Works of Robert W Chambers

by Robert W. Chambers

  The train plunged into a tunnel, and when again it dashed out from the other end, the cold wind blew furiously in my face from the further window. It was wide open; the Professor was gone.

  “Papa has changed to another compartment,” she said, quietly; “I think perhaps you were beginning to bore him.”

  Her eyes met mine and she smiled faintly.

  “Are you very much bewildered?”

  I looked at her in silence. She sat very quietly, her white hands clasped above her knee, her curly hair glittering to her girdle. A long robe, almost silvery in the twilight, clung to her young figure; her bare feet were thrust deep into a pair of shimmering eastern slippers.

  “When you fled,” she sighed, “I was asleep and there was no time to lose. I barely had a moment to go to Bombay, to find Papa, and return in time to join you. This is an East Indian costume.”

  Still I was silent.

  “Are you shocked?” she asked simply “No,” I replied in a dull voice, “I’m past that.”

  “You are very rude,” she said, with the tears starting to her eyes.

  “I do not mean to be. I only wish to go away — away somewhere and find out what my name is.”

  “Your name is Harold Kensett.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked, eagerly.

  “Yes, — what troubles you?”

  “Is everything plain to you? Are you a sort of prophet and second sight medium? Is nothing hidden from you?” I asked.

  “Nothing,” — she faltered. My head ached and I clasped it in my hand.

  A sudden change came over her. “I am human, — believe me!” — she said with piteous eagerness; “indeed I do not seem strange to those who understand. You wonder, because you left me at midnight in Antwerp and you wake to find me here. If, because I find myself reincarnated, endowed with senses and capabilities which few at present possess; — if I am so made, why should it seem strange? It is all so natural to me. If I appear to you—”

  “Appear!!!”

  “Yes—”

  “Elsie!” I cried, “can you vanish?”

  “Yes,” she murmured,—” does it seem to you unwomanly?”

  “Great Heaven!” I groaned.

  “Don’t,” she cried, with tears in her voice,— “oh, please don’t! Help me to bear it! If you only knew how awful it is to be different from other girls, — how mortifying it is to me to be able to vanish, — oh, how I hate and detest it all!”

  “Don’t cry,” I said, looking at her pityingly.

  “Oh dear me!” she sobbed. “You shudder at the sight of me because I can vanish.”

  “I don’t!” I cried.

  “Yes you do! You abhor me, — you shrink away! Oh why did I ever see you, — why did you ever come into my life, — what have I done in ages past, that now, reborn, I suffer cruelly — cruelly!”

  “What do you mean!” I whispered. My voice trembled with happiness.

  “I? — nothing — but you think me a fabled monster.”

  “Elsie, — my sweet Elsie,” I said, “I don’t think you a fabled monster; — I love you, — see — see — I am at your feet, — listen to me, my darling,” —

  She turned her blue eyes to mine. I saw tears sparkling on the curved lashes.

  “Elsie, I love you,” I said again.

  Slowly she raised her white hands to my head and held it a moment, looking at me strangely. Then her face grew nearer to my own, her glittering hair fell over my shoulders, her lips rested on mine.

  In that long sweet kiss, the beating of her heart answered mine, and I learned a thousand truths, wonderful, mysterious, splendid, — but when our lips fell apart, — the memory of what I learned departed also.

  “It was so very simple and beautiful,” she sighed, “and I — I never saw it. But the Mahatmas knew — ah, they knew that my mission could only be accomplished through love.”

  “And it is,” I whispered, “for you shall teach me, — me your husband.”

  “And — and you will not be impatient? You will try to believe?”

  “I will believe what you tell me, my sweetheart.” —

  “Even about — cats?”

  Before I could reply the further window opened and a yellow nightcap, followed by the Professor, entered from somewhere without. Elsie sank back on her sofa, but the Professor needed not to be told, and we both knew he was already busily reading our thoughts.

