And I'm not sure I'd bring him back now--were I able." "And Miss Ottley?" "A pretty scene!" He shrugged his shoulders, then grimaced and
whistled. "I'm her father's murderer, it seems!" He stretched out
his arms and yawned. "But she's not responsible, poor thing--grief
demented. The two consulting physicians heartily sympathised with
me. They knew how I had worked, you see, and Sir Philip Lang himself
suggested morphia. They've signed a paper giving me control of
her--under their directions I'm trustee of the estate under the will
besides. Lang thinks she may recover--ultimately, but it is evident
that she must be confined. She raved of mummies, and spirits, and dead
men come to life from the sleep of ages, and so forth. It impressed
Lang, vastly. He tapped his sage old head and muttered 'Too much
learning.' He has a fad that woman's brains are nurtured best on pap,
and I had the tact to humour him. Oh! I'm a devilish clever fellow,
Pinsent. What do you think?" "There is little doubt of it," I said politely, very politely, indeed,
for I wished to get as much information from him as I could and also
something to eat and drink. "With your brains you might do anything. I suspect I have hitherto misjudged you. Still, I wonder that you are
not an archbishop. It seems to me the Church would give you the proper
cloak you need to exercise your talents in." "Gad!" he cried. "There's point in that remark. But between ourselves,
Pinsent, I aim at higher game than spiritual power." "Temporal," I suggested. "The highest," he answered, sitting up. "And what's to prevent me?" he
asked defiantly. "No man's life is safe from me." I was puzzled. "You'd not make yourself eligible for kingship by
killing kings," I said. "Kingship be damned," he sneered. "My father was an earl's bastard, but
as for me, I'm a pure democrat. No, no, I'm going to abolish royalty. It has served its turn." "But where do you come in?" "The pleasure of the game is mine, the knowledge and the ecstasy of
power unlimited to make and break." "Oh! oh! my tiger, having tasted blood already, once at least, the
thirst grows on you." "Once at least--bah!" he jeered, grinning like a fiend. "Pardon my ignorance," I entreated. "Who was your latest victim." "Navarro," he answered, grinning still. "The scamp is a true
clairvoyant and had to be shut up. He leaped from London Bridge the
night you came here and stepped like a poor rabbit into the trap I laid
for you." "Well," said I, in tones husky with throat dryness and apparent
admiration, "that makes two--Weldon and Navarro?" "There is a third still," he answered, fairly snapping at the bait. "My
old grandfather, the Earl of Havelock." "And why did you murder him?" "For his snobbish refusal to receive me as his kin ten years ago." "Might one ask how?" "It's a story to entertain," he answered, licking his lips. "He was
over eighty, but he'd kept all his faculties, else ther'd been no joy
in killing him. A week since, I went to him invisible, entering the
house with my blood cousin, now the Earl, soon after midnight returning
from a carousal. He did not see me, of course, and I took care not to
let him hear. But little care was needed, the degenerate was filthy
drunk. It was easy to find the old earl's room, the young man got
so sober passing it. The door was unlocked, too, so I had no trouble
first and last. I went over to the old chap's bed and looked at him
and laughed to see. He slept with his mouth wide and his toothless
gums were hideously funny. His teeth were in a glass of H2O beside the
bed. I pulled his nose to waken him, having first turned on the lights
full. Then I played the ghost of my dead father. 'Your hour is come,'
says I. 'I'm the spirit of your bastard son come to warn you.' He shook
all over, palsied with fear. 'No--no--no,' he gasped, 'I'm not fit to
die.' 'You're not fit to live,' I whispered, stern as fate. 'How have
you treated the son of your bastard son? Have you been kind to him and
helped him in the world.' 'Mercy, mercy!' he whined. 'I know I have
been remiss, but give one more chance--another year--a week--a day--and
I'll do my duty. I'll bar the entail, I'll give him all.' "'Wretch!' I hissed--and sat me on his chest. It was heaven sweet to
hear his stifled moans. He did not struggle at all. And my only regret
was it was so soon over. He broke a vessel and smothered in his own
blood. The papers announced next day that he had died of the syncope of
senility peacefully while sleeping. Ha, ha, ha!" I echoed the heartless villain's laugh, croaking out guffaws. The sound
irritated him. "Stop that raucous row!" he ordered. "Then stop telling me funny stories, or else give me something to
drink!" I snapped. He sprang afoot at once. "Lord!" he cried, "I'm not proposing to starve
you to death. Why the deuce did you not remind me? You've been--let's
see--sixty hours without food." "Sixty!" I gasped. "Impossible." "It's a fact," he said, and stalked out of the room. But he returned
within a few minutes carrying a tray set with cold meats and wine
which he set on a little table and wheeled before me. Then he freed my
right hand and stood over me with a revolver while I ate. But I could
not eat at once, for the good reason that my arm was paralyzed, and
minutes passed before I could make use of it. Even then it pained like
a raw scald. But I suppressed a reference to its condition and at the
earliest instant cleared the board in the fashion of a famished wolf. Afterwards he bound me up again, standing behind me to do it, out
of respect for my strength, no doubt. Then he put up his pistol and
resumed his chair. "Upon my soul, I enjoy a chat with you," he assured me. "You see,
I have no one else to confide in"--here he grinned--"and there's a
peculiar pleasure in unbosoming to a helpless enemy." "The pleasure is mutual," I protested courteously. "No other man has
given me such mental pabulum." He closed one eye in a very vulgar manner, "Confess you expire with
curiosity to hear more of my beautiful fiancée--the woman you love!" "The more readily," I responded, "because I know you'll be delighted to
taunt me with the satisfaction of that same curiosity." "Ah!" said he. "You are a foeman worthy of my steel. My heart warms
with hate for you; respectful hate." He took out a silver pocket flask
of spirit and filled the cup. At this he began to sip, eyeing me the while with secret delight at my
carefully repressed impatience. But he was too anxious to torture me
directly to keep me waiting long. "She's in a drugged sleep this moment," he announced. "I'll keep her
like that till after the funeral." "That's unlike you," I remarked. "It's almost kind." "Pish!" said he, "I can't afford to let her out of my control even for
a moment." "So?" "So." "But you will have to let her see her relatives, eh?" "Fortunately she hasn't one blood relation in England. Her mother was
an Australian, a Victorian farmer's daughter, and Ottley took good care
not to marry the family.