'Not only is it plain that no one lives in these charming
apartments, but it looks to me uncommonly as if no one ever had
lived in them.'
To my thinking Mr Holt's agitation was increasing every moment.
For some reason of his own, Sydney took no notice of it whatever,
—possibly because he judged that to do so would only tend to make
it worse. An odd change had even taken place in Mr Holt's voice,—
he spoke in a sort of tremulous falsetto.
'It was only the front room which I saw.'
'Very good; then, before very long, you shall see that front room
again.'
Sydney rapped with his knuckles on the glass panels of the back
door. He tried the handle; when it refused to yield he gave it a
vigorous shaking. He saluted the dirty windows,—so far as
succeeding in attracting attention was concerned, entirely in
vain. Then he turned again to Mr Holt,—half mockingly.
'I call you to witness that I have used every lawful means to gain
the favourable notice of your mysterious friend. I must therefore
beg to stand excused if I try something slightly unlawful for a
change. It is true that you found the window already open; but, in
my case, it soon will be.'
He took a knife out of his pocket, and, with the open blade,
forced back the catch,—as I am told that burglars do. Then he
lifted the sash.
'Behold!' he exclaimed. 'What did I tell you?—Now, my dear
Marjorie, if I get in first and Mr Holt gets in after me, we shall
be in a position to open the door for you.'
I immediately saw through his design.
'No, Mr Atherton; you will get in first, and I will get in after
you, through the window,—before Mr Holt. I don't intend to wait
for you to open the door.'
Sydney raised his hands and opened his eyes, as if grieved at my
want of confidence. But I did not mean to be left in the lurch, to
wait their pleasure, while on pretence of opening the door, they
searched the house. So Sydney climbed in first, and I second,—it
was not a difficult operation, since the window-sill was under
three feet from the ground—and Mr Holt last. Directly we were in,
Sydney put his hand up to his mouth, and shouted.
'Is there anybody in this house? If so, will he kindly step this
way, as there is someone wishes to see him.'
His words went echoing through the empty rooms in a way which was
almost uncanny. I suddenly realised that if, after all, there did
happen to be somebody in the house, and he was at all
disagreeable, our presence on his premises might prove rather
difficult to explain. However, no one answered. While I was
waiting for Sydney to make the next move, he diverted my attention
to Mr Holt.
'Hollo, Holt, what's the matter with you? Man, don't play the fool
like that!'
Something was the matter with Mr Holt. He was trembling all over
as if attacked by a shaking palsy. Every muscle in his body seemed
twitching at once. A strained look had come on his face, which was
not nice to see. He spoke as with an effort.
'I'm all right.—It's nothing.'
'Oh, is it nothing? Then perhaps you'll drop it. Where's that
brandy?' I handed Sydney the flask. 'Here, swallow this.'
Mr Holt swallowed the cupful of neat spirit which Sydney offered
without an attempt at parley. Beyond bringing some remnants of
colour to his ashen cheeks it seemed to have no effect on him
whatever. Sydney eyed him with a meaning in his glance which I was
at a loss to understand.
'Listen to me, my lad. Don't think you can deceive me by playing
any of your fool tricks, and don't delude yourself into supposing
that I shall treat you as anything but dangerous if you do. I've
got this.' He showed the revolver of papa's which I had lent him.
'Don't imagine that Miss Lindon's presence will deter me from
using it.'
Why he addressed Mr Holt in such a strain surpassed my
comprehension. Mr Holt, however, evinced not the faintest symptoms
of resentment,—he had become, on a sudden, more like an automaton
than a man. Sydney continued to gaze at him as if he would have
liked his glance to penetrate to his inmost soul.
'Keep in front of me, if you please, Mr Holt, and lead the way to
this mysterious apartment in which you claim to have had such a
remarkable experience.'
Of me he asked in a whisper,
'Did you bring a revolver?'
I was startled.
'A revolver?—The idea!—How absurd you are!'
Sydney said something which was so rude—and so uncalled for!—
that it was worthy of papa in his most violent moments.
