Some nervous
weakness kept the muscles in a constant spasm, which sometimes produced
a mere twitching and sometimes a curious rotary movement unlike anything
which I had ever seen before. It was strikingly visible as he turned
towards us after entering the study, and seemed the more singular from
the contrast with the hard, steady grey eyes which looked out from
underneath those palpitating brows. “I am sorry,” said he, “that Lady Rossiter is not here to help me to
welcome you. By the way, Charles, did Evelyn say anything about the date
of her return?”

“She wished to stay in town for a few more days,” said Lord Linchmere. “You know how ladies’ social duties accumulate if they have been for
some time in the country. My sister has many old friends in London at
present.”

“Well, she is her own mistress, and I should not wish to alter her
plans, but I shall be glad when I see her again. It is very lonely here
without her company.”

“I was afraid that you might find it so, and that was partly why I ran
down. My young friend, Dr. Hamilton, is so much interested in the
subject which you have made your own, that I thought you would not mind
his accompanying me.”

“I lead a retired life, Dr. Hamilton, and my aversion to strangers grows
upon me,” said our host. “I have sometimes thought that my nerves are
not so good as they were. My travels in search of beetles in my younger
days took me into many malarious and unhealthy places. But a brother
coleopterist like yourself is always a welcome guest, and I shall be
delighted if you will look over my collection, which I think that I may
without exaggeration describe as the best in Europe.”

And so no doubt it was. He had a huge oaken cabinet arranged in shallow
drawers, and here, neatly ticketed and classified, were beetles from
every corner of the earth, black, brown, blue, green, and mottled. Every
now and then as he swept his hand over the lines and lines of impaled
insects he would catch up some rare specimen, and, handling it with as
much delicacy and reverence as if it were a precious relic, he would
hold forth upon its peculiarities and the circumstances under which it
came into his possession. It was evidently an unusual thing for him to
meet with a sympathetic listener, and he talked and talked until the
spring evening had deepened into night, and the gong announced that it
was time to dress for dinner. All the time Lord Linchmere said nothing,
but he stood at his brother-in-law’s elbow, and I caught him continually
shooting curious little, questioning glances into his face. And his own
features expressed some strong emotion, apprehension, sympathy,
expectation: I seemed to read them all. I was sure that Lord Linchmere
was fearing something and awaiting something, but what that something
might be I could not imagine. The evening passed quietly but pleasantly, and I should have been
entirely at my ease if it had not been for that continual sense of
tension upon the part of Lord Linchmere. As to our host, I found that he
improved upon acquaintance. He spoke constantly with affection of his
absent wife, and also of his little son, who had recently been sent to
school. The house, he said, was not the same without them. If it were
not for his scientific studies, he did not know how he could get through
the days. After dinner we smoked for some time in the billiard-room, and
finally went early to bed. And then it was that, for the first time, the suspicion that Lord
Linchmere was a lunatic crossed my mind. He followed me into my bedroom,
when our host had retired. “Doctor,” said he, speaking in a low, hurried voice, “you must come with
me. You must spend the night in my bedroom.”

“What do you mean?”

“I prefer not to explain. But this is part of your duties. My room is
close by, and you can return to your own before the servant calls you in
the morning.”

“But why?” I asked. “Because I am nervous of being alone,” said he. “That’s the reason,
since you must have a reason.”

It seemed rank lunacy, but the argument of those twenty pounds would
overcome many objections. I followed him to his room. “Well,” said I, “there’s only room for one in that bed.”

“Only one shall occupy it,” said he. “And the other?”

“Must remain, on watch.”

“Why?” said I. “One would think you expected to be attacked.”

“Perhaps I do.”

“In that case, why not lock your door?”

“Perhaps I _want_ to be attacked.”

It looked more and more like lunacy. However, there was nothing for it
but to submit. I shrugged my shoulders and sat down in the arm-chair
beside the empty fireplace. “I am to remain on watch, then?” said I, ruefully. “We will divide the night. If you will watch until two, I will watch the
remainder.”

“Very good.”

“Call me at two o’clock, then.”

“I will do so.”

“Keep your ears open, and if you hear any sounds wake me
instantly—instantly, you hear?”

“You can rely upon it.” I tried to look as solemn as he did. “And for God’s sake don’t go to sleep,” said he, and so, taking off only
his coat, he threw the coverlet over him and settled down for the night. It was a melancholy vigil, and made more so by my own sense of its
folly. Supposing that by any chance Lord Linchmere had cause to suspect
that he was subject to danger in the house of Sir Thomas Rossiter, why
on earth could he not lock his door and so protect himself? His own
answer that he might wish to be attacked was absurd. Why should he
possibly wish to be attacked? And who would wish to attack him? Clearly,
Lord Linchmere was suffering from some singular delusion, and the result
was that on an imbecile pretext I was to be deprived of my night’s rest. Still, however absurd, I was determined to carry out his injunctions to
the letter as long as I was in his employment. I sat therefore beside
the empty fireplace, and listened to a sonorous chiming clock somewhere
down the passage, which gurgled and struck every quarter of an hour. It
was an endless vigil. Save for that single clock, an absolute silence
reigned throughout the great house. A small lamp stood on the table at
my elbow, throwing a circle of light round my chair, but leaving the
corners of the room draped in shadow. On the bed Lord Linchmere was
breathing peacefully. I envied him his quiet sleep, and again and again
my own eyelids drooped, but every time my sense of duty came to my help,
and I sat up, rubbing my eyes and pinching myself with a determination
to see my irrational watch to an end. And I did so. From down the passage came the chimes of two o’clock, and
I laid my hand upon the shoulder of the sleeper. Instantly he was
sitting up, with an expression of the keenest interest upon his face. “You have heard something?”

“No, sir. It is two o’clock.”

“Very good. I will watch. You can go to sleep.” I lay down under the
coverlet as he had done, and was soon unconscious. My last recollection
was of that circle of lamplight, and of the small, hunched-up figure and
strained, anxious face of Lord Linchmere in the centre of it.