Tales of Terror and Mystery
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Arthur Conan Doyle >> Tales of Terror and Mystery
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I have said that the cage had a top as well as a front, and
this top was left standing when the front was wound through the
slot in the wall. It consisted of bars at a few inches' interval,
with stout wire netting between, and it rested upon a strong
stanchion at each end. It stood now as a great barred canopy over
the crouching figure in the corner. The space between this iron
shelf and the roof may have been from two or three feet. If I
could only get up there, squeezed in between bars and ceiling, I
should have only one vulnerable side. I should be safe from below,
from behind, and from each side. Only on the open face of it could
I be attacked. There, it is true, I had no protection whatever;
but at least, I should be out of the brute's path when he began to
pace about his den. He would have to come out of his way to reach
me. It was now or never, for if once the light were out it would
be impossible. With a gulp in my throat I sprang up, seized the
iron edge of the top, and swung myself panting on to it. I writhed
in face downwards, and found myself looking straight into the
terrible eyes and yawning jaws of the cat. Its fetid breath came
up into my face like the steam from some foul pot.
It appeared, however, to be rather curious than angry. With a
sleek ripple of its long, black back it rose, stretched itself, and
then rearing itself on its hind legs, with one forepaw against the
wall, it raised the other, and drew its claws across the wire
meshes beneath me. One sharp, white hook tore through my
trousers--for I may mention that I was still in evening dress--and
dug a furrow in my knee. It was not meant as an attack, but rather
as an experiment, for upon my giving a sharp cry of pain he dropped
down again, and springing lightly into the room, he began walking
swiftly round it, looking up every now and again in my direction.
For my part I shuffled backwards until I lay with my back against
the wall, screwing myself into the smallest space possible. The
farther I got the more difficult it was for him to attack me.
He seemed more excited now that he had begun to move about, and
he ran swiftly and noiselessly round and round the den,
passing continually underneath the iron couch upon which I lay. It
was wonderful to see so great a bulk passing like a shadow, with
hardly the softest thudding of velvety pads. The candle was
burning low--so low that I could hardly see the creature. And
then, with a last flare and splutter it went out altogether. I was
alone with the cat in the dark!
It helps one to face a danger when one knows that one has done
all that possibly can be done. There is nothing for it then but to
quietly await the result. In this case, there was no chance of
safety anywhere except the precise spot where I was. I stretched
myself out, therefore, and lay silently, almost breathlessly,
hoping that the beast might forget my presence if I did nothing to
remind him. I reckoned that it must already be two o'clock. At
four it would be full dawn. I had not more than two hours to wait
for daylight.
Outside, the storm was still raging, and the rain lashed
continually against the little windows. Inside, the poisonous and
fetid air was overpowering. I could neither hear nor see the cat.
I tried to think about other things--but only one had power enough
to draw my mind from my terrible position. That was the
contemplation of my cousin's villainy, his unparalleled hypocrisy,
his malignant hatred of me. Beneath that cheerful face there
lurked the spirit of a mediaeval assassin. And as I thought of it
I saw more clearly how cunningly the thing had been arranged. He
had apparently gone to bed with the others. No doubt he had his
witness to prove it. Then, unknown to them, he had slipped down,
had lured me into his den and abandoned me. His story would be so
simple. He had left me to finish my cigar in the billiard-room.
I had gone down on my own account to have a last look at the cat.
I had entered the room without observing that the cage was opened,
and I had been caught. How could such a crime be brought home to
him? Suspicion, perhaps--but proof, never!
How slowly those dreadful two hours went by! Once I heard a
low, rasping sound, which I took to be the creature licking its own
fur. Several times those greenish eyes gleamed at me through the
darkness, but never in a fixed stare, and my hopes grew stronger
that my presence had been forgotten or ignored. At last the least
faint glimmer of light came through the windows--I first dimly
saw them as two grey squares upon the black wall, then grey turned
to white, and I could see my terrible companion once more. And he,
alas, could see me!
It was evident to me at once that he was in a much more
dangerous and aggressive mood than when I had seen him last. The
cold of the morning had irritated him, and he was hungry as well.