'I'd sooner be absurd than a fool in petticoats.' I was so angry
that I did not know what to say,—and before I could say it he
went on. 'Keep your eyes and ears well open; be surprised at
nothing you see or hear. Stick close to me. And for goodness sake
remain mistress of as many of your senses as you conveniently
can.'
I had not the least idea what was the meaning of it all. To me
there seemed nothing to make such a pother about. And yet I was
conscious of a fluttering of the heart as if there soon might be
something, I knew Sydney sufficiently well to be aware that he was
one of the last men in the world to make a fuss without reason,—
and that he was as little likely to suppose that there was a
reason when as a matter of fact there was none.
Mr Holt led the way, as Sydney desired—or, rather, commanded, to
the door of the room which was in front of the house. The door was
closed. Sydney tapped on a panel. All was silence. He tapped
again.
'Anyone in there?' he demanded.
As there was still no answer, he tried the handle. The door was
locked.
'The first sign of the presence of a human being we have had,—
doors don't lock themselves. It's just possible that there may
have been someone or something about the place, at some time or
other, after all.'
Grasping the handle firmly, he shook it with all his might,—as he
had done with the door at the back. So flimsily was the place
constructed that he made even the walls to tremble.
'Within there!—if anyone is in there!—if you don't open this
door, I shall.'
There was no response.
So be it!—I'm going to pursue my wild career of defiance of
established law and order, and gain admission in one way, if I
can't in another.'
Putting his right shoulder against the door, he pushed with his
whole force. Sydney is a big man, and very strong, and the door
was weak. Shortly, the lock yielded before the continuous
pressure, and the door flew open. Sydney whistled.
'So!—It begins to occur to me, Mr Holt, that that story of yours
may not have been such pure romance as it seemed.'
It was plain enough that, at any rate, this room had been
occupied, and that recently,—and, if his taste in furniture could
be taken as a test, by an eccentric occupant to boot. My own first
impression was that there was someone, or something, living in it
still,—an uncomfortable odour greeted our nostrils, which was
suggestive of some evil-smelling animal. Sydney seemed to share my
thought.
'A pretty perfume, on my word! Let's shed a little more light on
the subject, and see what causes it. Marjorie, stop where you are
until I tell you.'
I had noticed nothing, from without, peculiar about the appearance
of the blind which screened the window, but it must have been made
of some unusually thick material, for, within, the room was
strangely dark. Sydney entered, with the intention of drawing up
the blind, but he had scarcely taken a couple of steps when he
stopped.
'What's that?'
'It's it,' said Mr Holt, in a voice which was so unlike his own
that it was scarcely recognisable.
'It?—What do you mean by it?'
'The Beetle!'
Judging from the sound of his voice Sydney was all at once in a
state of odd excitement.
'Oh, is it!—Then, if this time I don't find out the how and the
why and the wherefore of that charming conjuring trick, I'll give
you leave to write me down an ass,—with a great, big A.'
He rushed farther into the room,—apparently his efforts to
lighten it did not meet with the immediate success which he
desired.
'What's the matter with this confounded blind? There's no cord!
How do you pull it up?—What the—'
In the middle of his sentence Sydney ceased speaking. Suddenly Mr
Holt, who was standing by my side on the threshold of the door,
was seized with such a fit of trembling, that, fearing he was
going to fall, I caught him by the arm. A most extraordinary look
was on his face. His eyes were distended to their fullest width,
as if with horror at what they saw in front of them. Great beads
of perspiration were on his forehead.
'It's coming!' he screamed.
Exactly what happened I do not know. But, as he spoke, I heard,
proceeding from the room, the sound of the buzzing of wings.
Instantly it recalled my experiences of the night before,—as it
did so I was conscious of a most unpleasant qualm. Sydney swore a
great oath, as if he were beside himself with rage.
'If you won't go up, you shall come down.'
I suppose, failing to find a cord, he seized the blind from below,
and dragged it down,—it came, roller and all, clattering to the
floor. The room was all in light. I hurried in. Sydney was
standing by the window, with a look of perplexity upon his face
which, under any other circumstances, would have been comical. He
was holding papa's revolver in his hand, and was glaring round and
round the room, as if wholly at a loss to understand how it was he
did not see what he was looking for.
