CHAPTER
III.
A SECOND INTERVIEW WITH THE MYSTERIOUS VISITOR.
It is not pleasant to have one's mental responsibility brought in question, and
the result of my interview with Professor Chickering was, to put it mildly,
unsatisfactory. Not that he had exactly questioned my sanity, but it was all too
evident that he was disposed to accept my statement of a plain matter-of-fact
occurrence with a too liberal modicum of salt. I say " matter-of-fact
occurrence " in full knowledge of the truth that I myself had at first
regarded the whole transaction as a fantasia or flight of mind, the result of
extreme nervous tension; but in the interval succeeding I had abundant
opportunity to correlate my thoughts, and to bring some sort of order out of the
mental and physical chaos of that strange, eventful night. True, the preliminary
events leading up to it were extraordinary; the dismal weather, the depression
of body and spirit under which I labored, the wild whirl of thought keeping pace
with the elements-in short, a general concatenation of events that seemed to be
ordered especially for the introduction of some abnormal visitor-the night would
indeed have been incomplete without a ghost! But was it a ghost? There was
nothing ghostly about my visitor, except the manner of his entrance and exit. In
other respects, he seemed substantial enough. He was, in his manners, courteous
and polished as a Chesterfield; learned as a savant in his conversation; human
in his thoughtful regard of my fears and misgivings; but that tremendous
forehead, with its crown of silver hair, the long, translucent beard of pearly
whiteness, and above all the astounding facility with which he read my hidden
thoughts- these were not natural.
The Professor had been patient with me- I had a right to expect that; he was
entertaining to the extent of reading such excerpts as he had with him on the
subject of hallucinations and their supposed causes, but had he not spoiled all
by assigning me at last to a place with the questionable, unbalanced characters
he had cited? I thought so, and the reflection provoked me; and this thought
grew upon me until I came to regard his stories and attendant theories as so
much literary trash.
My own reflections had been sober and deliberate, and had led me to seek a
rational explanation of the unusual phenomena. I had gone to Professor
Chickering for a certain measure of sympathy, and what was more to the point, to
secure his suggestions and assistance in the further unraveling of a profound
mystery that might contain a secret of untold use to humanity. Repulsed by the
mode in which my confidence had been received, I decided to do what I should
have done from the outset- to keep my own counsel, and to follow alone the
investigation to the end, no matter what the result might be. I could not forget
or ignore the silver hair I had so religiously preserved. That was genuine; it
was as tangible, as real, as convincing a witness as would have been the entire
head of my singular visitant, whatever might be his nature.
I began to feel at ease the moment my course was decided, and the feeling was at
once renewed within me that the gray head would come again, and by degrees that
expectation ripened into a desire, only intensified as the days sped by. The
weeks passed into months; summer came and went; autumn was fast fading, but the
mysterious unknown did not appear. A curious fancy led me now to regard him as
my friend, for the mixed and indefinite feelings I felt at first towards him had
almost unaccountably been changed to those of sincere regard. He was not always
in my thoughts, for I had abundant occupation at all times to keep both brain
and hands busy, but there were few evenings in which I did not, just before
retiring, give myself up for a brief period to quiet communion with my own
thoughts, and I must confess at such times the unknown occupied the larger share
of attention. The constant contemplation of any theme begets a feeling of
familiarity or acquaintance with the same, and if that subject be an individual,
as in the present instance, such contemplation lessens the liability to surprise
from any unexpected development. In fact, I not only anticipated a visit, but
courted it. The old Latin maxim that I had played with, " Never less alone
than when alone " had domiciled itself within my brain as a permanent
lodger- a conviction, a feeling rather than a thought defined, and I had but
little difficulty in associating an easy-chair which I had come to place in a
certain position for my expected visitor, with his presence.
Indian summer had passed, and the fall was nearly gone when for some
inexplicable reason the number seven began to haunt me. What had I to do with
seven, or seven with me? When I sat down at night this persistent number mixed
itself in my thoughts, to my intense annoyance. Bother take the mystic numeral!
What was I to do with seven? I found myself asking this question audibly one
evening, when it suddenly occurred to me that I would refer to the date of my
friend's visit. I kept no journal, but reference to a record of some business
transactions that I had associated with that event showed that it took place on
November seventh. That settled the importunate seven! I should look for whomever
he was on the first anniversary of his visit, which was the seventh, now close
at hand. The instant I had reached this conclusion the number left me, and
troubled me no more.
