The Soul Stealer

by Guy Thorne

  Produced by Mark C. Orton, Mary Meehan and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (Thisfile was produced from images generously made availableby The Internet Archive)

  THE SOUL STEALER

  BY C. RANGER-GULL

  Author of "The Serf," "The Harvest of Love," "The Price of Pity," "A Story of the Stage," etc., etc.

  LONDON F. V. WHITE & Co., Limited 14, BEDFORD STREET, STRAND, W.C. 1906

  RICHARD CLAY & SONS, LIMITED

  BREAD STREET HILL, E.C., AND BUNGAY, SUFFOLK.

  CONTENTS

  CHAP. PAGE

  I. MR. EUSTACE CHARLIEWOOD, MAN ABOUT TOWN 1

  II. UNEXPECTED ENTRANCE OF TWO LADIES 19

  III. NEWS OF A REVOLUTION 31

  IV. THE SECOND LOVER ARRIVES 50

  V. A CONSPIRACY OF SCIENTISTS 60

  VI. "WILL YOU WALK INTO MY PARLOUR?" 70

  VII. ENGLAND'S GREAT SENSATION 89

  VIII. THE CHIVALROUS BARONET 100

  IX. GRATITUDE OF MISS MARJORIE POOLE 109

  X. A MAN ABOUT TOWN PAYS A DEBT 120

  XI. BEEF TEA AND A PHOSPHATE SOLUTION 130

  XII. THE TOMB-BOUND MAN 150

  XIII. LORD MALVIN 160

  XIV. DONALD MEGBIE SEES POSSIBILITIES 171

  XV. HAIL TO THE LOVERS! 190

  XVI. STRANGE OCCURRENCE IN THE TEMPLE 201

  XVII. MARJORIE AND DONALD MEGBIE 211

  XVIII. PLANS 222

  XIX. A DEATH-WARRANT IS PRESENTED TO A PRISONER 230

  XX. THOUGHTS OF ONE IN DURANCE 248

  XXI. HOW THEY ALL WENT TO THE HOUSE IN REGENT'S PARK 258

  XXII. THE DOOM BEGINS 264

  XXIII. THE DOOM CONTINUES 280

  XXIV. MR. WILSON GUEST MAKES A MISTAKE 286

  XXV. AT LAST! 292

  XXVI. TWO FINAL PICTURES 305

  THE SOUL STEALER

  CHAPTER I

  MR. EUSTACE CHARLIEWOOD, MAN ABOUT TOWN

  Upon a brilliant morning in the height of the winter, Mr. EustaceCharliewood walked slowly up Bond Street.

  The sun was shining brightly, and there was a keen, invigorating snap inthe air which sent the well-dressed people who were beginning to throngthe pavements, walking briskly and cheerily.

  The great shops of one of the richest thoroughfares in the world werebrilliant with luxuries, the tall commissionaires who stood by the heavyglass doors were continually opening them for the entrance offashionable women.

  It was, in short, a typical winter's morning in Bond Street wheneverything seemed gay, sumptuous and debonair.

  Mr. Eustace Charliewood was greeted several times by various friends ashe walked slowly up the street. But his manner in reply was ratherlanguid, and his clean-shaven cheeks lacked the colour that the eagerair had given to most of the pedestrians.

  He was a tall, well-built man, with light close-cropped hair and a largeintelligent face. His eyes were light blue in colour, not very direct inexpression, and were beginning to be surrounded by the fine wrinklesthat middle age and a life of pleasure imprint. The nose was aquiline,the mouth clean cut and rather full.

  In age one would have put Mr. Charliewood down as four and forty, instatus a man accustomed to move in good society, though probably morefrequently the society of the club than that of the drawing-room.

  When he was nearly at the mouth of New Bond Street, Mr. Charliewoodstopped at a small and expensive-looking hairdresser's and perfumer's,passed through its revolving glass doors and bowed to a stately younglady with wonderfully-arranged coils of shining hair, who sat behind alittle glass counter covered with cut-glass bottles of scent and ivorymanicure sets.

  "Good-morning, Miss Carling," he said easily and in a pleasant voice."Is Proctor disengaged?"

  "Yes, Mr. Charliewood," the girl answered, "he's quite ready for you ifyou'll go up-stairs."

  "Quite well, my dear?" Mr. Charliewood said, with his hand upon the doorwhich led inwards to the toilette saloons.

  "Perfectly, thank you, Mr. Charliewood. But you're looking a littleseedy this morning."

  He made a gesture with his glove which he had just taken off.

  "Ah well," he said, "very late last night, Miss Carling. It's the priceone has to pay, you know! But Proctor will soon put me right."

  "Hope so, I'm sure," she answered, wagging a slim finger at him. "Oh,you men about town!"

  He smiled back at her, entered the saloon and mounted some thicklycarpeted stairs upon the left.

  At the top of the stairs a glass door opened into a little ante-room,furnished with a few arm-chairs and small tables on which _Punch_ andother journals were lying. Beyond, another door stood half open, and atthe noise of Mr. Charliewood's entrance a short, clean-shaved,Jewish-looking man came through it and began to help the visitor out ofhis dark-blue overcoat lined and trimmed with astrachan fur.

  Together the two men went into the inner room, where Mr. Charliewoodtook off his coat and collar and sat down upon a padded chair in frontof a marble basin and a long mirror.

  He saw himself in the glass, a handsome, tired face, the hair too lightto show the greyness at the temples, but hinting at that and growing alittle thin upon the top. The whole face, distinguished as it was, borean impress of weariness and dissipation, the face of a man who lived formaterial enjoyment, and did so without cessation.

  As he looked at his face, bearing undeniable marks of a late sitting thenight before, he smiled to think that in an hour or so he would beturned out very different in appearance by the Jewish-looking man in thefrock coat who now began to busy himself with certain apparatus.

  The up-stairs room at Proctor's toilette club was a select haunt of manyyoung-middle aged men about town. The new American invention known as"Vibro Massage" was in use there, and Proctor reaped a large harvest by"freshening up" gentlemen who were living not wisely but too well,incidentally performing many other services for his clients. The masseurpushed a wheeled pedestal up to the side of the chair, the top of whichwas a large octagonal box of mahogany. Upon the side were variouselectric switches, and from the centre of the box a thick silk-coveredwire terminated in a gleaming apparatus of vulcanite and steel which theoperator held in his hand.

  Proctor tucked a towel round his client's neck, rubbed somesweet-smelling cream all over his face and turned a switch in the sideof the pedestal.

  Immediately an electric motor began to purr inside, like a great cat,and the masseur brought the machine in his right hand, which looked notunlike a telephone receiver, down upon the skin of the subject's face.

  What was happening was just this. A little vulcanite hammer at the endof the machine was vibrating some six thousand times a minute andpounding and kneading the flesh, so swiftly and silently thatCharliewood felt nothing more than a faint thrill as the hammer wasguided skilfully over
the pouches beneath the eyes, and beat out theflabbiness from the cheeks.

  After some five minutes, Proctor switched off the motor and began toscrew a larger and differently-shaped vulcanite instrument to the end ofthe hand apparatus.

  Mr. Charliewood lay back, in a moment of intense physical ease. By meansof the electrodes the recruiting force had vibrated gently through thenerves. New animation had come into the blood and tissues of the tiredface, and already that sensation of youthful buoyancy, which is thesurest indication of good health, was returning to his dissipated mask.

  "Now then, sir," said Proctor, "I've screwed on a saddle-shapedelectrode, and I'll go up and down the spine, if you please; kindlystand up."

  Once more the motor hummed, and Mr. Charliewood felt an indescribablethrill of pleasure as the operator applied straight and angular strokesof the rapidly vibrating instrument up and down his broad back,impinging upon the central nerve system of the body and filling him withvigour.

  "By Jove, Proctor," he said, when the operation was over at last, andthe man was brushing his hair and spraying bay rum upon his face--"byJove, this is one of the best things I've ever struck! In the old daysone had to have a small bottle of Pol Roger about half-past eleven ifone had been sitting up late at cards the night before. Beastly bad forthe liver it was. But I never come out of this room without feelingabsolutely fit."

