own face; and the sleeper was myself!_"
Paul Devereux made a pause in his queer story here. Except when he hadspoken of the girl, he had spoken in his usual cool, hard way. The pipehe had been smoking all the time was smoked out. He took time to fillanother before he went on. I said never a word, for I guessed who thesleeping girl was.
"Well," Paul remarked presently, "that was a devilish queer dream,wasn't it? You'll account for it by telling me I'd been so pestered withthe story of the banker's murder that I naturally had nightmare;perhaps, too, that my digestion was out of order. Call it a nightmare,call it dyspepsia, if you like. I _don't_, because---- But you'll seewhy I don't directly.
"At the same moment that my dream-self awoke in my dream, my actual selfwoke in reality, and with the same ghastly horror.
"I say the _same_ horror, for neither then nor afterward could Iseparate my one self from my other self. They seemed identical; so thatthis queer dream made a more lasting impression upon me than you'dthink. However, in the life I led that sort of thing couldn't last verylong. Before I came back from Africa I had utterly forgotten all aboutit. Before I left Paris, though, and while it was quite fresh in mymemory, I sketched the big murderer just as I had seen him in my dream.The great yellow face, the great broad frame in the fur travelling-robe,the great hand with the great evil eye upon it--everything, carefullyand minutely, as though I had been going to paint a portrait that Iwanted to make lifelike. I think at the time I had some such intention.If I had, I never fulfilled it. But I made the sketch, as I say,carefully; and then I forgot all about it.
"Time passed--three years nearly. I was wintering in the south of Francethat year. There it was that I met her--Lucille. Old D'Avray, herfather, and I had met before in Algeria. He was dying now. He left thechild on his death-bed to me. The end was I married her.
"Poor little thing! I think I might have made her happy--who knows? Sheused to tell me often she was happy with me. Poor little thing!
"Well, we were to come straight to London. That was Lucille's notion.She wanted to go to my London first--nowhere else. Now I would ratherhave gone anywhere else; but, naturally, I let the child have her way.She seemed nervously eager about it, I remembered afterward; seemed tohave a nervous objection to every other place I proposed. But I saw orsuspected nothing to make me question her very closely, or the reasonsfor her preference for our grimy old Pandemonium. What could I suspect?Not the truth. If I only had! If I had only guessed what it was thatmade her, as she said, long to be safe there already. Safe? What had sheto fear with me? Ah, what indeed!
"So we started on our journey to England. It was a cold, dark night,early in March. We reached Lyons somewhere about seven. I should havestayed there that night but for Lucille. She entreated me so earnestlyand with such strange vehemence to go on by the night-mail to Paris,that at last, to satisfy her, I consented; though it struck meunpleasantly at the time that I had let her travel too long already, andthat this feverishness was the consequence of over-fatigue. But shebecame pacified at once when I told her it should be as she wanted; anddeclared she should sleep perfectly well in the carriage with me besideher. She should feel quite safe then, she said.
"Safe! Where safer? you might ask. Nowhere, I believe. Alone withme--surely nowhere safer. The Paris express was a short train thatnight; but I managed to secure a compartment for ourselves. I leftLucille in her corner there while I went across to the _buffet_ to filla flask. I was gone barely five minutes; but when I came back the changein the child's face fairly startled me. I had seen it last with thesmile it always wore for me on it, looking so childishly happy in thelamp-light. Now it was all gray-pale and distorted; and the great blueeyes told me directly with what.
"Fear--sudden, terrible fear--I thought. But _fear_? Fear of what? Iasked her. She clung close to me half-sobbing awhile before she couldanswer; and then she told me--nothing. There was nothing the matter;only she had felt a pain--a cruel pain--at her heart; and it hadfrightened her. Yes, that was it; it had frightened her, but it hadpassed; and she was well, quite well again now.
"All this time her eyes seemed to be telling me another story; but Isaid nothing; she was obviously too excited already. I did my best tosoothe her, and I succeeded. She told me she felt quite well once morebefore we started. No, she had rather, much rather go on to Paris, as Ihad promised her she should. She should sle
ep all the way, if no onecame into the carriage to disturb her. No one could come in? Thennothing could be better.
"And so it was that she and I started that night by the Paris mail.