November third had passed, the fourth, and the fifth had come, when a stubborn,
protesting notion entered my mind that I was yielding to a superstitious idea,
and that it was time to control my vacillating will. Accordingly on this day I
sent word to a friend that, if agreeable to him, I would call on him on the
evening of the seventh for a short social chat, but as I expected to be engaged
until later than usual, would he excuse me if I did not reach his apartments
until ten? The request was singular, but as I was now accounted somewhat odd, it
excited no comment, and the answer was returned, requesting me to come. The
seventh of November came at last. I was nervous during the day, which seemed to
drag tediously, and several times it was remarked of me that I seemed abstracted
and ill at ease, but I held my peace. Night came cold and clear, and the stars
shone brighter than usual, I thought. It was a sharp contrast to the night of a
year ago. I took an early supper, for which I had no appetite, after which I
strolled aimlessly about the streets, revolving how I should put in the time
till ten o'clock, when I was to call upon my friend. I decided to go to the
theater, and to the theater I went. The play was spectacular, " Aladdin;
or, The Wonderful Lamp." The entertainment, to me, was a flat failure, for
I was busy with my thoughts, and it was not long until my thoughts were busy
with me, and I found myself attempting to answer a series of questions that
finally became embarrassing. " Why did you make an appointment for ten
o'clock instead of eight, if you wished to keep away from your apartments?"
I hadn't thought of that before; it was stupid to a degree, if not ill-mannered,
and I frankly admitted as much. " Why did you make an appointment at all,
in the face of the fact that you not only expected a visitor, but were anxious
to meet him?" This was easily answered: because I did not wish to yield to
what struck me as superstition. " But do you expect to extend your call
until morning ?" Well, no, I hadn't thought or arranged to do so. "
Well, then, what is to prevent your expected guest from awaiting your return?
Or, what assurance have you that he will not encounter you in the street, under
circumstances that will provoke or, at the least, embarrass you?" None
whatever." Then what have you gained by your stupid perversity?"
Nothing, beyond the assertion of my own individuality. " Why not go home
and receive your guest in becoming style?" No; I would not do that. I had
started on this course, and I would persevere in it. I would be consistent. And
so I persisted, at least until nine o'clock, when I quit the theater in sullen
dejection, and went home to make some slight preparation for my evening call.
With my latch-key I let myself into the front door of the apartment house
wherein I lodged, walked through the hall, up the staircase, and paused on the
threshold of my room, wondering what I would find inside. Opening the door I
entered, leaving it open behind me so that the light from the hallway would
shine into the room, which was dark, and there was no transom above the door.
The grate fire had caked into a solid mass of charred bituminous coal, which
shed no illumination beyond a faint red glow at the bottom, showing that it was
barely alive, and no more. I struck a match on the underside of the mantel
shelf, and as I lit the gas I heard the click of the door latch. I turned
instantly; the door had been gently closed by some unknown force if not by
unseen hands, for there was no breath of air stirring. This preternatural
interference was not pleasant, for I had hoped in the event of another visit
from my friend, if friend he was, that he would bring no uncanny or ghostly
manifestation to disturb me. I looked at the clock; the index pointed to half
past nine. I glanced about the room; it was orderly, everything in proper
position, even to the arm-chair that I had been wont to place for my nondescript
visitor. It was time to be going, so I turned to the dressing case, brushed my
hair, put on a clean scarf, and moved towards the wash-stand, which stood in a
little alcove on the opposite side of the room. My self-command well-nigh
deserted me as I did so, for there, in the arm-chair that a moment before was
empty, sat my guest of a year ago, facing me with placid features! The room
began to revolve, a faint, sick feeling came over me, and I reeled into the
first convenient chair, and covered my face with my hands. This depression
lasted but an instant, however, and as I recovered self-possession, I felt or
fancied I felt a pair of penetrating eyes fixed upon me with the same mild,
searching gaze I remembered so well. I ventured to look up; sure enough, there
they were, the beaming eyes, and there was he! Rising from his chair, he towered
up to his full height, smiled pleasantly, and with a slight inclination of the
head, murmured: " Permit me to wish you good evening; I am profoundly glad
to meet you again."
It was full a minute before I could muster courage to answer " I wish I
could say as much for myself."
" And why shouldn't you?" he said, gently and courteously; " you
have realized, for the past six months, that I would return; more than that- you
have known for some time the very day and almost the exact hour of my coming,
have even wished for it, and, in the face of all this, I find you preparing to
evade the requirements of common hospitality; are you doing either me or
yourself justice?"
I was nettled at the knowledge he displayed of my movements, and of my very
thoughts; my old stubbornness asserted itself, and I was rude enough to say:
" Perhaps it is as you say; at all events, I am obligated to keep an
engagement, and with your permission will now retire."
It was curious to mark the effect of this speech upon the intruder. He
immediately became grave, reached quietly into an inner pocket of his coat, drew
thence the same glittering, horrible, mysterious knife that had so terrified and
bewildered me a year before, and looking me steadily in the eye, said coldly,
yet with a certain tone of sadness: " Well, I will not grant permission. It
is unpleasant to resort to this style of argument, but I do it to save time and
controversy."
I stepped back in terror, and reached for the old-fashioned bell-cord, with the
heavy tassel at the end, that depended from the ceiling, and was on the point of
grasping and giving it a vigorous pull.
" Not so fast, if you please," he said, sternly, as he stepped
forward, and gave the knife a rapid swish through the air above my head, causing
the cord to fall in a tangle about my hand, cut cleanly, high above my reach!