  "Ah, sir," said Mr. Proctor, "it's astonishing what the treatment cando, and it's astonishing what a lot of gentlemen come to me every day atall hours. My appointment book is simply filled, sir, filled! And nogentleman need be afraid now of doing exactly as he likes, till whathour he likes, as long as he is prepared to come to me to put him rightin the morning."

  After making an appointment for two days ahead, Mr. Charliewood passedout into the ante-room once more. During the time while he had beenmassaged another client had entered and was waiting there, lounging upona sofa and smoking a cigarette.

  He was a tall, youngish looking man, of about the same height and buildas Mr. Charliewood, clean-shaved, and with dark red hair. He looked uplanguidly as Proctor helped Charliewood into his fur coat. The firstarrival hardly noticed him, but bade the masseur a good-day, and wentout jauntily into Bond Street with a nod and a smile for the pretty girlwho sat behind the counter of the shop.

  It was a different person who walked down Bond Street towardsPiccadilly--a Mr. Charliewood who looked younger in some indefinite way,who walked with sprightliness, and over whose lips played a slight andsatisfied smile.

  It was not far down Bond Street--now more bright and animated thanever--to Mr. Charliewood's club in St. James's Street, a small butwell-known establishment which had the reputation of being more selectthan it really was.

  Swinging his neatly-rolled umbrella and humming a tune to himself underhis breath, he ran up the steps and entered. A waiter helped him offwith his overcoat, and he turned into the smoking-room to look at theletters which the porter had handed him, and to get himself in a rightframe of mind for the important function of lunch.

  In a minute or two, with a sherry and bitters by his side and a Paraschocigarette between his lips he seemed the personification of correctness,good-humour, and mild enjoyment.

  Very little was known about Eustace Charliewood outside his social life.He lived in Chambers in Jermyn Street, but few people were ever invitedthere, and it was obvious that he must use what was actually his home asvery little more than a place in which to sleep and to take breakfast.He was of good family, there was no doubt about that, being a member ofthe Norfolk Charliewoods, and a second son of old Sir Miles Charliewood,of King's Lynn. Some people said that Eustace Charliewood was notreceived by his family; there had been some quarrel many years before.This rumour gained general belief, as Charliewood never seemed to beasked to go down to his father's place for the shooting, or, indeed,upon any occasion whatever. There was nothing against EustaceCharliewood. Nobody could associate his name with any unpleasantscandal, or point out to him as being in any way worse than half ahundred men of his own position and way of life. Yet he was not verygenerally popular--people just liked him, said "Oh, Eustace Charliewoodisn't half a bad sort!" and left it at that. Perhaps a certain mysteryabout him and about his sources of income annoyed those people whowould like to see their neighbour's bank-book once a week.

  Charliewood lived fairly well, and everybody said, "How on earth does hemanage it?" the general opinion being that his father and elder brotherpaid him an allowance to keep him outside the life of the family.

  About one o'clock Mr. Charliewood went into the club dining-room. Thehead waiter hurried up to him, and there was a somewhat protracted andextremely confidential conversation as to the important question oflunch. As the waiter would often remark to his underlings, "It's alwaysa pleasure to do for a gentleman like Mr. Charliewood, because he givesreal thought to his meals, chooses his wine with care and his food withdiscrimination, not like them young men we get up from Hoxford andCambridge, who'll eat anything you put before 'em, and smacks their lipsknowing over a corked bottle of wine."

  "Very well," Mr. Charliewood said, "Robert, the clear soup, a portion ofthe sole with mushrooms, a grilled kidney and a morsel of Camembert.That will do very well. A half bottle of the '82 Neirsteiner and a GrandMarnier with my coffee."

  Having decided this important question, Mr. Charliewood looked round theroom to see if any of his particular friends were there. He caught theeye of a tall, young-looking man with a silly face and very carefullydressed. This was young Lord Landsend, a peer of twenty-one summers, whohad recently been elected to the Baobab Tree Club, and who had aprofound admiration for the worldly wisdom of his fellow member.

  The young man got up from his table and came over to Mr. Charliewood.

  "I say, Charlie," he said, "I'm going to motor down to Richmond thisafternoon, just to get an appetite for dinner; will you come?"

  Charliewood was about to agree, when a waiter brought him a telegramupon a silver tray. He opened it, read it, crushed the flimsy pinkGovernment paper in his hand and said--

  "Awfully sorry, Landsend, but I've just had a wire making an appointmentwhich I must keep."