  For a moment there was dead silence, — long enough for the Professor to grasp the full significance of what had passed. Then he uttered a single exclamation; “Oh!”

  After a while, however, he looked at me for the first time that evening, saying; “Congratulate you, Mr. Kensett, I’m sure;” — tied several knots in the cord of his dressing-gown, lighted a cigar, and paid no further attention to either of us. Some moments later he opened the window again and disappeared. I looked across the aisle at Elsie.

  “You may come over beside me,” she said, shyly.

  IV.

  IT was nearly ten o’clock and our train was rapidly approaching Paris. We passed village after village wrapped in mist, station after station hung with twinkling red and blue and yellow lanterns, then sped on again with the echo of the switch bells ringing in our ears.

  When at length the train slowed up and stopped, I opened the window and looked out upon a long wet platform, shining under the electric lights.

  A guard came running by, throwing open the doors of each compartment, and crying, “Paris next! Tickets, if you please.”

  I handed him my book of coupons from which he tore several and handed it back. Then he lifted his lantern and peered into the compartment saying: “Is Monsieur alone?”

  I turned to Elsie.

  “He wants your ticket — give it to me.”

  “What’s that?” demanded the guard.

  I looked anxiously at Elsie.

  “If your father has the tickets—” I began, but was interrupted by the guard who snapped, “Monsieur will give himself the trouble to remember that I do not understand English.”

  “Keep quiet!” I said sharply in French, “I am not speaking to you.”

  The guard stared stupidly at me, then at my luggage, and finally, entering the car, knelt down and peered under the seats. Presently he got up, very red in the face, and went out slamming the door. He had not paid the slightest attention to Elsie, but I distinctly heard him say, “only Englishmen and idiots talk to themselves!”

  “Elsie,” I faltered, “do you mean to say that guard could not see you?”

  She began to look so serious again that I merely added, “never mind, I don’t care whether you are invisible or not, dearest.”

  “I am not invisible to you,” she said; “why should you care?”

  A great noise of bells and whistles drowned our voices, and amid the whirring of switch bells, the hissing of steam, and the cries of “Paris! All out!” our train glided into the station.

  It was the Professor who opened the door of our carriage. There he stood, calmly adjusting his yellow nightcap and drawing his dressing-gown closer with the corded tassels.

  “Where have you been?” I asked.

  “On the engine.”

  “In the engine I suppose you mean,” I said. “No I don’t; I mean on the engine, — on the pilot. It was very refreshing. Where are we going now?”

  “Do you know Paris?” asked Elsie, turning to me.

  “Yes. I think your father had better take you to the Hotel Normandie on the rue de l’Echelle—”

  “But you must stay there too!”

  “Of course — if you wish—”

  She laughed nervously.

  “Don’t you see that my father and I could not take rooms — now? You must engage three rooms for yourself.”

  “Why?” I asked stupidly.

  “Oh dear — why because we are invisible.”

  I tried to repress a shudder. The Professor gave Elsie his arm and, as I studied his ensemble, I thanked Hea
ven that he was invisible.

  At the gate of the station I hailed a four-seated cab, and we rattled away through the stony streets, brilliant with gas jets, and in a few moments rolled smoothly across the Avenue de l’Opera, turned into the rue de l’Echelle, and stopped. A bright little page, all over buttons, came out, took my luggage, and preceded us into the hallway.

  I, with Elsie on my arm and the Professor shuffling along beside me, walked over to the desk.

  “Room?” said the clerk, “we have a very desirable room on the second fronting the rue St. Honoré—”

  “But we — that is I want three rooms — three separate rooms!” I said.

  The clerk scratched his chin. “Monsieur is expecting friends?”

  “Say yes,” whispered Elsie, with a suspicion of laughter in her voice.

  “Yes,” I repeated feebly.

  “Gentlemen of course?” said the clerk looking at me narrowly.

  “One lady.”

  “Married, of course?”