With a continual growl he paced swiftly up and down the side of the
room which was farthest from my refuge, his whiskers bristling
angrily, and his tail switching and lashing. As he turned at the
corners his savage eyes always looked upwards at me with a dreadful
menace. I knew then that he meant to kill me. Yet I found myself
even at that moment admiring the sinuous grace of the devilish
thing, its long, undulating, rippling movements, the gloss of its
beautiful flanks, the vivid, palpitating scarlet of the glistening
tongue which hung from the jet-black muzzle. And all the time that
deep, threatening growl was rising and rising in an unbroken
crescendo. I knew that the crisis was at hand.
It was a miserable hour to meet such a death--so cold, so
comfortless, shivering in my light dress clothes upon this gridiron
of torment upon which I was stretched. I tried to brace myself
to it, to raise my soul above it, and at the same time, with the
lucidity which comes to a perfectly desperate man, I cast round for
some possible means of escape. One thing was clear to me. If that
front of the cage was only back in its position once more, I could
find a sure refuge behind it. Could I possibly pull it back? I
hardly dared to move for fear of bringing the creature upon me.
Slowly, very slowly, I put my hand forward until it grasped the
edge of the front, the final bar which protruded through the wall.
To my surprise it came quite easily to my jerk. Of course the
difficulty of drawing it out arose from the fact that I was
clinging to it. I pulled again, and three inches of it came
through. It ran apparently on wheels. I pulled again . . . and
then the cat sprang!
It was so quick, so sudden, that I never saw it happen. I
simply heard the savage snarl, and in an instant afterwards the
blazing yellow eyes, the flattened black head with its red tongue
and flashing teeth, were within reach of me. The impact of the
creature shook the bars upon which I lay, until I thought (as far
as I could think of anything at such a moment) that they were
coming down. The cat swayed there for an instant, the head
and front paws quite close to me, the hind paws clawing to find a
grip upon the edge of the grating. I heard the claws rasping as
they clung to the wire-netting, and the breath of the beast made me
sick. But its bound had been miscalculated. It could not retain
its position. Slowly, grinning with rage, and scratching madly at
the bars, it swung backwards and dropped heavily upon the floor.
With a growl it instantly faced round to me and crouched for
another spring.
I knew that the next few moments would decide my fate. The
creature had learned by experience. It would not miscalculate
again. I must act promptly, fearlessly, if I were to have a chance
for life. In an instant I had formed my plan. Pulling off my
dress-coat, I threw it down over the head of the beast. At the
same moment I dropped over the edge, seized the end of the front
grating, and pulled it frantically out of the wall.
It came more easily than I could have expected. I rushed
across the room, bearing it with me; but, as I rushed, the accident
of my position put me upon the outer side. Had it been the other
way, I might have come off scathless. As it was, there was a
moment's pause as I stopped it and tried to pass in through the
opening which I had left. That moment was enough to give time to
the creature to toss off the coat with which I had blinded him and
to spring upon me. I hurled myself through the gap and pulled the
rails to behind me, but he seized my leg before I could entirely
withdraw it. One stroke of that huge paw tore off my calf as a
shaving of wood curls off before a plane. The next moment,
bleeding and fainting, I was lying among the foul straw with a line
of friendly bars between me and the creature which ramped so
frantically against them.
Too wounded to move, and too faint to be conscious of fear, I
could only lie, more dead than alive, and watch it. It pressed its
broad, black chest against the bars and angled for me with its
crooked paws as I have seen a kitten do before a mouse-trap. It
ripped my clothes, but, stretch as it would, it could not quite
reach me. I have heard of the curious numbing effect produced by
wounds from the great carnivora, and now I was destined to
experience it, for I had lost all sense of personality, and was as
interested in the cat's failure or success as if it were some
game which I was watching. And then gradually my mind drifted away
into strange vague dreams, always with that black face and red
tongue coming back into them, and so I lost myself in the nirvana
of delirium, the blessed relief of those who are too sorely tried.
Tracing the course of events afterwards, I conclude that I must
have been insensible for about two hours. What roused me to
consciousness once more was that sharp metallic click which had
been the precursor of my terrible experience. It was the shooting
back of the spring lock. Then, before my senses were clear enough
to entirely apprehend what they saw, I was aware of the round,
benevolent face of my cousin peering in through the open door.