"I made her up a bed of rugs and wraps upon the cushions; but she hadrather rest her head upon my shoulder, she said, and feel my arm abouther; nothing could hurt her then. Ah, strange how she harped on that.
"She lay there, then, as she loved best--with her head resting on myshoulder, not sleeping much or soundly; uneasily, with sudden wakingstarts, and with glances round her; till I would speak to her. And thenshe would look up into my face and smile; and so drop into that uneasysleep again. And I would think she was over-tired, that was all; andreproach myself with having let her come on. And three or four hourspassed like this; and then we had got as far as Dijon.
"But the child was fairly worn out now; and she offered no oppositionwhen I asked her to let me pillow her head on something softer than myshoulder. So I folded, a great thick shawl she was too well cloaked toneed, and she made that her pillow.
"We were rushing full swing through the wild, dark night, when shelifted up her face and bade me kiss her and bid her sleep well. And Iput my arm round her, and kissed the child's loving lips--for the lasttime while she lived. Then I flung myself on the seat opposite her; and,watching her till she slept soundly and peacefully, slept at last myselfalso. I had drawn the blind across the lamp in the roof, and the lightin the carriage was very dim.
"How long I slept I don't know; it couldn't have been more than an hourand a half, because the express was slackening speed for its first haltbeyond Dijon. I had slept heavily I knew; but I woke with a sudden,sharp sense of danger that made me broad awake, and strung every nervein a moment. The sort of feeling you have when you wake on a prairie,where you have come across 'Indian sign;' on outpost-duty, when your_feldwebel_ plucks gently at your cloak. You know what I mean.
"I was on my feet at once. As I said, the light in the carriage was verydim, and the shadow was deepest where Lucille lay. I looked thereinstinctively. She must have moved in her sleep, for her face was turnedaway from me; and the cloak I had put so carefully about her had partlyfallen off. But she slept on still. Only soundly, very soundly; shescarcely seemed to breathe. And--_did_ she breathe?
"A ghastly fear ran through my blood, and froze it. I understood why Ihad wakened. In my nostrils was an awful odor that I knew well enough. Ibent over her; I touched her. Her face was very cold; her eyes glaredglassily at me; my hands were wet with something. My hands were wet withblood--her blood!
"I tore away the blind from the lamp, and then I could see that my wifeof a week lay there stabbed straight to the heart--dead--dead beyonddoubting; murdered in her sleep."
Devereux's stern, low voice shook ever so little as he spoke those lastwords; and we both sat very silent after them for a good while. Onlywhen he could trust his utterance again he went on.
"A curious piece of devilry, wasn't it? That child--whom had she everharmed? Who could hate her like this? I remember I thought that, in adull, confused sort of way, when I found myself alone in that carriagewith her lying dead on the cushions before me. _Alone_ with her--youunderstand? It was confusing.
"I pass over what immediately followed. The express came duly to a halt;and then I called people to me, and--and the Paris express went onwithout that particular carriage.
"The inquiry began before some local authority next day. Very littlecame of it. What could come of it, unless they had convicted _me_ of themurder of this child I would have given my own life to save?
"They might have done that at home; but they knew better here, anddidn't. They couldn't find me the actual assassin, however; though Ibelieve they did their best. All they found was his weapon, which hemost purposely have left behind. I asked for this, and got it. It gavetheir police no clue; and it gave me none. But I had a fancy for it.
"It was a plain, double-edged, admirably-tempered dagger--a veryworkmanlike article indeed. On the cross hilt of it I swore one day thatI would live thenceforth for one thing alone--the discovery of themurderer of old D'Avray's child, whom I had promised him to care forbefore all. When I had found this man, whoever he was, I also swore thatI would kill him. Kill him myself, you understand; without any of thelaw's delay or uncertainty, without troubling _bourreau_ or hangman.Kill him as he had killed her--to do this was what I meant to live for.There was war to the knife between him and me.
"I started, of course, under one heavy disadvantage. He knew me,probably, whereas I didn't know him at all. When he found that hisamiable intention of fixing the crime on me had been frustrated, itmust, I imagined, have occurred to him that the said crime mighteventually be fixed by me on him. And he had proved himself to be aperson who didn't stick at trifles. It behooved me, therefore, to go towork cautiously. But I hadn't fought Indians for nothing; and I _was_very cautious. I waited quiet till I got a clue. It was a curious one;and I got it in this way. It struck me one day, suddenly, that I hadheard of a murder precisely similar to this already. I could not atfirst call the thing to mind; but presently I remembered--my dream. Andthen I asked myself this: _Had not this murder been done before my eyesthree years ago?_
"I came to the conclusion that the circumstances of the murder in mydream were absolutely identical with the circumstances of the actualcrime. Yes; the girl whose face in that dream I had never been able tosee was Lucille. Yes; the assassin whose face I had seen so plainly inthat dream was the real assassin. In short, I believe that the murderhad been _rehearsed_ before me three years previous to its actualcommittal.
"Now this sounds rather wild. Yet I came to this conviction quite coollyand deliberately. It _was_ a conviction. Assuming it to be true, theodds against me grew shorter directly; _for I had the portrait of theman I wanted drawn by myself the day after I had seen him in my dream_.And the original of that portrait was a man not to be easily mistaken,supposing him to exist at all. The day I came across that sketch of himin that old forgotten sketch-book of mine, I was as sure he did exist asthat I was alive myself. What I had to do was to find this man, and thenI never doubted I should find the man I wanted. You see how the odds hadshortened. If he knew me I knew him now, and he had no notion that I didknow him. It was a good deal fairer fight between us.
"I fought it out alone. My story was hardly one the Rue de Jerusalemwould have acted upon; and, besides, I wanted no interference. So, withthe portrait before me, I sat down and began to consider who this manwas, and why he had murdered that child. The big, burly frame, the heavyyellow face, the sandy-yellow hair, the physiognomy generally, wasTeutonic. My man I put down as a North German. Now there were, and areprobably, plenty of men who would have no objection whatever to put aknife into me, if they got the chance; but this man, whom I had nevermet, could have had no such quarrel as theirs with me. His quarrel withme must have been, then, Lucille. Yes, that was it--Lucille. I began tosee clearly: a thwarted, devilish passion--a cool, infernal revenge. Thechild had feared something of this sort; had perhaps seen him thatnight. This explained her nervous terror, her nervous anxiety to stopnowhere, to travel on. In that carriage of that express-train, alonewith me--where could she be safer? This accounted, too, for her anxietyto reach England. He would not dare follow her there, she had thought,or, at least, could not without my noticing him. And then she would havetold me. She had not told me before evidently because she had feared for_me_ too, in a quarrel with this man. She must, innocent child as shewas, have had some instinctive knowledge of what he was capable.... Ay,a cool, infernal revenge, indeed. To kill her; to fix the murder on me.That dagger he had left behind.... The apparent impossibility of anyone's entering the carriage as he must have entered it at all, to saynothing of the almost absolute impossibility of his doing so withoutdisturbing either of us,--you see it might have gone hard with me if aBritish jury had had to decide on the case.
"Well, to cut this as short as may be, I made up my mind that the man Iwanted was a North German; that
he had conceived a hideous passion forLucille before I knew her; that she had shrunk from it and him sounmistakably, that he knew he had no chance; that my taking her away asmy wife, to which he might have been a witness, drove him to as hideousa revenge; that, hearing we were going to England, and seeing that wewere likely to stop nowhere on the way, and so give him a chance ofdoing what he had made up his mind to do, he had decided to do what hehad done as he had done it,--counting on finding us asleep as he hadfound us, or on his strength if it came to a fight between him and me;but coolly reckless enough to brave everything in any case. And thedevil aiding, he had in great part and only too well succeeded. He wasnow either so far satisfied that, if I made no move against him--andhow, he might think, could I?--he, feeling himself all safe, would letme be; or, on the other hand, he did not feel safe, and was notsatisfied, and was arranging for my being disposed of by and by. Iconsidered the latter frame of mind as his most probable one; I went towork cautiously, as I say. I ascertained that Lucille had made nomention of any obnoxious _pretendant_ at any time; I didn't expect tofind she had, her terror of the man was too intense. But this man musthave met her somewhere--where?