  “What’s that to you?” I said sharply, “what do you mean by speaking to us—”

  “Us!”

  “I mean to me,” I said, badly rattled; “give me the rooms and let me get to bed, will you?”

  “Monsieur will remember,” said the clerk coldly, “that this is an old and respectable hotel.”

  “I know it,” I said, smothering my rage.

  The clerk eyed me suspiciously.

  “Front!” he called with irritating deliberation, “show this gentleman to apartment ten.”

  “How many rooms are there!” I demanded.

  “Three sleeping rooms and a parlor.”

  “I will take it,” I said with composure.

  “On probation,” muttered the clerk insolently.

  Swallowing the insult I followed the bell-boy up the stairs, keeping between him and Elsie, for I dreaded to see him walk through her as if she were thin air. A trim maid rose to meet us and conducted us through a hallway into a large apartment. She threw open all the bed-room doors and said, “Will Monsieur have the goodness to choose?”

  “Which will you take,” I began, turning to Elsie.

  “I! Monsieur!” cried the startled maid.

  That completely upset me. “Here,” I muttered, slipping some silver into her hand, “now for the love of Heaven run away!”

  When she had vanished with a doubtful “Merci, Monsieur,” I handed the Professor the keys and asked him to settle the thing with Elsie.

  Elsie took the corner room, the Professor rambled into the next one, and I said good night and crept wearily into my own chamber. I sat down and tried to think. A great feeling of fatigue weighted my spirits.

  “I can think better with my clothes off,” I said, and slipped the coat from my shoulders. How tired I was. “I can think better in bed,” I muttered, flinging my cravat on the dresser and tossing my shirt studs after it. I was certainly very tired. “Now,” I yawned, grasping the pillow and drawing it under my head, “now, I can think a bit,” but before my head fell on the pillow, sleep closed my eyes.

  I began to dream at once. It seemed as though my eyes were wide open and the Professor was standing beside my bed.

  “Young man,” he said, “you’ve won my daughter and you must pay the piper!”

  “What piper?” I said.

  “The pied piper of Hamlin, I don’t think,” replied the Professor vulgarly, and before I could realize what he was doing he had drawn a reed pipe from his dressing-gown and was playing a strangely annoying air. Then an awful thing occurred. Cats began to troop into the room, cats by the hundred, toms and tabbys, grey, yellow, Maltese, Persian, Manx, all purring and all marching round and round, rubbing against the furniture, the Professor, and even against me. I struggled with the nightmare.

  “Take them away!” I tried to gasp.

  “Nonsense,” he said, “here is an old friend.”

  I saw the white tabby cat of the Hotel St. Antoine.

  “An old friend,” he repeated, and played a dismal melody on his reed.

  I saw Elsie enter the room, lift the white tabby in her arms and bring her to my side.

  “Shake hands with him,” she commanded.

  To my horror the tabby deliberately extended a paw and tapped me on the knuckles.

  “Oh!” I cried in agony, “this is a horrible dream! Why, oh, why can’t I wake!”

  “Yes,” she said, dropping the cat, “it is partly a dream but some of it is real. Remember what I say, my darling; you are to go to-morrow morning and meet the twelve o’clock train from Antwerp at the Gare du Nord. Papa and I are coming to Paris on that train. Don’t you know that we are not really here now, you silly boy? Good night then. I shall be very glad to see you.”

  I saw her glide from the room, followed by the Professor, playing a gay quick-step, to which the cats danced two and two.

  “Good night sir,” said each cat, as it passed my bed; and I dreamed no more.