  He smiled as he did so.

  "Ah," said the young gentleman, with a giggle, prodding his friend inthe shoulder with a thin, unsteady finger. "Ah, naughty, naughty!"

  With that he returned to his place, and Mr. Charliewood lunched alone.

  Once he smoothed out the telegram again, and read it with a slight frownand an anxious expression in his eyes. It ran as follows--

  _Be here three this afternoon without fail._

  _GOULDESBROUGH._

  When Mr. Charliewood had paid his bill and left the dining-room, thehead waiter remarked with a sigh and a shake of the head that his petmember did not seem to enjoy his food to-day. "Which is odd, Thomas,"concluded that oracle, "because a finer sole-oh-von-blong I never seeserved in the Club."

  Charliewood got into a cab, gave the driver the name and address of ahouse in Regent's Park, lit a cigar and sat back in deep thought. Hesmoked rather rapidly, seeing nothing of the moving panorama of thestreets through which the gondola of London bore him swiftly andnoiselessly. His face wore a sullen and rather troubled expression, notat all the expression one would have imagined likely in a man who hadbeen summoned to pay an afternoon call upon so famous and popular acelebrity as Sir William Gouldesbrough, F.R.S.

  There are some people who are eminent in science, literature, or art,and whose eminence is only appreciated by a small number of learnedpeople and stamped by an almost unregarded official approbation. Theseare the people who, however good their services may be, are never in anysense popular names, until many years after they are dead and theirlabours for humanity have passed into history and so become recognizedby the crowd. But there are other celebrities who are popular and knownto the "Man in the street." Sir William Gouldesbrough belonged to thelatter class. Everybody knew the name of the famous scientist. Hispicture was constantly in
the papers. His name was a household word, andwith all his arduous and successful scientific work, he still found timeto be a frequent figure in society, and a man without whom no largesocial function, whether public or private, was considered to becomplete. He was the sort of person, in short, of whom one read in thenewspapers--"and among the other distinguished guests were Sir HenryIrving, Sir Alma Tadema, Mr. Rudyard Kipling, and Sir WilliamGouldesbrough."

  He had caught the popular attention by the fact that he was still acomparatively young man of five and forty. He had caught the ear andattention of the scientific world by his extraordinary researches intothe lesser known powers of electric currents. Moreover, and it is anunusual combination, he was not only an investigator of the lesser knownattributes of electricity who could be ranked with Tessler, Edison, orMarconi, but he was a psychologist and pathologist of Europeanreputation. He was said by those who knew to have probed more deeplyinto mental processes than almost any man of his time, and for two orthree years now every one who was on the inside track of things knewthat Sir William Gouldesbrough was on the verge of some stupendousdiscovery which was to astonish the world as nothing else had astonishedit in modern years.

  Eustace Charliewood appeared to be an intimate friend of this great man.He was often at his house, they were frequently seen together, and thereason for this strange combination was always a fruitful subject ofgossip.

  Serious people could not understand what Gouldesbrough saw in a merepleasant-mannered and idle clubman, of no particular distinction orimportance. Frivolous society people could not understand how Mr.Charliewood cared to spend his time with a man who took life seriouslyand was always bothering about stupid electricity, while in the samebreath they rather admired Charliewood for being intimate with such avery important person in England as Sir William Gouldesbroughundoubtedly was.

  For two or three years now this curious friendship had been a piquantsubject of discussion, and both Sir William's and Mr. Charliewood's mostintimate friends had spent many pleasant hours in inventing this or thatbase and disgraceful reason for such a combination.

  Yet as the cab rolled smoothly up Portland Place Mr. Charliewood did notlook happy. He threw his cigar away with a petulant gesture, and watcheda street arab dive for it among the traffic with a sneer of disgust.

  He unbuttoned his heavy astrachan coat; it felt tight across his chest,and he realized that his nerves were still unstrung, despite the effortsof the morning. Then he took a cheque-book from his pocket and turnedover the counterfoils till he came to the last balance. He frownedagain, put it away, and once more leant back with a sigh of resignation.

