But a hornet sitting directly in his path was a very different
matter. He realised in a flash that he was poorly clothed--in a word,
that he was practically half naked. From a distance he examined this intrusion of the devil. It was calm
and very still. It was wonderfully made, both before and behind. Its
wings were folded upon its terrible body. Long, sinuous things, pointed
like temptation, barbed as well, stuck out of it. There was poison, and
yet grace, in its exquisite presentment. Its shiny black was beautiful,
and the yellow stripes upon its sleek, curved abdomen were like the
gleaming ornaments upon some feminine body of the seductive world he
preached against. Almost, he saw an abandoned dancer on the stage. And then, swiftly in his impressionable soul, the simile changed,
and he saw instead more blunt and aggressive forms of destruction. The well-filled body, tapering to a horrid point, reminded him of
those perfect engines of death that reduce hundreds to annihilation
unawares--torpedoes, shells, projectiles, crammed with secret,
desolating powers. Its wings, its awful, quiet head, its delicate,
slim waist, its stripes of brilliant saffron--all these seemed the
concentrated prototype of abominations made cleverly by the brain of
man, and beautifully painted to disguise their invisible freight of
cruel death. "Bah!" he exclaimed, ashamed of his prolific imagination. "It's only a
hornet after all--an insect!" And he contrived a hurried, careful plan. He aimed a towel at it, rolled up into a ball--but did not throw it. He
might miss. He remembered that his ankles were unprotected. Instead, he
paused again, examining the black and yellow object in safe retirement
near the door, as one day he hoped to watch the world in leisurely
retirement in the country. It did not move. It was fixed and terrible. It made no sound. Its wings were folded. Not even the black antennae,
blunt at the tips like clubs, showed the least stir or tremble. It
breathed, however. He watched the rise and fall of the evil body; it
breathed air in and out as he himself did. The creature, he realised,
had lungs and heart and organs. It had a brain! Its mind was active all
this time. It knew it was being watched. It merely waited. Any second,
with a whiz of fury, and with perfect accuracy of aim, it might dart at
him and strike. If he threw the towel and missed--it certainly would. There were other occupants of the corridor, however, and a sound of
steps approaching gave him the decision to act. He would lose his bath
if he hesitated much longer. He felt ashamed of his timidity, though
"pusillanimity" was the word thought selected owing to the pulpit
vocabulary it was his habit to prefer. He went with extreme caution
towards the bathroom door, passing the point of danger so close that
his skin turned hot and cold. With one foot gingerly extended, he
recovered his sponge. The hornet did not move a muscle. But--it had
seen him pass. It merely waited. All dangerous insects had that trick. It knew quite well he was inside; it knew quite well he must come out a
few minutes later; it also knew quite well that he was--naked. Once inside the little room, he closed the door with exceeding
gentleness, lest the vibration might stir the fearful insect to attack. The bath was already filled, and he plunged to his neck with a feeling
of comparative security. A window into the outside passage he also
closed, so that nothing could possibly come in. And steam soon charged
the air and left its blurred deposit on the glass. For ten minutes
he could enjoy himself and pretend that he was safe. For ten minutes
he did so. He behaved carelessly, as though nothing mattered, and as
though all the courage in the world were his. He splashed and soaped
and sponged, making a lot of reckless noise. He got out and dried
himself. Slowly the steam subsided, the air grew clearer, he put on
dressing-gown and slippers. It was time to go out. Unable to devise any further reason for delay, he opened the door
softly half an inch--peeped out--and instantly closed it again with a
resounding bang. He had heard a drone of wings. The insect had left
its perch and now buzzed upon the floor directly in his path. The air
seemed full of stings; he felt stabs all over him; his unprotected
portions winced with the expectancy of pain. The beast knew he was
coming out, and was waiting for him. In that brief instant he had felt
its sting all over him, on his unprotected ankles, on his back, his
neck, his cheeks, in his eyes, and on the bald clearing that adorned
his Anglican head. Through the closed door he heard the ominous, dull
murmur of his striped adversary as it beat its angry wings. Its oiled
and wicked sting shot in and out with fury. Its deft legs worked. He
saw its tiny waist already writhing with the lust of battle. Ugh! That
tiny waist! A moment's steady nerve and he could have severed that
cunning body from the directing brain with one swift, well-directed
thrust. But his nerve had utterly deserted him. Human motives, even in the professedly holy, are an involved affair
at any time. Just now, in the Rev. James Milligan, they were quite
inextricably mixed. He claims this explanation, at any rate, in excuse
of his abominable subsequent behaviour. For, exactly at this moment,
when he had decided to admit cowardice by ringing for the Arab servant,
a step was audible in the corridor outside, and courage came with it
into his disreputable heart. It was the step of the man he cordially
"disapproved of," using the pulpit version of "hated and despised." He
had overstayed his time, and the bath was in demand by Mr. Mullins. Mr.
Mullins invariably followed him at seven-thirty; it was now a quarter
to eight. And Mr. Mullins was a wretched drinking man--"a sot." In a flash the plan was conceived and put into execution. The
temptation, of course, was of the devil. Mr. Milligan hid the motive
from himself, pretending he hardly recognised it. The plan was what men
call a dirty trick; it was also irresistibly seductive. He opened the
door, stepped boldly, nose in the air, right over the hideous insect
on the floor, and fairly pranced into the outer passage. The brief
transit brought a hundred horrible sensations--that the hornet would
rise and sting his leg, that it would cling to his dressing-gown and
stab his spine, that he would step upon it and die, like Achilles, of
a heel exposed. But with these, and conquering them, was one other
stronger emotion that robbed the lesser terrors of their potency--that
Mr. Mullins would run precisely the same risks five seconds later,
unprepared. He heard the gloating insect buzz and scratch the
oil-cloth. But it was behind him. _He_ was safe! "Good morning to you, Mr. Mullins," he observed with a gracious smile. "I trust I have not kept you waiting." "Mornin'!" grunted Mullins sourly in reply, as he passed him with a
distinctly hostile and contemptuous air.