"When old D'Avray came home to die, his daughter was just leaving herParis _pensionnat_. All through his last illness he had seen no visitorbut me, and Lucille had never quitted him. Besides, I had been there allthe time. I presumed, then, that this man and she had met in Paris; andI believe they were only likely to have met at one of the half-dozenhouses where the child would now and again be asked. I got a list ofall these. One name only struck me; it happened to be a Germanname--Steinmetz. I wondered if Monsieur Steinmetz was my man. In themean time, who was he? I had no trouble in finding that out: MonsieurSteinmetz was a German banker of good standing and repute, reasonablywell off, and recently left a widower. Personally? _Dame_, personallyMonsieur Steinmetz was a great man and a fat, with a big face and blondhair, and the appearance of what he really was--a _bon vivant_ and a_bon enfant_ yet _n'avait jamais fait de mal a personne--allez!_--All,yes; in effect, Madame had died about a year ago, and Monsieur had beeninconsolable for a long time. He had changed his residence now, andinhabited a house in one of the new streets off the Champs Elysees.
"From another source I discovered that in the lifetime of MadameSteinmetz Lucille was frequently at the house. She had ceased to comethere about the date of the commencement of Madame's sudden illness. Igot this information by degrees, while I lay _perdu_ in an old haunt ofmine in the Pays Latin yonder; for I had always had an idea that Ishould find the man I wanted in Paris. When I had got it, I thought Ishould like to see Monsieur Steinmetz, the agreeable banker. One night Istrolled up as far as his new residence in the street off the ChampsElysees. Monsieur Steinmetz lived on the first-floor. There was abrilliant light there: Monsieur Steinmetz was entertaining friends, itseemed.
"It was a fine night; I established myself out of sight under thedoorway of an unfinished house opposite, and waited. I don't know why;perhaps I fancied that when his friends were gone, the fineness of thenight might induce Monsieur Steinmetz to take a stroll, and that then Ishould be able to gratify my curiosity. You see, I knew that if he weremy man, I should know him directly. I waited a good while: shadowscrossed the lighted blinds; once a big, broad shadow appeared there,that made me fancy I mightn't have been waiting for nothing after all,somehow. Presently Monsieur Steinmetz's guests departed, and in a littlewhile after there appeared on the little balcony of Monsieur Steinmetz'sapartment _the man I wanted_. There was a moon that night, and the coldwhite light fell on the great yellow face, with the full lustful lips,and the full cruel chin, just as I had seen the light fall on it in mydream. It was the same face, Bertie; the same face, the same man. Icouldn't be mistaken. I had no doubt; I _knew_ that the assassin of mywife, of that tender, innocent, helpless child, stood there, twentyyards from me, on that balcony.
"I had got myself pretty well in hand; and it was as well. I nevermoved. The face I knew turned presently toward the spot where I stoodhidden,--the face I had seen in my dream, beyond all doubting. The evilgray eyes glanced carelessly into the shadow, and up and down the quietstreet; and then Monsieur Steinmetz, humming an air, got inside thewindow again, and closed it after him. Once more the great burly shadowthat had at first told me I should not wait in that dark doorway in vaincrossed the blinds; and then it disappeared. I saw my man no more thatnight; but I had seen enough. I knew who he was now, and where to findhim.
"As I walked along home I thought what I would do. I quite meant to killMonsieur Steinmetz; but I also meant to have no _demeles_ with anImperial Procureur and the Cour d'Assizes for doing so. I didn't want tomurder him, either. I thought I would wait a little for the chance of asuitable opportunity for settling my business satisfactorily. And I didwait. I turned this delay to account, and got together a case ofcircumstantial evidence against my man that, though perhaps it mighthave broken down in a law-court, would have been alone amply sufficientfor me.
"The reason why Lucille's visits to the banker's house ceased was, itappeared, because Madame Steinmetz had conceived all at once a jealousdislike to her. How far this was owing to Lucille herself I could wellunderstand; but I could understand Madame's jealousy equally well.Madame's illness, strangely sudden, dated from the cessation ofLucille's visits. Was it hard to find a _cause_ for that illness--acause for the wife's subsequent suspected death? I thought not. Then hadfollowed Lucille's departure from Paris. The child's anxiety for herfather hid her _other fear_ from his eyes and mine; but that fear musthave been on her then. With us she forgot it in time; yet it or anotherreason had always prevented all mention of what had occasioned it. Shebecame my wife. At that very time I easily ascertained that Steinmetzwas absent from Paris; less easily, but indubitably, that he had, at allevents, been as far south as Lyons. At Lyons it must have been thatLucille first discovered he was dogging us. Hence her alarm, which I hadremembered, and her anxiety to proceed on our journey without stoppingfor the night, as I had previously arranged. The morning after themurder Steinmetz reappeared in Paris. From the hour at which he was seenat the _gare_, it was certain that he had travelled by the night expresstrain in which Lucille and I had started from Lyons; and he wore thatmorning a travelling-coat of fur in all respects similar to the one Iremembered so well.
