Choosing a place where the
cordoned crowd was thinnest, I slipped back through the park railings,
over which I climbed and dropped into the park, feeling the weight
of my invisibility acutely. From this vantage point I watched the
conflagration for a while. The house was manifestly doomed. Indeed,
the efforts of the firemen were entirely directed to save adjoining
buildings. A hundred jets of water played upon the walls of these in
thin continuous streams. Men about me were talking the matter over as
if it personally appealed to them. They mostly viewed it with a sort of
half-secret satisfaction. The misfortunes of millionaires do not excite
much sympathy in the hearts of the mob. One man glibly quoted, "Lay not up unto yourselves treasures in this
world!" on the occasion of a grimy fireman bringing out a magnificent
but half-destroyed silver-framed canvas of Velasquez. But the crowd
cheered the fireman for his pluck all the same. At length I realised
that I was very tired, and hungry, too, so I slunk off and made my way
to Dixon Hubbard's rooms. They were locked, of course, and I had not
the key. I had left it with the porter of the building. But I could not
go to him and ask him to give it up to an apparently fleshless voice. Wondering what to do, I crept into the passage, sat down in a corner
underneath the stairs and waited for an inspiration. Waiting there, I
fell asleep. Chapter XXX

The Last


I awoke in the grey light of dawn, stiff with cold and aching in every
limb. Arising, I left my hiding-place and went into the vestibule. The
night porter sat on a stool in his little office toasting his toes
before the stove and reading one of the morning papers. I stepped
up to the door at once. Hearing my footsteps, he looked around. "Good-morning, Michael," I said, as well as my chattering teeth would
let me. "Do you want all that fire?" I had forgotten that I was
completely invisible. The fellow sprang to his feet with a start and
stared at me aghast. "What's the matter with you?" I demanded, testily. "'Ere--you keep off. I've done nothing to 'arm you!" he whined, and
he backed before my advance against the wall of the office, the very
picture of abject terror. His appearance recalled me to my senses. But
it was too late to cry over spilt milk. I thought it better to make a
confidant of the man if he would let me. "Don't be frightened, Michael; there is no need. I'm not a ghost, feel
my hands!" I said. But panic seized the fellow. He uttered a wild shriek and fled for
his life into the passage. I could hardly help laughing, but I saw a
chance in the contretemps to end my immediate difficulty--so I went
straight to the desk, and fortunately found it open. In Hubbard's
pigeon-hole was the key I wanted. I took it out, caught up a _Times_
and hurried up the stairs. In another moment I was safe in Hubbard's
room with the door locked against intrusion. My first care was to set
the asbestos ablaze and warm myself. Then I opened the paper and found
at once the news I sought under great cross headlines in the main
sheet. Miss Ottley's house had been completely gutted by fire. Some of
the walls still stood, but with the exception of a few pictures, the
whole of the valuable art furniture and the late Sir Robert Ottley's
splendid collection of Egyptian coins, manuscripts and curios had
been destroyed. It was supposed that Dr. Belleville had perished in
the flames, but no sign of his remains had been discovered. The fire,
as far as it was possible to ascertain, had arisen from an accident
due to the unsuccessful conduct of a chemical experiment. It was well
known in scientific circles, said the journal, that the Doctor had been
engaged in a series of experiments, the object of which had been kept
a close secret, but a city firm of manufacturing chemists had recently
supplied him with large quantities of a certain highly inflammable
liquid compound possessing radio activities which had been prepared at
enormous cost, under his directions. The manager of the firm, on being
interviewed, stated that in his opinion, this compound was principally
responsible for the tragic disaster. There was always a danger in
handling it of spontaneous combustion, it appeared, and if it once took
fire, by no means could it be extinguished except by the shutting off
of all supplies of oxygen. Failing this, it would burn to the last with
the most explosive energy. According to Miss Ottley's statement, when
first interrogated by an officer from Scotland Yard, she had been in
the laboratory with Dr. Belleville at the time of the catastrophe. She
had lately been very ill and it seems she had fainted. It was extremely
probable that the Doctor, in his anxiety to revive her, had neglected
his usual caution and had done some careless thing which had led to
his destruction. Probably he had been killed outright by the first
explosion. It was, however, a matter of general relief that Miss Ottley
had managed to escape, and that there had been no further sacrifice of
life. Everyone would sympathise with the unfortunate young lady in her
sad position. Only a few weeks ago the gallant young officer to whom
she had been engaged to be married, had come to an untimely end in a
railway accident on the very eve of his wedding day. Then, a little
later, the dark angel had deprived her of a loving and beloved father,
the great millionaire archæologist, whose recent operations on 'Change
had startled the world, and made of him the richest man in the United
Kingdom. And now, she had lost by death the kind and learned guardian
to whom her late father had entrusted her future and the management
of her enormous fortune. Nobody would be surprised to learn that
this great accumulation of calamities had reduced the fate-stricken
young lady to a state of utter physical prostration. She had been
taken yesterday evening, after her rescue from the burning mansion,
to the Albert Hospital, but she had subsequently been removed to the
Walsingham Hotel, where the management had placed a suite of rooms
at her disposal. She was there being treated under the care of Drs. Fiaschi and Mason, the well-known heart and nerve specialists. These
gentlemen express themselves hopeful of her ultimate recovery, but they
do not conceal the fact that she is at present in a very low condition,
and it is significant that the road in front of the hotel was, in the
small hours of the morning, thickly overspread with tan. This last paragraph, as may easily be conceived, filled me with
anxiety. I resolved to go at once to the Walsingham Hotel and find out
exactly how she was for myself. But, fortunately, in moving towards the
door to put my purpose into execution, I had to pass the mirror-backed
door of a clothes press. I did not pass it then. I stopped, spellbound. I was no longer invisible. That is to say, my face and hands were
not--although my body was.