Tales of Terror and Mystery
himself? His own answer that he might wish to be attacked was absurd.
Why should he possibly wish to be attacked? And who would wish to
attack him? Clearly, Lord Linchmere was suffering from some singular
delusion, and the result was that on an imbecile pretext I was to be
deprived of my night's rest. Still, however absurd, I was determined
to carry out his injunctions to the letter as long as I was in his
employment. I sat, therefore, beside the empty fireplace, and listened
to a sonorous chiming clock somewhere down the passage which gurgled
and struck every quarter of an hour. It was an endless vigil. Save for
that single clock, an absolute silence reigned throughout the great
house. A small lamp stood on the table at my elbow, throwing a circle
of light round my chair, but leaving the corners of the room draped in
shadow. On the bed Lord Linchmere was breathing peacefully. I envied
him his quiet sleep, and again and again my own eyelids drooped, but
every time my sense of duty came to my help, and I sat up, rubbing my
eyes and pinching myself with a determination to see my irrational
watch to an end.
And I did so. From down the passage came the chimes of two o'clock,
and I laid my hand upon the shoulder of the sleeper. Instantly he was
sitting up, with an expression of the keenest interest upon his face.
"You have heard something?"
"No, sir. It is two o'clock."
"Very good. I will watch. You can go to sleep."
I lay down under the coverlet as he had done and was soon unconscious.
My last recollection was of that circle of lamplight, and of the small,
hunched-up figure and strained, anxious face of Lord Linchmere in the
centre of it.
How long I slept I do not know; but I was suddenly aroused by a sharp
tug at my sleeve. The room was in darkness, but a hot smell of oil
told me that the lamp had only that instant been extinguished.
"Quick! Quick!" said Lord Linchmere's voice in my ear.
I sprang out of bed, he still dragging at my arm.
"Over here!" he whispered, and pulled me into a corner of the room.
"Hush! Listen!"
In the silence of the night I could distinctly hear that someone was
coming down the corridor. It was a stealthy step, faint and
intermittent, as of a man who paused cautiously after every stride.
Sometimes for half a minute there was no sound, and then came the
shuffle and creak which told of a fresh advance. My companion was
trembling with excitement. His hand, which still held my sleeve,
twitched like a branch in the wind.
"What is it?" I whispered.
"It's he!"
"Sir Thomas?"
"Yes."
"What does he want?"
"Hush! Do nothing until I tell you."
I was conscious now that someone was trying the door. There was the
faintest little rattle from the handle, and then I dimly saw a thin
slit of subdued light. There was a lamp burning somewhere far down the
passage, and it just sufficed to make the outside visible from the
darkness of our room. The greyish slit grew broader and broader, very
gradually, very gently, and then outlined against it I saw the dark
figure of a man. He was squat and crouching, with the silhouette of a
bulky and misshapen dwarf. Slowly the door swung open with this ominous
shape framed in the centre of it. And then, in an instant, the
crouching figure shot up, there was a tiger spring across the room and
thud, thud, thud, came three tremendous blows from some heavy object
upon the bed.
I was so paralysed with amazement that I stood motionless and staring
until I was aroused by a yell for help from my companion. The open door
shed enough light for me to see the outline of things, and there was
little Lord Linchmere with his arms round the neck of his
brother-in-law, holding bravely on to him like a game bull-terrier with
its teeth into a gaunt deerhound. The tall, bony man dashed himself
about, writhing round and round to get a grip upon his assailant; but
the other, clutching on from behind, still kept his hold, though his
shrill, frightened cries showed how unequal he felt the contest to be.
I sprang to the rescue, and the two of us managed to throw Sir Thomas
to the ground, though he made his teeth meet in my shoulder. With all
my youth and weight and strength, it was a desperate struggle before we
could master his frenzied struggles; but at last we secured his arms
with the waist-cord of the dressing-gown which he was wearing. I was
holding his legs while Lord Linchmere was endeavouring to relight the
lamp, when there came the pattering of many feet in the passage, and
the butler and two footmen, who had been alarmed by the cries, rushed
into the room. With their aid we had no further difficulty in securing
our prisoner, who lay foaming and glaring upon the ground. One glance
at his face was enough to prove that he was a dangerous maniac, while
the short, heavy hammer which lay beside the bed showed how murderous
had been his intentions.
"Do not use any violence!" said Lord Linchmere, as we raised the
struggling man to his feet. "He will have a period of stupor after
this excitement. I believe that it is coming on already." As he spoke
the convulsions became less violent, and the madman's head fell forward
upon his breast, as if he were overcome by sleep. We led him down the
passage and stretched him upon his own bed, where he lay unconscious,
breathing heavily.
"Two of you will watch him," said Lord Linchmere. "And now, Dr.
Hamilton, if you will return with me to my room, I will give you the
explanation which my horror of scandal has perhaps caused me to delay
too long. Come what may, you will never have cause to regret your
share in this night's work.