I gazed in dumb stupor at the rope about my hand, and raised my eyes to the
remnant above. That was motionless; there was not the slightest perceptible
vibration, such as would naturally be expected. I turned to look at my guest; he
had resumed his seat, and had also regained his pleasant expression, but he
still held the knife in his hand with his arm extended, at rest, upon the table,
which stood upon his right.
" Let us have an end to this folly," he said; " think a moment,
and you will see that you are in fault. Your error we will rectify easily, and
then to business. I will first show you the futility of trying to escape this
interview, and then we will proceed to work, for time presses, and there is much
to do." Having delivered this remark, he detached a single silvery hair
from his head, blew it from his fingers, and let it float gently upon the
upturned edge of the knife, which was still resting on the table. The hair was
divided as readily as had been the bell-cord. I was transfixed with
astonishment, for he had evidently aimed to exhibit the quality of the blade,
though he made no allusion to the feat, but smilingly went on with his
discourse: " It is just a year ago to-night since we first met. Upon that
occasion you made an agreement with me which you are in honor bound to keep, and
" - here he paused as if to note the effect of his words upon me, then
added significantly-" will keep. I have been at some pains to impress upon
your mind the fact that I would be here tonight. You responded, and knew that I
was coming, and yet in obedience to a silly whim, deliberately made a
meaningless engagement with no other purpose than to violate a solemn
obligation. I now insist that you keep your prior engagement with me, but I do
not wish that you should be rude to your friend, so you had better write him a
polite note excusing yourself, and dispatch it at once."
I saw that he was right, and that there was no shadow of justification for my
conduct, or at least I was subdued by his presence, so I wrote the note without
delay, and was casting about for some way to send it, when he said: " Fold
it, seal it, and address it; you seem to forget what is proper." I did as
he directed, mechanically, and, without thinking what I was doing, handed it to
him. He took it naturally, glanced at the superscription, went to the door which
he opened slightly, and handed the billet as if to some messenger who seemed to
be in waiting outside,- then closed and locked the door. Turning toward me with
the apparent object of seeing if I was looking, he deftly drew his knife twice
across the front of the door knob, making a deep cross, and then deposited the
knife in his pocket, and resumed his seat.
As soon as he was comfortably seated, he again began the conversation: "
Now that we have settled the preliminaries, I will ask if you remember what I
required of you a year ago?" I thought that I did. " Please repeat it;
I wish to make sure that you do, then we will start fair."
" In the first place, you were to present me with a manuscript ".
" Hardly correct," he interrupted; " I was to acquaint you with a
narrative which is already in manuscript, acquaint you with it, read it to you,
if you preferred not to read it to me "-
" I beg your pardon," I answered ; " that is correct. You were to
read the manuscript to me, and during the reading I was to interpose such
comments, remarks, or objections, as seemed proper; to embody as interludes, in
the manuscript, as my own interpolations, however, and not as part of the
original."
I noted afterward that the door-knob, which was of solid metal, was cut deeply,
as though made of putty.
" Very good," he replied, " you have the idea exactly;
proceed."
" I agreed that when the reading had been completed, I would seal the
complete manuscript securely, deposit it in some safe place, there to remain for
thirty years, when it must be published."
" Just so," he answered; " we understand each other as we should.
Before we proceed further, however, can you think of any point on which you need
enlightenment? If so, ask such questions as you choose, and I will answer
them."
I thought for a moment, but no query occurred to me; after a pause he said:
" Well, if you think of nothing now, perhaps hereafter questions will occur
to you which you can ask; but as it is late, and you are tired, we will not
commence now. I will see you just one week from to-night, when we will begin.
From that time on, we will follow the subject as rapidly as you choose, but see
to it that you make no engagements that will interfere with our work, for I
shall be more exacting in the future." I promised, and he rose to go. A
sudden impulse seized me, and I said: " May I ask one question?"
" Certainly."
" What shall I call you ?"
" Why call me aught? It is not necessary in addressing each other that any
name be used."
" But what are you?" I persisted.
A pained expression for an instant rested upon his face, and he said, sadly,
pausing between the words: " I-Am-The-Man Who-Did-It."
" Did what?"
" Ask not; the manuscript will tell you. Be content, Llewellyn, and
remember this, that I-Am-The-Man."
So saying he bade me good night, opened the door, and disappeared down the broad
staircase.
One week thereafter he appeared promptly, seated himself, and producing a roll
of manuscript, handed it to me, saying, " I am listening; you may begin to
read."
On examination I found each page to be somewhat larger than a sheet of letter
paper, with the written matter occupying a touch smaller space, so as to leave a
wide white border. One hundred pages were in the package. The last sentence
ending abruptly indicated that my guest did not expect to complete his task in
one evening, and, I may anticipate by saying that with each successive interview
he drew about the same amount of writing from his bosom. Upon attempting to read
the manuscript I at first found myself puzzled by a style of chirography very
peculiar and characteristic, but execrably bad. Vainly did I attempt to read it;
even the opening sentence was not deciphered without long inspection and great
difficulty.
The old man, whom I had promised that I would fulfill the task, observing my
discomfiture, relieved me of the charge, and without a word of introduction,
read fluently as follows: