They
arrived at all hours, and were always opened by him with the utmost
eagerness and anxiety upon his face. Sometimes I imagined that it must
be the turf, and sometimes the Stock Exchange, but certainly he had some
very urgent business going forwards which was not transacted upon the
Downs of Suffolk. During the six days of my visit he had never fewer
than three or four telegrams a day, and sometimes as many as seven or
eight. I had occupied these six days so well, that by the end of them I had
succeeded in getting upon the most cordial terms with my cousin. Every
night we had sat up late in the billiard-room, he telling me the most
extraordinary stories of his adventures in America—stories so desperate
and reckless, that I could hardly associate them with the brown little,
chubby man before me. In return, I ventured upon some of my own
reminiscences of London life, which interested him so much, that he
vowed he would come up to Grosvenor Mansions and stay with me. He was
anxious to see the faster side of city life, and certainly, though I say
it, he could not have chosen a more competent guide. It was not until
the last day of my visit that I ventured to approach that which was on
my mind. I told him frankly about my pecuniary difficulties and my
impending ruin, and I asked his advice—though I hoped for something more
solid. He listened attentively, puffing hard at his cigar. “But surely,” said he, “you are the heir of our relative, Lord
Southerton?”

“I have every reason to believe so, but he would never make me any
allowance.”

“No, no, I have heard of his miserly ways. My poor Marshall, your
position has been a very hard one. By the way, have you heard any news
of Lord Southerton’s health lately?”

“He has always been in a critical condition ever since my childhood.”

“Exactly—a creaking hinge, if ever there was one. Your inheritance may
be a long way off. Dear me, how awkwardly situated you are!”

“I had some hopes, sir, that you, knowing all the facts, might be
inclined to advance——”

“Don’t say another word, my dear boy,” he cried, with the utmost
cordiality; “we shall talk it over to-night, and I give you my word that
whatever is in my power shall be done.”

I was not sorry that my visit was drawing to a close, for it is
unpleasant to feel that there is one person in the house who eagerly
desires your departure. Mrs. King’s sallow face and forbidding eyes had
become more and more hateful to me. She was no longer actively rude—her
fear of her husband prevented her—but she pushed her insane jealousy to
the extent of ignoring me, never addressing me, and in every way making
my stay at Greylands as uncomfortable as she could. So offensive was her
manner during that last day, that I should certainly have left had it
not been for that interview with my host in the evening which would, I
hoped, retrieve my broken fortunes. It was very late when it occurred, for my relative, who had been
receiving even more telegrams than usual during the day, went off to his
study after dinner, and only emerged when the household had retired to
bed. I heard him go round locking the doors, as his custom was of a
night, and finally he joined me in the billiard-room. His stout figure
was wrapped in a dressing-gown, and he wore a pair of red Turkish
slippers without any heels. Settling down into an arm-chair, he brewed
himself a glass of grog, in which I could not help noticing that the
whisky considerably predominated over the water. “My word!” said he, “what a night!”

It was, indeed. The wind was howling and screaming round the house, and
the latticed windows rattled and shook as if they were coming in. The
glow of the yellow lamps and the flavour of our cigars seemed the
brighter and more fragrant for the contrast. “Now, my boy,” said my host, “we have the house and the night to
ourselves. Let me have an idea of how your affairs stand, and I will see
what can be done to set them in order. I wish to hear every detail.”

Thus encouraged, I entered into a long exposition, in which all my
tradesmen and creditors, from my landlord to my valet, figured in turn. I had notes in my pocket-book, and I marshalled my facts, and gave, I
flatter myself, a very business-like statement of my own
un-business-like ways and lamentable position. I was depressed, however,
to notice that my companion’s eyes were vacant and his attention
elsewhere. When he did occasionally throw out a remark, it was so
entirely perfunctory and pointless, that I was sure he had not in the
least followed my remarks. Every now and then he roused himself and put
on some show of interest, asking me to repeat or to explain more fully,
but it was always to sink once more into the same brown study. At last
he rose and threw the end of his cigar into the grate. “I’ll tell you what, my boy,” said he. “I never had a head for figures,
so you will excuse me. You must jot it all down upon paper, and let me
have a note of the amount. I’ll understand it when I see it in black and
white.”

The proposal was encouraging. I promised to do so. “And now it’s time we were in bed. By Jove, there’s one o’clock striking
in the hall.”

The tinging of the chiming clock broke through the deep roar of the
gale. The wind was sweeping past with the rush of a great river. “I must see my cat before I go to bed,” said my host. “A high wind
excites him. Will you come?”

“Certainly,” said I. “Then tread softly and don’t speak, for every one is asleep.”

We passed quietly down the lamp-lit Persian-rugged hall, and through the
door at the farther end. All was dark in the stone corridor, but a
stable lantern hung on a hook, and my host took it down and lit it. There was no grating visible in the passage, so I knew that the beast
was in its cage. “Come in!” said my relative, and opened the door. A deep growling as we entered showed that the storm had really excited
the creature. In the flickering light of the lantern, we saw it, a huge
black mass, coiled in the corner of its den and throwing a squat,
uncouth shadow upon the whitewashed wall. Its tail switched angrily
among the straw. “Poor Tommy is not in the best of tempers,” said Everard King, holding
up the lantern and looking in at him. “What a black devil he looks,
doesn’t he? I must give him a little supper to put him in a better
humour. Would you mind holding the lantern for a moment?”

I took it from his hand and he stepped to the door. “His larder is just outside here,” said he. “You will excuse me for an
instant, won’t you?” He passed out, and the door shut with a sharp
metallic click behind him. That hard crisp sound made my heart stand still. A sudden wave of terror
passed over me. A vague perception of some monstrous treachery turned me
cold. I sprang to the door, but there was no handle upon the inner side. “Here!” I cried. “Let me out!”

“All right! Don’t make a row!” said my host from the passage.