What he saw evidently amazed him. There was the cat crouching on
the floor. I was stretched upon my back in my shirt-sleeves within
the cage, my trousers torn to ribbons and a great pool of blood all
round me. I can see his amazed face now, with the morning sunlight
upon it. He peered at me, and peered again. Then he closed the
door behind him, and advanced to the cage to see if I were really
dead.
I cannot undertake to say what happened. I was not in a fit
state to witness or to chronicle such events. I can only say that
I was suddenly conscious that his face was away from me--that he
was looking towards the animal.
"Good old Tommy!" he cried. "Good old Tommy!"
Then he came near the bars, with his back still towards me.
"Down, you stupid beast!" he roared. "Down, sir! Don't you
know your master?"
Suddenly even in my bemuddled brain a remembrance came of those
words of his when he had said that the taste of blood would turn
the cat into a fiend. My blood had done it, but he was to pay the
price.
"Get away!" he screamed. "Get away, you devil! Baldwin!
Baldwin! Oh, my God!"
And then I heard him fall, and rise, and fall again, with a
sound like the ripping of sacking. His screams grew fainter until
they were lost in the worrying snarl. And then, after I thought
that he was dead, I saw, as in a nightmare, a blinded, tattered,
blood-soaked figure running wildly round the room--and
that was the last glimpse which I had of him before I fainted once
again.
I was many months in my recovery--in fact, I cannot say that I
have ever recovered, for to the end of my days I shall carry a
stick as a sign of my night with the Brazilian cat. Baldwin, the
groom, and the other servants could not tell what had occurred,
when, drawn by the death-cries of their master, they found me
behind the bars, and his remains--or what they afterwards
discovered to be his remains--in the clutch of the creature which
he had reared. They stalled him off with hot irons, and afterwards
shot him through the loophole of the door before they could finally
extricate me. I was carried to my bedroom, and there, under the
roof of my would-be murderer, I remained between life and death for
several weeks. They had sent for a surgeon from Clipton and a
nurse from London, and in a month I was able to be carried to the
station, and so conveyed back once more to Grosvenor Mansions.
I have one remembrance of that illness, which might have been
part of the ever-changing panorama conjured up by a delirious brain
were it not so definitely fixed in my memory. One night, when the
nurse was absent, the door of my chamber opened, and a tall woman
in blackest mourning slipped into the room. She came across to me,
and as she bent her sallow face I saw by the faint gleam of the
night-light that it was the Brazilian woman whom my cousin had
married. She stared intently into my face, and her expression was
more kindly than I had ever seen it.
"Are you conscious?" she asked.
I feebly nodded--for I was still very weak.
"Well; then, I only wished to say to you that you have yourself
to blame. Did I not do all I could for you? From the beginning I
tried to drive you from the house. By every means, short of
betraying my husband, I tried to save you from him. I knew that he
had a reason for bringing you here. I knew that he would never let
you get away again. No one knew him as I knew him, who had
suffered from him so often. I did not dare to tell you all this.
He would have killed me. But I did my best for you. As
things have turned out, you have been the best friend that I
have ever had. You have set me free, and I fancied that nothing
but death would do that. I am sorry if you are hurt, but I cannot
reproach myself. I told you that you were a fool--and a fool you
have been." She crept out of the room, the bitter, singular woman,
and I was never destined to see her again. With what remained from
her husband's property she went back to her native land, and I have
heard that she afterwards took the veil at Pernambuco.
It was not until I had been back in London for some time that
the doctors pronounced me to be well enough to do business. It was
not a very welcome permission to me, for I feared that it would be
the signal for an inrush of creditors; but it was Summers, my
lawyer, who first took advantage of it.
"I am very glad to see that your lordship is so much better,"
said he. "I have been waiting a long time to offer my
congratulations."
"What do you mean, Summers? This is no time for joking."
"I mean what I say," he answered. "You have been Lord
Southerton for the last six weeks, but we feared that it would
retard your recovery if you were to learn it."
Lord Southerton! One of the richest peers in England! I could
not believe my ears. And then suddenly I thought of the time which
had elapsed, and how it coincided with my injuries.
"Then Lord Southerton must have died about the same time that
I was hurt?"
"His death occurred upon that very day." Summers looked hard
at me as I spoke, and I am convinced--for he was a very shrewd
fellow--that he had guessed the true state of the case. He paused
for a moment as if awaiting a confidence from me, but I could not
see what was to be gained by exposing such a family scandal.
"Yes, a very curious coincidence," he continued, with the same
knowing look. "Of course, you are aware that your cousin Everard
King was the next heir to the estates. Now, if it had been you
instead of him who had been torn to pieces by this tiger, or
whatever it was, then of course he would have been Lord Southerton
at the present moment."
"No doubt," said I.
"And he took such an interest in it," said Summers. "I happen
to know that the late Lord Southerton's valet was in his pay, and
that he used to have telegrams from him every few hours to tell him
how he was getting on. That would be about the time when you were
down there. Was it not strange that he should wish to be so well
informed, since he knew that he was not the direct heir?"
"Very strange," said I. "And now, Summers, if you will bring
me my bills and a new cheque-book, we will begin to get things into
order."
Tales of Mystery
The Lost Special
The confession of Herbert de Lernac, now lying under sentence of
death at Marseilles, has thrown a light upon one of the most
inexplicable crimes of the century--an incident which is, I
believe, absolutely unprecedented in the criminal annals of any
country: Although there is a reluctance to discuss the matter in
official circles, and little information has been given to the
Press, there are still indications that the statement of this
arch-criminal is corroborated by the facts, and that we have at
last found a solution for a most astounding business. As the
matter is eight years old, and as its importance was somewhat
obscured by a political crisis which was engaging the public
attention at the time, it may be as well to state the facts as
far as we have been able to ascertain them. They are collated
from the Liverpool papers of that date, from the proceedings at
the inquest upon John Slater, the engine-driver, and from the
records of the London and West Coast Railway Company, which
have been courteously put at my disposal. Briefly, they are as
follows:
On the 3rd of June, 1890, a gentleman, who gave his name as
Monsieur Louis Caratal, desired an interview with Mr. James Bland,
the superintendent of the London and West Coast Central Station in
Liverpool. He was a small man, middle-aged and dark, with a stoop
which was so marked that it suggested some deformity of the spine.
He was accompanied by a friend, a man of imposing physique, whose
deferential manner and constant attention showed that his position
was one of dependence. This friend or companion, whose name did
not transpire, was certainly a foreigner, and probably from his
swarthy complexion, either a Spaniard or a South American. One
peculiarity was observed in him. He carried in his left hand a
small black, leather dispatch box, and it was noticed by a sharp-
eyed clerk in the Central office that this box was fastened to
his wrist by a strap. No importance was attached to the fact at
the time, but subsequent events endowed it with some significance.
Monsieur Caratal was shown up to Mr. Bland's office, while his
companion remained outside.
Monsieur Caratal's business was quickly dispatched. He had
arrived that afternoon from Central America. Affairs of the utmost
importance demanded that he should be in Paris without the loss of
an unnecessary hour. He had missed the London express. A special
must be provided. Money was of no importance. Time was
everything. If the company would speed him on his way, they might
make their own terms.
Mr. Bland struck the electric bell, summoned Mr. Potter Hood,
the traffic manager, and had the matter arranged in five minutes.
The train would start in three-quarters of an hour. It would take
that time to insure that the line should be clear. The powerful
engine called Rochdale (No. 247 on the company's register) was
attached to two carriages, with a guard's van behind. The first
carriage was solely for the purpose of decreasing the inconvenience
arising from the oscillation. The second was divided, as usual,
into four compartments, a first-class, a first-class smoking, a
second-class, and a second-class smoking. The first compartment,
which was nearest to the engine, was the one allotted to the
travellers. The other three were empty. The guard of the special
train was James McPherson, who had been some years in the service
of the company. The stoker, William Smith, was a new hand.
