There was one little indulgence which Abercrombie Smith always allowed himself, however closely his work might press upon him. Twice a week, on the Tuesday and the Friday, it was his invariable custom to walk over to Farlingford, the residence of Dr. Plumptree Peterson, situated about a mile and a half out of Oxford. Peterson had been a close friend of Smiths elder brother Francis, and as he was a bachelor, fairly well-to-do, with a good cellar and a better library, his house was a pleasant goal for a man who was in need of a brisk walk. Twice a week, then, the medical student would swing out there along the dark country roads, and spend a pleasant hour in Petersons comfortable study, discussing, over a glass of old port, the the gossip of the varsity or the latest developments of medicine or of surgery.
Smith shut up his books at a quarter past eight, the hour when he usually started for his friends house. As he was leaving his room, however, his eyes chanced to fall upon one of the books which Bellingham had lent him, and his conscience pricked him for not having returned it. However repellent the man might be, he should not be treated with discourtesy. Taking the book, he walked downstairs and knocked at his neighbours door. There was no answer; but on turning the handle he found that it was unlocked. Pleased at the thought of avoiding an interview, he stepped inside, and placed the book with his card upon the table.
The lamp was turned half down, but Smith could see the details of the room plainly enough. It was all much as he had seen it before the frieze, the animal-headed gods, the hanging crocodile, and the table littered over with papers and dried leaves. The mummy case stood upright against the wall, but the mummy itself was missing. There was no sign of any second occupant of the room. The spiral stair was as black as pitch, and Smith was slowly making his way down its irregular steps, when he was suddenly conscious that something had passed him in the darkness. There was a faint sound, a whiff of air, a light brushing past his elbow, but so slight that he could scarcely be certain of it. He stopped and listened, but the wind was rustling among the ivy outside, and he could hear nothing else.
Is that you, Styles? he shouted.
There was no answer, and all was still behind him. It must have been a sudden gust of air, for there were crannies and cracks in the old turret. And yet he could almost have sworn that he heard a footfall by his very side. He had emerged into the quadrangle, still turning the matter over in his head, when a man came running swiftly across the smooth-cropped lawn.
Is that you, Smith?
Hullo, Hastie!
For Gods sake come at once! Young Lee is drowned! Heres Harrington of Kings with the news. The doctor is out. Youll do, but come along at once. There may be life in him.
Have you brandy?
No.
Ill bring some. Theres a flask on my table.
Smith bounded up the stairs, taking three at a time, seized the flask, and was rushing down with it, when, as he passed Bellinghams room, his eyes fell upon something which left him gasping and staring upon the landing.
The door, which he had closed behind him, was now open, and right in front of him, with the lamp-light shining upon it, was the mummy case. Three minutes ago it had been empty. He could swear to that. Now it framed the lank body of its horrible occupant, who stood, grim and stark, with his black shrivelled face towards the door. The form was lifeless and inert, but it seemed to Smith as he gazed that there still lingered a lurid spark of vitality, some faint sign of consciousness in the little eyes which lurked in the depths of the hollow sockets. So astounded and shaken was he that he had forgotten his errand, and was still staring at the lean, sunken figure when the voice of his friend below recalled him to himself.
Come on, Smith! he shouted. Its life and death, you know. Hurry up! Now, then, he added, as the medical student reappeared, let us do a sprint. It is well under a mile, and we should do it in five minutes. A human life is better worth running for than a pot.
Neck and neck they dashed through the darkness, and did not pull up until, panting and spent, they had reached the little cottage by the river. Young Lee, limp and dripping like a broken water-plant, was stretched upon the sofa, the green scum of the river upon his black hair, and a fringe of white foam upon his leaden-hued lips. Beside him knelt his fellow-student Harrington, endeavouring to chafe some warmth back into his rigid limbs.
I think theres life in him, said Smith, with his hand to the lads side. Put your watch glass to his lips. Yes, theres dimming on it. You take one arm, Hastie. Now work as I do, and well soon pull him round.
For ten minutes they worked in silence, inflating and depressing the chest of the unconscious man. At the end of that time a shiver ran through his body and his lips trembled, and he opened his eyes. The three students burst out into an irrepressible cheer.
Monkhouse Lee raised himself on his hands, and looked wildly about him.
Whats up? he asked. Ive been in the water. Ah, yes; I remember.