"If I had ever had any doubt of my man after actually seeing him, Ishould probably have convinced myself that he was my man by the generaltendency of these facts, which I got at slowly and one by one. But I hadno need of such evidence; and of course no case, even with suchevidence, for a court of law. However, courts of law I had neverintended to trouble in the matter.
"The opportunity I was waiting was some time before it offered. MonsieurSteinmetz was a man of regular habits, I found--from his first-floor inthe street off the Champs Elysees, every morning at eleven, to theBourse; thence to his bureau hard by till four; from his bureau to hiscafe, where he read papers and played dominoes till six; and then homeslowly by the Boulevarts. He might consider himself tolerably safe fromme while he led this sort of life, even supposing he was aware he wasincurring any danger. I don't think he troubled much about that; tillone night, when, over the count of the beloved domino-points, his eyesmet mine fixed right upon him. I had arranged this little surprise tosee how it would affect him.
"Perhaps my gaze may have expressed something more than the meredistraction I intended; but I noticed--though a more indifferentobserver might easily have failed to notice--how the great yellow face,expanded in childish interest in the childish game, seemed suddenly togrow gray and harden; how the fat smile became a cruel baring of sharpwhite teeth; how the fat chin squared itself. The man knew me, andscented danger.
"A moment's reflection convinced Monsieur Steinmetz, though, that itcould be by no means so certain that I knew him; five minutes'observation of me more than half satisfied him that I did not. Yet whatdid I want there? What was I doing in Paris? This might concern himnearly, he must have thought.
"I
kept my own face in order, and watched his. It wasn't an easy one toread; but you see I had studied it closely, and in a way he couldn'thave dreamed of. Monsieur Steinmetz was outwardly his wonted self, butinwardly not quite comfortable when he rose; and I saw the evil eyegleam on his great yellow finger as he took out his purse to pay the_garcon_, just as I had seen it when that finger pointed at _myself_ inmy dream. I felt curious sensations, Bertie, as I sat there and lookedabstractedly at Monsieur Steinmetz. I wondered how long it would bebefore----But my time hadn't come yet. He went out without anotherglance at me. I saw his huge form on the other side of the street when Ileft the cafe in my turn. This I had expected. Monsieur Steinmetz wasnaturally curious. It was hardly possible that I could know him; but itwas quite certain that he ought to know all about me. So, when I movedon, he moved on; in short, Monsieur Steinmetz dogged me up one streetand down another, till he finally dogged me home to my hiding-place inthe Pays Latin. He did it very well, too--much better than you wouldhave expected from so apparently unwieldy a _mouchard_. But I_remembered_ how lightly he could move.
"Next day I had, of course, disappeared from my old quarters, and goneno one knew where. I suppose Monsieur Steinmetz didn't like this factwhen he heard of it. It might have seemed suspicious. Suppose I _had_recognized him? In that case I had evidently a little game of my own,and was as evidently desirous to keep it dark. He was a cool hand; but Ifancy my man began to get a little uneasy. He took some trouble to findme again. After a while I permitted him to do that. Once found, heseemed determined that I should not be lost sight of again for want ofwatching. I permitted that, too; it helped play my game, and I wanted tobring it to an end. To which intent, Monsieur Steinmetz got to hear fromsources best known to himself as much of my plans as should bring him tothe state I wanted. That was a murderous state. I wanted to get him tothink that I was dangerous enough to be worth putting out of the way. Ipresume he was aware there were, or would be, weak joints in his armor,impenetrable as it seemed; and he preferred not risking the ordeal oflegal battle if he could help it. At all events, he elected at last torid himself of a person who might be dangerous, and was troublesome, bythe shortest and the simplest means.
