Tales of terror
than useless. What I had to do was to try and circumvent her, and I
tried to think out some plan of action.
All that day I was compelled to keep my bed, and, owing to the clumsy
way in which my arm had been bandaged, I suffered intolerable pain,
and had to send for the old surgeon again to come and help me to reset
the fracture. I got some ease after that, and a dose of chloral sent
me to sleep, which continued for many hours. When I awoke I managed to
summon the landlord, and he brought me food, and a lantern containing a
candle so that I might have light. And, in compliance with my request,
he made me a large jug of lemonade, in order that I could have a drink
in the night, for I was feverish, and my throat was parched. He had no
sooner left the room than Annette entered to inquire if she could do
anything for me. I told her that I had made the landlord understand all
that I desired, and he would look after me, so she wished me good-night
and left. Knowing as I did that sleep was very essential in my case, I
swallowed another, though smaller, dose of chloral, and then there was
a blank.
How long I slept I really don’t know; but suddenly, in a dazed sort of
way, I saw a strange sight. The room I occupied was a long, somewhat
meagrely furnished, one. The entrance door was at the extreme end,
opposite the bed. Over the doorway hung a faded curtain of green
velvet. By the feeble light of the candle lantern I saw this curtain
slowly pulled on one side by a white hand; then a face peered in; next
Annette entered. Her long hair was hanging down her back, and she wore
a nightdress of soft, clinging substance, which outlined her figure.
With never a sound she moved lightly towards the bed, and waved her
hand two or three times over my face. I tried to move, to utter a
sound, but couldn’t; and yet what I am describing was no dream, but
a reality. Slightly bending over me, she poured from a tiny phial
she carried in the palm of her hand a few drops of a slightly acrid,
burning liquid right into my mouth, and at that instant, as I believe,
it seemed to me as if a thick, heavy pall fell over my eyes, for all
was darkness.
I awoke hours later. The winter sun was shining brightly into my
room. I felt strangely languid, and had a hot, stinging sensation
in my throat. I felt my pulse, and found it was only beating at
the rate of fifty-eight beats in the minute. Then I recalled the
extraordinary incident of the previous night, which, had it not been
for my sensations, I might have regarded as a bad dream, the outcome
of a disturbed state of the brain. But as it was, I hadn’t a doubt
that Annette had administered some subtle and slow poison to me. My
medical knowledge enabled me to diagnose my own case so far, that I
was convinced I was suffering from the effects of a potent poisonous
drug, the action of which was to lower the action of the vital forces
and weaken the heart. Being probably cumulative, a few doses more or
less, according to the strength of the subject, and the action of the
heart would be so impeded that the organ would cease to beat. Although
all this passed through my brain, I felt so weak and languid that I had
neither energy nor strength to arouse myself, and when the landlord
brought me in some food I took no notice of him. I knew that this
symptom of languor and indifference was very characteristic of certain
vegetable poisons, though what it was Annette had administered to me I
could not determine.
Throughout that day I lay in a drowsy, dreamy state. At times my brain
was clear enough, and I was able to think and reason; but there were
blanks, marked, no doubt, by periods of sleep.
When night came I felt a little better, and I found that the heart’s
action had improved. It was steadier, firmer, and the pulse indicated
sixty-two beats. Now I had no doubt that if it was Annette’s intention
to bring about my death slowly she would come again that night, and
arousing myself as well as I could, and summoning all my will power,
I resolved to be on the watch. During the afternoon I had drunk milk
freely, regarding it as an antidote, and when the landlord visited me
for the last time that evening I made him understand that I wanted a
large jug of milk fresh from the cow, if he could get it. He kept cows
of his own; they were confined in a chalet on the mountain side, not
far from his house, so that he was able to comply with my request.
I took a long draught of this hot milk, which revived my energies
wonderfully, and then I waited for developments. I had allowed my watch
to run down, consequently I had no means of knowing the time. It was
a weary vigil, lying there lonely and ill, and struggling against the
desire for sleep.
By-and-by I saw the white hand lift the curtain again, and Annette
entered, clad as she was on the previous night. When she came within
reach of me I sprang up in the bed and seized her wrist.
‘What do you want here?’ I demanded angrily. ‘Do you mean to murder me?’
Her imperturbability was exasperating. She neither winced nor cried
out, nor displayed the slightest sign of surprise. She merely remarked
in her soft cooing voice, her white teeth showing as her thin lips
parted in a smile:
‘You are evidently restless and excited to-night, and it is hardly
generous of you to treat my kindly interest in such a way.’
‘Kindly interest!’ I echoed with a sneer, as, releasing her wrist, I
fell back on the bed.
‘Yes; you haven’t treated me well, and you are an intruder here.
Nevertheless, as you are a stranger amongst strangers, and cannot speak
the language of the country, I would be of service to you if I could. I
have come to see if you have everything you require for the night.’
‘And you did the same last night,’ I cried in hot anger, for, knowing
her infamy and wickedness, I could not keep my temper.
‘Certainly,’ she answered coolly; ‘and I found you calmly dozing, so
left you.’
‘Yes--after you had poured poison down my throat,’ I replied.
She broke into a laugh--a rippling laugh, with the tinkle of silver in
it--and she seemed hugely amused.
‘Well, well,’ she said; ‘it is obvious, sir, you are not in a fit state
to be left alone. Your nerves are evidently unstrung, and you are
either the victim of a bad dream or some strange delusion. But there,
there; I will pardon you. You are not responsible just at present for
your language.’
As she spoke she passed her soft white hand over my forehead. There was
magic in her touch, and it seemed as if all my will had left me, and
there stole over me a delightful sense of dreamy languor. I looked at
her, and I saw her strange eyes change colour. They became illumined,
as it were, by a violet light that fascinated me so that I could not
turn from her. Indeed, I was absolutely subdued to her will now.
Everything in the room faded, and I saw nothing but those marvellous
eyes glowing with violet light which seemed to fill me with a feeling
of ecstasy. I have a vague idea that she kept passing her hand over
my face and forehead; that she breathed upon my face; then that she
pressed her face to mine, and I felt her hot breath in my neck.
Perhaps it will be said that I dreamed all this. I don’t believe it was
a dream. I firmly and honestly believe that every word I have written
is true.
Hours afterwards my dulled brain began to awake to things mundane.
The morning sun was flooding the room, and I was conscious that
somebody stood over me, and soon I recognised the old surgeon, who
had come to see that the splints and bandages had not shifted. I felt
extraordinarily weak, and I found that my pulse was beating very slowly
and feebly. Again I had the burning feeling in the throat and a strange
and absolutely indescribable sensation at the side of the neck. The old
doctor must have recognised that I was unusually feeble, for he went to
the landlord, and returned presently with some cognac which he made me
swallow, and it picked me up considerably.
After his departure I lay for some time, and tried to give definite
shape to vague and dreadful thoughts that haunted me, and filled me
with a shrinking horror. That Annette was a monster in human form I
hadn’t a doubt, and I felt equally certain that she had designs upon
my life. That she had now administered poison to me on two occasions
seemed to me beyond question, but I hesitated to believe that she was
guilty of the unspeakable crime which my sensations suggested.
At last, unable longer to endure the tumult in my brain, I sprang out
of bed, rushed to the looking-glass, and examined my neck. I literally
staggered back, and fell prostrate on the bed, overcome by the hideous
discovery I had made. It had the effect, however, of calling me back to
life and energy, and I made a mental resolution that I would, at all
hazards, save my friend, though I clearly recognised how powerless I
was to cope with the awful creature single-handed.
I managed to dress myself, not without some difficulty; then I summoned
the landlord, and made him understand that I must go immediately to
Santander at any cost. My intention was to invoke the aid of the consul
there. But the more I insisted, the more the old landlord shook his
head. At length, in desperation, I rushed from the house, hoping to
find somebody who understood French or English. As I almost ran up
the village street I came face to face with a priest. I asked him in
English if he spoke my language, but he shook his head. Then I tried
him with French, and to my joy he answered me that he understood a
little French. I told him of my desire to start for Santander that
very day, but he said that it was impossible, as, owing to the unusual
hot sun in the daytime there had been a great melting of snow, with
the result that a flooded river had destroyed a portion of the road;
and though a gang of men had been set to repair it, it would be two or
three days before it was passable.
‘But is there no other way of going?’ I asked.
‘Only by a very hazardous route over the mountains,’ he answered. And
he added that the risk was so great it was doubtful if anyone could be
found who would act as guide. ‘Besides,’ he went on, ‘you seem very ill
and weak. Even a strong man might fail, but you would be certain to
perish from exhaustion and exposure.’
I was bound to recognise the force of his argument. It was a maddening
disappointment, but there was no help for it. Then it occurred to me
to take the old priest into my confidence and invoke his aid. Though,
on second thoughts, I hesitated, for was it not possible--nay, highly
probable--that if I told the horrible story he and others would think
I was mad. Annette was a Spanish woman, and it was feasible to suppose
she would secure the ear of those ignorant villagers sooner than I
should. No, I would keep the ghastly business to myself for the present
at any rate, and wait with such patience as I could command until I
could make the journey to Santander. The priest promised me that on
the morrow he would let me know if the road was passable, and, if so,
he would procure me a carriage and make all the preparations for the
journey. So, thanking him for his kindly services, I turned towards
the hotel again. As I neared the house I observed two persons on the
mountain path that went up among the pine trees. The sun was shining
brilliantly; the sky was cloudless, the air crisp and keen. The two
persons were Annette and Redcar. I watched them for some minutes until
they were lost to sight amongst the trees.
Suddenly an irresistible impulse to follow them seized me. Why I know
not. Indeed, had I paused to reason with myself it would have seemed
to me then a mad act, and that I was risking my life to no purpose.
But I did not reason. I yielded to the impulse, though first of all I