A look of fear came into his eyes, and he sank his face into his hands.
How did you fall in?
I didnt fall in.
How, then?
I was thrown in. I was standing by the bank, and something from behind picked me up like a feather and hurled me in. I heard nothing, and I saw nothing. But I know what it was, for all that.
It was little chat that they had upon their homeward path. Smiths mind was too full of the incidents of the evening, the absence of the mummy from his neighbours rooms, the step that passed him on the stair, the reappearance the extraordinary, inexplicable reappearance of the grisly thing and then this attack upon Lee, corresponding so closely to the previous outrage upon another man against whom Bellingham bore a grudge. All this settled in his thoughts, together with the many little incidents which had previously turned him against his neighbour, and the singular circumstances under which he was first called in to him. What had been a dim suspicion, a vague, fantastic conjecture, had suddenly taken form, and stood out in his mind as a grim fact, a thing not to be denied. And yet, how monstrous it was! how unheard of! how entirely beyond all bounds of human experience.
The next evening Smith determined to pay the visit to his friend Dr. Peterson upon which he had started upon the night before. A good walk and a friendly chat would be welcome to his jangled nerves. Bellinghams door was shut when he passed, but glancing back when he was some distance from the turret, he saw his neighbours head at the window outlined against the lamp-light, his face pressed apparently against the glass as he gazed out into the darkness.
It was a lonely road which led to his friends house. Early as it was, Smith did not meet a single soul upon his way. He walked briskly along until he came to the avenue gate, which opened into the long gravel drive leading up to Farlingford. In front of him he could see the cosy red light of the windows glimmering through the foliage. He stood with his hand upon the iron latch of the swinging gate, and he glanced back at the road along which he had come. Something was coming swiftly down it.
It moved in the shadow of the hedge, silently and furtively, a dark, crouching figure, dimly visible against the black background. Even as he gazed back at it, it had lessened its distance by twenty paces, and was fast closing upon him. Out of the darkness he had a glimpse of a scraggy neck, and of two eyes that will ever haunt him in his dreams. He turned, and with a cry of terror he ran for his life up the avenue. There were the red lights, the signals of safety, almost within a stones throw of him. He was a famous runner, but never had he run as he ran that night.
The heavy gate had swung into place behind him, but he heard it dash open again before his pursuer. As he rushed madly and wildly through the night, he could hear a swift, dry patter behind him, and could see, as he threw back a glance, that this horror was bounding like a tiger at his heels, with blazing eyes and one stringy arm out-thrown. Thank God, the door was ajar. He could see the thin bar of light which shot from the lamp in the hall. Nearer yet sounded the clatter from behind. He heard a hoarse gurgling at his very shoulder. With a shriek he flung himself against the door, slammed and bolted it behind him, and sank half-fainting on to the hall chair.
My goodness, Smith, whats the matter? asked Peterson, appearing at the door of his study.
Give me some brandy!
Peterson disappeared, and came rushing out again with a glass and a decanter.
You need it, he said, as his visitor drank off what he poured out for him. Why, man, you are as white as cheese.
Smith laid down his glass, rose up, and took a deep breath.
I am my own man again now, said he. I was never so unmanned before. But, with your leave, Peterson, I will sleep here to-night, for I dont think I could face that road again except by daylight. Its weak, I know, but I cant help it.
Peterson looked at his visitor with a very questioning eye.
Of course you shall sleep here if you wish. Ill tell Mrs. Burney to make up the spare bed. Where are you off to now?
Come up with me to the window that overlooks the door. I want you to see what I have seen. They went up to the window of the upper hall whence they could look down upon the approach to the house. The drive and the fields on either side lay quiet and still, bathed in the peaceful moonlight.
Well, really, Smith, remarked Peterson, it is well that I know you to be an abstemious man. What in the world can have frightened you?
Ill tell you presently. But where can it have gone? Ah, now look, look! See the curve of the road just beyond your gate.
Yes, I see; you neednt pinch my arm off. I saw someone pass. I should say a man, rather thin, apparently, and tall, very tall. But what of him? And what of yourself? You are still shaking like an aspen leaf.
I have been within hand-grip of the devil, thats all. But come down to your study, and I shall tell you the whole story.