'Marjorie!' he exclaimed. 'Did you hear anything?'
'Of course I did. It was that which I heard last night,—which so
frightened me.'
'Oh, was it? Then, by—' in his excitement he must have been
completely oblivious of my presence, for he used the most terrible
language, 'when I find it there'll be a small discussion. It can't
have got out of the room,—I know the creature's here; I not only
heard it, I felt it brush against my face.—Holt, come inside and
shut that door.'
Mr Holt raised his arms, as if he were exerting himself to make a
forward movement,—but he remained rooted to the spot on which he
stood.
'I can't!' he cried.
'You can't.'—Why?'
'It won't let me.'
'What won't let you?'
'The Beetle!'
Sydney moved till he was close in front of him. He surveyed him
with eager eyes. I was just at his back. I heard him murmur,—
possibly to me.
'By George!—It's just as I thought!—The beggar's hypnotised!'
Then he said aloud,
'Can you see it now?'
'Yes.'
'Where?'
'Behind you.'
As Mr Holt spoke, I again heard, quite close to me, that buzzing
sound. Sydney seemed to hear it too,—it caused him to swing round
so quickly that he all but whirled me off my feet.
'I beg your pardon, Marjorie, but this is of the nature of an
unparalleled experience,—didn't you hear something then?'
'I did,—distinctly; it was close to me,—within an inch or two of
my face.'
We stared about us, then back at each other,—there was nothing
else to be seen. Sydney laughed, doubtfully.
'It's uncommonly queer. I don't want to suggest that there are
visions about, or I might suspect myself of softening of the
brain. But—it's queer. There's a trick about it somewhere, I am
convinced; and no doubt it's simple enough when you know how it's
done,—but the difficulty is to find that out.—Do you think our
friend over there is acting?'
'He looks to me as if he were ill.'
'He does look ill. He also looks as if he were hypnotised. If he
is, it must be by suggestion,—and that's what makes me doubtful,
because it will be the first plainly established case of hypnotism
by suggestion I've encountered.—Holt!'
'Yes.'
'That,' said Sydney in my ear, 'is the voice and that is the
manner of a hypnotised man, but, on the other hand, a person under
influence generally responds only to the hypnotist,—which is
another feature about our peculiar friend which arouses my
suspicions.' Then, aloud, 'Don't stand there like an idiot,—come
inside.'
Again Mr Holt made an apparently futile effort to do as he was
bid. It was painful to look at him,—he was like a feeble,
frightened, tottering child, who would come on, but cannot.
'I can't.'
'No nonsense, my man! Do you think that this is a performance in a
booth, and that I am to be taken in by all the humbug of the
professional mesmerist? Do as I tell you,—come into the room.'
There was a repetition, on Mr Holt's part, of his previous pitiful
struggle; this time it was longer sustained than before,—but the
result was the same.
'I can't!' he wailed.
'Then I say you can,—and shall! If I pick you up, and carry you,
perhaps you will not find yourself so helpless as you wish me to
suppose.'
Sydney moved forward to put his threat into execution. As he did
so, a strange alteration took place in Mr Holt's demeanour.
I was standing in the middle of the room, Sydney was between the
door and me; Mr Holt was in the hall, just outside the doorway, in
which he, so to speak, was framed. As Sydney advanced towards him
he was seized with a kind of convulsion,—he had to lean against
the side of the door to save himself from falling. Sydney paused,
and watched. The spasm went as suddenly as it came,—Mr Holt
became as motionless as he had just now been the other way. He
stood in an attitude of febrile expectancy,—his chin raised, his
head thrown back, his eyes glancing upwards,—with the dreadful
fixed glare which had come into them ever since we had entered the
house. He looked to me as if his every faculty was strained in the
act of listening,—not a muscle in his body seemed to move; he was
as rigid as a figure carved in stone. Presently the rigidity gave
place to what, to an onlooker, seemed causeless agitation.