"I say so because when, believing my man was ripe for this, I left Parisabout midday for a certain secluded little spot on the sea-coast, I sawone of Monsieur Steinmetz's employees on the platform; and because,two days after my arrival in my secluded spot, I met Monsieur Steinmetzin person, newly arrived also. Now this was exactly what I had intendedand anticipated. Monsieur Steinmetz had come down there to put me out ofhis way, if he could. He passed me, leisurely strolling in the oppositedirection, humming his favorite _aria_, bigger and yellower than ever,the evil eye fiery on his finger. His own eyes shot me as evil fire; buthe said nothing.... I saw he was ripe, though.... My time was close athand.
"It came. Monsieur Steinmetz and I met once more in the very place whereI, knowing my ground, had intended we should meet. It was a dip in thecliffs like a hollowed palm, and just there the cliff jutted out a goodbit, with a sheer fall on to the rocks below. It was a gray afternoon,at the end of summer. The wind was rising fast; there was a thunder ofheavy waves already.
"I think he had been dogging me; but I hadn't chosen to let him get upto me till now. We were quite out of sight when he had reached the levelbottom of the dip, where I had halted--quite out of sight, and quitealone. To do him justice, he came on steadily enough. His face was likerthe sketch I had made of it, liker the face I had seen in my dream, thanit had ever looked before. Evidently he had made up his mind.... Atlast, then!... Well, I had been waiting long!... He was close beside me.
"'_Ah! bon jour, cher Monsieur Steinmetz._'
"'So?' he said, his little eyes contracting like a cobra's. 'Ah!Monsieur knows my name?'
"'Among other things about you--yes.'
"'So!' The yellow face was turning grayer and harder every minute--likerand liker to my likeness of it. 'And what other things? Has it neverappeared to you that this you do, have been doing--this meddling, may bedangerous, _hein_?'
"He had changed his tone, as he had changed the person in which headdressed me. Yes, he had certainly made up his mind. And his big righthand was hidden inside his waistcoat, so that I could not see the evileye I knew was on his finger.
"'Dangerous?' he repeated slowly.
"'Possibly.'
"'Ay, surely; I shall crush you!'
"'Try.'
"'In good time; wait. You plot against me. Take care; I am strong; Iwarn you. There must be an end of this, you understand, or----'
"He nodded his big head significantly.
"'You are right,' I told him; 'there must be an end. It is coming.'
"'So?'
"'Yes; I know you. You know me now.'
"'I know you. What do you want?'
"'To kill you.'
"'So?'
"'Yes; as you killed her.'
"'As I killed her? That is it, then? You know that?'
"'I know that.'
"'Well, it is true. I killed her. Now you can guess what I am going todo to you--to you, curse you!--whom she loved.'
"THE GREAT YELLOW FACE LOOKED SILENTLY UP AT ME; ANDTHEN--THEN IT DISAPPEARED."]
"The very face I had seen in my dream now, Bertie, the very face! Therewas something besides the evil eye that gleamed in his right hand whenhe drew it from his breast. Once more he spoke.
"'Yes, I killed her. I meant worse for you. You escaped that; but youwill not escape me now. Fool! were you mad to do this? Did not I hateyou enough? And I would have let you be. Ah, die, then, if you will haveit so!'
"His heavy right arm swung high as he spoke, and I saw the sharp steelgleam as it turned to fall. And I twisted from his grip, and caught thefalling arm, and bent it till the dagger dropped to the ground. Andthen, for a fierce, desperate, devilish minute, I had him in my clutch,dragging him nearer the smooth, slippery edge. He was no match for me atthis I knew, and he knew; but he held me with the hold of his despair,and I could not loose myself. Both of us together, he meant; but not I.Yet I only freed myself just as he rolled exhausted, but clutching atthe tough, short bushes wildly, toward the brink, and partly over it....Only the hold of his hands between him and his death. And I knelt abovehim, with the knife in my hand that was stained with _her_ blood.
"The great yellow face, ashen now in its mortal agony, looked silentlyup at me--for three or four awful seconds; and then--then itdisappeared.
"Bah!" Paul concluded, "that was the end of it."
A Stable for Nightmares; or, Weird Tales Page 3