  When I awoke, the room, the bed had vanished; I was in the street, walking rapidly; the sun shone down on the broad white pavements of Paris, and the streams of busy life flowed past me on either side. How swiftly I was walking! Where the devil was I going? Surely I had business somewhere that needed immediate attention. I tried to remember when I had awakened, but I could not. I wondered where I had dressed myself; I had apparently taken great pains with my toilet, for I was immaculate, monocle and all, even down to a long-stemmed rose nestling in my button-hole. I knew Paris and recognized the streets through which I was hurrying. Where could I be going? What was my hurry? I glanced at my watch and found I had not a moment to lose. Then as the bells of the city rang out mid-day, I hastened into the railroad station on the Rue Lafayette and walked out to the platform. And as I looked down the glittering track, around the distant curve shot a locomotive followed by a long line of cars. Nearer and nearer it came while the station gongs sounded and the switch-bells began ringing all along the track.

  “Antwerp express!” cried the Sous-Chef de Gare, and as the train slipped along the tiled platform I sprang upon the steps of a first-class carriage and threw open the door.

  “How do you do, Mr. Kensett,” said Elsie Wyeth, springing lightly to the platform. “Really it is very nice of you to come to the train. “ At the same moment a bald, mild-eyed gentleman emerged from the depths of the same compartment carrying a large covered basket.

  “How are you, Kensett?” he said. “Glad to see you again. Rather warm in that compartment — no I will not trust this basket to an expressman; give Miss Wyeth your arm and I’ll follow. We go to the ‘Normandie’ I believe?”

  All the morning I had Elsie to myself, and at dinner I sat beside her with the Professor opposite. The latter was cheerful enough, but he nearly ruined my dinner for he smelled strongly of catnip. After dinner he became restless and fidgeted about in his chair until coffee was brought, and we went up to the parlour of our apartment. Here his restlessness increased to such an extent that I ventured to ask him if he was in good health.

  “It’s that basket — the covered basket which I have in the next room,” he said.

  “What’s the trouble with the basket?” I asked.

  “The basket’s all right — but the contents worry me.”

  “May I inquire what the contents are?” I ventured.

  The Professor rose.

  “Yes,” he said, “you may inquire of my daughter.” He left the room but reappeared shortly, carrying a saucer of milk.

  I watched him enter the next room which was mine.

  “What on earth is he taking that into my room for?” I asked Elsie. “I don’t keep cats.”

  “But you will,” she said.

  “I? never!”

  “You will if I ask you to.”

  “But — but you won’t ask me.”

  “But I do.”

  “Elsie!”

  “Harold!”

  “I detest cats.”

  “You must not.”


  “I can’t help it.”

  “You will when I ask it. Have I not given myself to you? Will you not make a little sacrifice for me?”

  “I don’t understand—”

  “Would you refuse my first request?”

  “No,” I said miserably, “I will keep dozens of cats—”

  “I do not ask that; I only wish you to keep one.”

  “Was that what your father had in that basket?” I asked suspiciously.

  “Yes, the basket came from Antwerp.”

  “What! The white Antwerp cat!” I cried. “Yes.”

  “And you ask me to keep that cat? Oh Elsie!”

  “Listen!” she said, “I have a long story to tell you; come nearer, close to me. You say you love me?”

  I bent and kissed her.

  “Then I shall put you to the proof,” she murmured.

  “Prove me!”

  “Listen. That cat is the same cat that ran out of the apartment in the Waldorf when your great-aunt ceased to exist — in human shape. My father and myself, having received word from the Mahatmas of the Trust Company, sheltered and cherished the cat. We were ordered by the Mahatmas to convert you. The task was appalling — but there is no such thing as refusing a command, and we laid our plans. That man with a white spot in his hair was my father—”

  “What! Your father is bald.”

  “He wore a wig then. The white spot came from dropping chemicals on the wig while experimenting with a substance which you could not comprehend.”

  “Then — then that clue was useless; but who could have taken the Crimson Diamond? And who was the man with the white spot on his head who tried to sell the stone in Paris?

  “That was my father.”

  “He — he — st — took the Crimson Diamond?!” I cried aghast.

  “Yes and no. That was only a paste stone that he had in Paris. It was to draw you over here. He had the real Crimson Diamond also.”