Monsieur Caratal, upon leaving the superintendent's office,
rejoined his companion, and both of them manifested extreme
impatience to be off. Having paid the money asked, which amounted
to fifty pounds five shillings, at the usual special rate of five
shillings a mile, they demanded to be shown the carriage, and at
once took their seats in it, although they were assured that the
better part of an hour must elapse before the line could be
cleared. In the meantime a singular coincidence had occurred in
the office which Monsieur Caratal had just quitted.
A request for a special is not a very uncommon circumstance in
a rich commercial centre, but that two should be required upon the
same afternoon was most unusual. It so happened, however,
that Mr. Bland had hardly dismissed the first traveller before a
second entered with a similar request. This was a Mr. Horace
Moore, a gentlemanly man of military appearance, who alleged that
the sudden serious illness of his wife in London made it absolutely
imperative that he should not lose an instant in starting upon the
journey. His distress and anxiety were so evident that Mr. Bland
did all that was possible to meet his wishes. A second special was
out of the question, as the ordinary local service was already
somewhat deranged by the first. There was the alternative,
however, that Mr. Moore should share the expense of Monsieur
Caratal's train, and should travel in the other empty first-class
compartment, if Monsieur Caratal objected to having him in the one
which he occupied. It was difficult to see any objection to such
an arrangement, and yet Monsieur Caratal, upon the suggestion being
made to him by Mr. Potter Hood, absolutely refused to consider it
for an instant. The train was his, he said, and he would insist
upon the exclusive use of it. All argument failed to overcome his
ungracious objections, and finally the plan had to be abandoned.
Mr. Horace Moore left the station in great distress, after learning
that his only course was to take the ordinary slow train which
leaves Liverpool at six o'clock. At four thirty-one exactly by the
station clock the special train, containing the crippled Monsieur
Caratal and his gigantic companion, steamed out of the Liverpool
station. The line was at that time clear, and there should have
been no stoppage before Manchester.
The trains of the London and West Coast Railway run over the
lines of another company as far as this town, which should have
been reached by the special rather before six o'clock. At a
quarter after six considerable surprise and some consternation were
caused amongst the officials at Liverpool by the receipt of a
telegram from Manchester to say that it had not yet arrived. An
inquiry directed to St. Helens, which is a third of the way between
the two cities, elicited the following reply--
"To James Bland, Superintendent, Central L. & W. C.,
Liverpool.--Special passed here at 4:52, well up to time.--Dowster,
St. Helens."
This telegram was received at six-forty. At six-fifty a second
message was received from Manchester--
"No sign of special as advised by you."
And then ten minutes later a third, more bewildering--
"Presume some mistake as to proposed running of special. Local
train from St. Helens timed to follow it has just arrived and has
seen nothing of it. Kindly wire advices.--Manchester."
The matter was assuming a most amazing aspect, although in some
respects the last telegram was a relief to the authorities at
Liverpool. If an accident had occurred to the special, it seemed
hardly possible that the local train could have passed down the
same line without observing it. And yet, what was the alternative?
Where could the train be? Had it possibly been sidetracked for
some reason in order to allow the slower train to go past? Such an
explanation was possible if some small repair had to be effected.
A telegram was dispatched to each of the stations between St.
Helens and Manchester, and the superintendent and traffic manager
waited in the utmost suspense at the instrument for the series of
replies which would enable them to say for certain what had become
of the missing train. The answers came back in the order of
questions, which was the order of the stations beginning at the St.
Helens end--
"Special passed here five o'clock.--Collins Green."
"Special passed here six past five.--Earlstown."
"Special passed here 5:10.--Newton."
"Special passed here 5:20.--Kenyon Junction."
"No special train has passed here.--Barton Moss."
The two officials stared at each other in amazement.
"This is unique in my thirty years of experience," said Mr.
Bland.
"Absolutely unprecedented and inexplicable, sir. The special
has gone wrong between Kenyon Junction and Barton Moss."
"And yet there is no siding, so far as my memory serves me,
between the two stations. The special must have run off the
metals."
"But how could the four-fifty parliamentary pass over the same
line without observing it?"
"There's no alternative, Mr. Hood. It must be so.
Possibly the local train may have observed something which may
throw some light upon the matter. We will wire to Manchester for
more information, and to Kenyon Junction with instructions that the
line be examined instantly as far as Barton Moss."
The answer from Manchester came within a few minutes.
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