Many were secret and intricate, but he
never rested till he found out all the secrets. When once he had become
interested in strange objects, and the way to use them, he began to
explore various likely places for similar finds. He began to inquire of
his household where strange lumber was kept. Several of the men spoke of
old Simon Chester as one who knew everything in and about the house. Accordingly, he sent for the old man, who came at once. He was very old,
nearly ninety years of age, and very infirm. He had been born in the
Castle, and had served its succession of masters--present or absent--ever
since. When Edgar began to question him on the subject regarding which
he had sent for him, old Simon exhibited much perturbation. In fact, he
became so frightened that his master, fully believing that he was
concealing something, ordered him to tell at once what remained unseen,
and where it was hidden away. Face to face with discovery of his secret,
the old man, in a pitiable state of concern, spoke out even more fully
than Mr. Caswall had expected. "Indeed, indeed, sir, everything is here in the tower that has ever been
put away in my time except--except--" here he began to shake and tremble
it--"except the chest which Mr. Edgar--he who was Mr. Edgar when I first
took service--brought back from France, after he had been with Dr.
Mesmer. The trunk has been kept in my room for safety; but I shall send
it down here now." "What is in it?" asked Edgar sharply. "That I do not know. Moreover, it is a peculiar trunk, without any
visible means of opening." "Is there no lock?" "I suppose so, sir; but I do not know. There is no keyhole." "Send it here; and then come to me yourself." The trunk, a heavy one with steel bands round it, but no lock or keyhole,
was carried in by two men. Shortly afterwards old Simon attended his
master. When he came into the room, Mr. Caswall himself went and closed
the door; then he asked:

"How do you open it?" "I do not know, sir." "Do you mean to say that you never opened it?" "Most certainly I say so, your honour. How could I? It was entrusted to
me with the other things by my master. To open it would have been a
breach of trust." Caswall sneered. "Quite remarkable! Leave it with me. Close the door behind you. Stay--did no one ever tell you about it--say anything regarding it--make
any remark?" Old Simon turned pale, and put his trembling hands together. "Oh, sir, I entreat you not to touch it. That trunk probably contains
secrets which Dr. Mesmer told my master. Told them to his ruin!" "How do you mean? What ruin?" "Sir, he it was who, men said, sold his soul to the Evil One; I had
thought that that time and the evil of it had all passed away." "That will do. Go away; but remain in your own room, or within call. I
may want you." The old man bowed deeply and went out trembling, but without speaking a
word. CHAPTER XII--THE CHEST OPENED


Left alone in the turret-room, Edgar Caswall carefully locked the door
and hung a handkerchief over the keyhole. Next, he inspected the
windows, and saw that they were not overlooked from any angle of the main
building. Then he carefully examined the trunk, going over it with a
magnifying glass. He found it intact: the steel bands were flawless; the
whole trunk was compact. After sitting opposite to it for some time, and
the shades of evening beginning to melt into darkness, he gave up the
task and went to his bedroom, after locking the door of the turret-room
behind him and taking away the key. He woke in the morning at daylight, and resumed his patient but
unavailing study of the metal trunk. This he continued during the whole
day with the same result--humiliating disappointment, which overwrought
his nerves and made his head ache. The result of the long strain was
seen later in the afternoon, when he sat locked within the turret-room
before the still baffling trunk, distrait, listless and yet agitated,
sunk in a settled gloom. As the dusk was falling he told the steward to
send him two men, strong ones. These he ordered to take the trunk to his
bedroom. In that room he then sat on into the night, without pausing
even to take any food. His mind was in a whirl, a fever of excitement. The result was that when, late in the night, he locked himself in his
room his brain was full of odd fancies; he was on the high road to mental
disturbance. He lay down on his bed in the dark, still brooding over the
mystery of the closed trunk. Gradually he yielded to the influences of silence and darkness. After
lying there quietly for some time, his mind became active again. But
this time there were round him no disturbing influences; his brain was
active and able to work freely and to deal with memory. A thousand
forgotten--or only half-known--incidents, fragments of conversations or
theories long ago guessed at and long forgotten, crowded on his mind. He
seemed to hear again around him the legions of whirring wings to which he
had been so lately accustomed. Even to himself he knew that that was an
effort of imagination founded on imperfect memory. But he was content
that imagination should work, for out of it might come some solution of
the mystery which surrounded him. And in this frame of mind, sleep made
another and more successful essay. This time he enjoyed peaceful
slumber, restful alike to his wearied body and his overwrought brain. In his sleep he arose, and, as if in obedience to some influence beyond
and greater than himself, lifted the great trunk and set it on a strong
table at one side of the room, from which he had previously removed a
quantity of books. To do this, he had to use an amount of strength which
was, he knew, far beyond him in his normal state. As it was, it seemed
easy enough; everything yielded before his touch. Then he became
conscious that somehow--how, he never could remember--the chest was open. He unlocked his door, and, taking the chest on his shoulder, carried it
up to the turret-room, the door of which also he unlocked. Even at the
time he was amazed at his own strength, and wondered whence it had come. His mind, lost in conjecture, was too far off to realise more immediate
things. He knew that the chest was enormously heavy. He seemed, in a
sort of vision which lit up the absolute blackness around, to see the two
sturdy servant men staggering under its great weight. He locked himself
again in the turret-room, and laid the opened chest on a table, and in
the darkness began to unpack it, laying out the contents, which were
mainly of metal and glass--great pieces in strange forms--on another
table. He was conscious of being still asleep, and of acting rather in
obedience to some unseen and unknown command than in accordance with any
reasonable plan, to be followed by results which he understood. This
phase completed, he proceeded to arrange in order the component parts of
some large instruments, formed mostly of glass.