He did so. Under the cheery lamplight, with a glass of wine on the table beside him, and the portly form and florid face of his friend in front, he narrated, in their order, all the events, great and small, which had formed so singular a chain, from the night on which he had found Bellingham fainting in front of the mummy case until his horrid experience of an hour ago.
There now, he said as he concluded, thats the whole black business. It is monstrous and incredible, but it is true. Dr. Plumptree Peterson sat for some time in silence with a very puzzled expression upon his face.
I never heard of such a thing in my life, never! he said at last. You have told me the facts. Now tell me your inferences.
You can draw your own.
But I should like to hear yours. You have thought over the matter, and I have not.
Well, it must be a little vague in detail, but the main points seem to me to be clear enough. This fellow Bellingham, in his Eastern studies, has got hold of some infernal secret by which a mummy or possibly only this particular mummy can be temporarily brought to life. He was trying this disgusting business on the night when he fainted. No doubt the sight of the creature moving had shaken his nerve, even though he had expected it. Having done it, he naturally thought him that he might use the creature as an agent. It has intelligence and it has strength. For some purpose he took Lee into his confidence; but Lee, like a decent Christian, would have nothing to do with such a business. Then they had a row, and Lee vowed that he would tell his sister of Bellinghams true character. Bellinghams game was to prevent him, and he nearly managed it, by setting this creature of his on his track. He had already tried its powers upon another man Norton towards whom he had a grudge. It is the merest chance that he has not two murders upon his soul. Then, when I taxed him with the matter, he had the strongest reasons for wishing to get me out of the way before I could convey my knowledge to anyone else. He got his chance when I went out, for he knew my habits, and where I was bound for. I have had a narrow shave, Peterson, and it is mere luck that you didnt find me on your doorstep in the morning. Im not a nervous man as a rule, and I never thought to have the fear of death put upon me as it was tonight.
Now, I have quite made up my mind what I shall do. And first of all, may I use your paper and pens for an hour?
Most certainly. You will find all you want upon that side table.
Abercrombie Smith sat down before a sheet of foolscap, and for an hour, and then for a second hour his pen travelled swiftly over it. Page after page was finished and tossed aside while his friend leaned back in his arm-chair, looking across at him with patient curiosity. At last, with an exclamation of satisfaction, Smith sprang to his feet, gathered his papers into order, and laid the last one upon Petersons desk.
Kindly sign this as a witness, he said.
A witness? Of what?
Of my signature, and of the date. The date is the most important. Why, Peterson, my life might hang upon it.
My dear Smith, you are talking wildly. Let me beg you to go to bed.
On the contrary, I never spoke so deliberately in my life. And I will promise to go to bed the moment you have signed it.
But what is it?
It is a statement of all that I have been telling you to-night. I wish you to witness it.
Certainly, said Peterson, signing his name under that of his companion. There you are! But what is the idea?
You will kindly retain it, and produce it in case I am arrested.
Arrested? For what?
For murder. It is quite on the cards. I wish to be ready for every event. There is only one course open to me, and I am determined to take it.
For Heavens sake, dont do anything rash!
Believe me, it would be far more rash to adopt any other course. I hope that we wont need to bother you, but it will ease my mind to know that you have this statement of my motives. And now I am ready to take your advice and go to roost, for I want to be at my best in the morning.
Next day Smith stopped at Cliffords, the gunmakers, and bought a heavy revolver, with a box of central-fire cartridges. Six of them he slipped into the chambers, and half-cocking the weapon, placed it in the pocket of his coat. He then made his way to Hasties rooms, where the big oarsman was lounging over his breakfast, with the Sporting Times propped up against the coffeepot.
Hullo! Whats up? he asked. Have some coffee?
No, thank you. I want you to come with me, Hastie, and do what I ask you.
Certainly, my boy.
And bring a heavy stick with you.
Hullo! Hastie stared. Heres a hunting-crop that would fell an ox.
One other thing. You have a box of amputating knives. Give me the longest of them.
There you are. You seem to be fairly on the war trail. Anything else?
No; that will do. Smith placed the knife inside his coat, and led the way to the quadrangle. We are neither of us chickens, Hastie, he said I think I can do this job alone, but I take you as a precaution. I am going to have a little talk with Bellingham. If I have only him to deal with, I wont, of course, need you. If I shout, however, up you come, and lam out with your whip as hard as you can lick. Do you understand?