"The case may be made clear in a very few words," he continued, when we
were alone. "My poor brother-in-law is one of the best fellows upon
earth, a loving husband and an estimable father, but he comes from a
stock which is deeply tainted with insanity. He has more than once had
homicidal outbreaks, which are the more painful because his inclination
is always to attack the very person to whom he is most attached. His
son was sent away to school to avoid this danger, and then came an
attempt upon my sister, his wife, from which she escaped with injuries
that you may have observed when you met her in London. You understand
that he knows nothing of the matter when he is in his sound senses, and
would ridicule the suggestion that he could under any circumstances
injure those whom he loves so dearly. It is often, as you know, a
characteristic of such maladies that it is absolutely impossible to
convince the man who suffers from them of their existence.
"Our great object was, of course, to get him under restraint before he
could stain his hands with blood, but the matter was full of
difficulty. He is a recluse in his habits, and would not see any
medical man. Besides, it was necessary for our purpose that the
medical man should convince himself of his insanity; and he is sane as
you or I, save on these very rare occasions. But, fortunately, before
he has these attacks he always shows certain premonitory symptoms,
which are providential danger-signals, warning us to be upon our guard.
The chief of these is that nervous contortion of the forehead which you
must have observed. This is a phenomenon which always appears from
three to four days before his attacks of frenzy. The moment it showed
itself his wife came into town on some pretext, and took refuge in my
house in Brook Street.
"It remained for me to convince a medical man of Sir Thomas's insanity,
without which it was impossible to put him where he could do no harm.
The first problem was how to get a medical man into his house. I
bethought me of his interest in beetles, and his love for anyone who
shared his tastes. I advertised, therefore, and was fortunate enough
to find in you the very man I wanted. A stout companion was necessary,
for I knew that the lunacy could only be proved by a murderous assault,
and I had every reason to believe that that assault would be made upon
myself, since he had the warmest regard for me in his moments of
sanity. I think your intelligence will supply all the rest. I did not
know that the attack would come by night, but I thought it very
probable, for the crises of such cases usually do occur in the early
hours of the morning. I am a very nervous man myself, but I saw no
other way in which I could remove this terrible danger from my sister's
life. I need not ask you whether you are willing to sign the lunacy
papers."
"Undoubtedly. But TWO signatures are necessary."
"You forget that I am myself a holder of a medical degree. I have the
papers on a side-table here, so if you will be good enough to sign them
now, we can have the patient removed in the morning."
So that was my visit to Sir Thomas Rossiter, the famous beetle-hunter,
and that was also my first step upon the ladder of success, for Lady
Rossiter and Lord Linchmere have proved to be staunch friends, and they
have never forgotten my association with them in the time of their
need. Sir Thomas is out and said to be cured, but I still think that
if I spent another night at Delamere Court, I should be inclined to
lock my door upon the inside.
The Man with the Watches
There are many who will still bear in mind the singular circumstances
which, under the heading of the Rugby Mystery, filled many columns of
the daily Press in the spring of the year 1892. Coming as it did at a
period of exceptional dullness, it attracted perhaps rather more
attention than it deserved, but it offered to the public that mixture
of the whimsical and the tragic which is most stimulating to the
popular imagination. Interest drooped, however, when, after weeks of
fruitless investigation, it was found that no final explanation of the
facts was forthcoming, and the tragedy seemed from that time to the
present to have finally taken its place in the dark catalogue of
inexplicable and unexpiated crimes. A recent communication (the
authenticity of which appears to be above question) has, however,
thrown some new and clear light upon the matter. Before laying it
before the public it would be as well, perhaps, that I should refresh
their memories as to the singular facts upon which this commentary is
founded. These facts were briefly as follows:
At five o'clock on the evening of the 18th of March in the year already
mentioned a train left Euston Station for Manchester. It was a rainy,
squally day, which grew wilder as it progressed, so it was by no means
the weather in which anyone would travel who was not driven to do so by
necessity. The train, however, is a favourite one among Manchester
business men who are returning from town, for it does the journey in
four hours and twenty minutes, with only three stoppages upon the way.
In spite of the inclement evening it was, therefore, fairly well filled
upon the occasion of which I speak. The guard of the train was a tried
servant of the company--a man who had worked for twenty-two years
without a blemish or complaint. His name was John Palmer.
The station clock was upon the stroke of five, and the guard was about
to give the customary signal to the engine-driver when he observed two
belated passengers hurrying down the platform. The one was an
exceptionally tall man, dressed in a long black overcoat with astrakhan
collar and cuffs. I have already said that the evening was an
inclement one, and the tall traveller had the high, warm collar turned
up to protect his throat against the bitter March wind. He appeared,
as far as the guard could judge by so hurried an inspection, to be a
man between fifty and sixty years of age, who had retained a good deal
of the vigour and activity of his youth. In one hand he carried a