  In a few more minutes the cab drew up at a brick wall which encircled alarge house of red brick, a house built in the Georgian period.

  Only the top of the place could be seen from the street, as the wall wassomewhat unusually high, while the only means of entrance was a greendoor let into the brickwork, with a brass bell-pull at one side.

  In a moment or two the door opened to Charliewood's ring, and aman-servant of the discreet and ordinary type stood there waiting.

  "Good afternoon, sir," he said. "Sir William expects you."

  Charliewood entered and walked along a wide gravel path towards theportico of the house, chatting casually to the butler as he went.

  It could now be seen that Sir William Gouldesbrough's residence was atypical mansion of George the First's reign. The brick was mellowed to apleasant autumnal tint, the windows, with their white frames and smallpanes, were set in mathematical lines down the facade, a flight of stonesteps led up to the square pillared porch, on each side of which aclumsy stone lion with a distinctly German expression was crouching. Theheavy panelled door was open, and together the guest and the butlerpassed into the hall.

  It was a large place with a tesselated floor and high white painteddoors all round. Two or three great bronze urns stood upon marblepedestals. There was a big leather couch of a heavy and old-fashionedpattern, and a stuffed bear standing on its hind legs, some eight feethigh, and with a balancing pole in its paws, formed a hat rack.

  The hall was lit from a square domed sky-light in the roof, which showedthat it was surrounded by a gallery, up to which led a broad flight ofstairs with carved balustrades.

  The whole place indeed was old-fashioned and sombre. After the cozinessof the smart little club in St. James's Street, and the brightness andglitter of the centre of the West End of town, Charliewood felt, asindeed he always did, a sense of dislike and depression.

  It was all so heavy, massive, ugly, and old-fashioned. One expected tosee grim and sober gentlemen in knee-breeches and powdered hair comingsilently out of this or that ponderous doorway--lean, respectable anduncomfortable ghosts of a period now vanished for ever.

  "Will you go straight on to the study, sir?" the butler said. "SirWilliam expects you."

  Charliewood did not take off his coat, as if he thought that theinterview to which he was summoned need not be unduly prolonged. Butwith his hat and umbrella in his hand he crossed the hall to itsfarthest left angle beyond the projecting staircase, and opened a greenbaize door.

  He found himself in a short passage heavily carpeted, at the end ofwhich was another door. This he opened and came at once into Sir WilliamGouldesbrough's study.

  Directly he entered, he saw that his friend was sitting in an arm-chairby the side of a large writing-table.

  Something unfamiliar in his host's attitude, and the chair in which hewas sitting, struck him at once.

  He looked again and saw that the chair was slightly raised from theground upon a low dais, and was of peculiar construction.

  In a moment more he started with surprise to see that there wassomething extremely odd about Sir William's head.

  A gleam of sunlight was pouring into the room through a long windowwhich opened on to the lawn at the back of the house. It fell full uponthe upper portion of the scientist's body, and with a muffled expressionof surprise, Mr. Charliewood saw that Sir William was wearing a sort ofhelmet, a curved shining head-dress of brass, like the cup of an acorn,from the top of which a thick black cord rose upwards to a china plugset in the wall not far away.

  "Good heavens, Gouldesbrough!" he said in uncontrollable surprise,"what----"

  As he spoke Sir William turned and held up one hand, motioning him tosilence.

  The handsome and intellectual face that was so well known to the publicwas fixed and set into attention, and did not relax or change atCharliewood's ejaculation.

  The warning hand remained held up, and that was all.

  Charliewood stood frozen to the floor in wonder and uneasiness, utterlyat a loss to understand what was going on. The tremor of his nervesbegan again, his whole body felt like a pincushion into whichinnumerable pins were being pushed.

  Then, with extreme suddenness, he experienced another shock.

  Somewhere in the room, quite close to him, an electric bell, like thesudden alarm of a clock on a dark dawn, whirred a shrill summons.

  The big man jumped where he stood.

  At the unexpected rattle of the bell, Sir William put his hand up to hishead, touched something that clicked, and lifted the heavy metal capfrom it. He placed it carefully down upon the writing-table, passed hishand over his face for a moment with a tired gesture, and then turned tohis guest.

  "How do you do?" he said. "Glad to see you, Charliewood."