I WENT back to the fishing-place
with a heavy heart, overcome
by mournful thoughts, for the
first time in my life. It was
plain that she did not dislike
me, and equally plain that there
was some obstacle connected with
her father, which forbade her
to listen to my offer of marriage.
From the time when she had accidentally
looked toward the red-brick house,
something in her manner which
it is quite impossible to describe,
had suggested to my mind that
this obstacle was not only something
she could not mention, but something
that she was partly ashamed of,
partly afraid of, and partly
doubtful about. What could it
be? How had she first known it?
In what way was her father connected
with it?
In the course of our walks
she had told me nothing about
herself which was not perfectly
simple and unsuggestive.
Her childhood had been passed
in England. After that, she had
lived with her father and mother
at Paris, where the doctor had
many friends--for all of whom
she remembered feeling more or
less dislike, without being able
to tell why. They had then come
to England, and had lived in
lodgings in London. For a time
they had been miserably poor.
But, after her mother's death--a
sudden death from heart disease--there
had come a change in their affairs,
which she was quite unable to
explain. They had removed to
their present abode, to give
the doctor full accommodation
for the carrying on of his scientific
pursuits. He often had occasion
to go to London; but never took
her with him. The only woman
at home now, beside herself,
was an elderly person, who acted
as cook and housekeeper, and
who had been in their service
for many years. It was very lonely
sometimes not having a companion
of her own age and sex; but she
had got tolerably used to bear
it, and to amuse herself with
her books, and music, and flowers.
Thus far she chatted about
herself quite freely; but when
I tried, even in the vaguest
manner, to lead her into discussing
the causes of her strangely secluded
life, she looked so distressed,
and became so suddenly silent,
that I naturally refrained from
saying another word on that topic.
One conclusion, however, I felt
tolera bly sure that I had drawn
correctly from what she said:
her father's conduct toward her,
though not absolutely blamable
or grossly neglectful on any
point, had still never been of
a nature to make her ardently
fond of him. He performed the
ordinary parental duties rigidly
and respectably enough; but he
had apparently not cared to win
all the filial love which his
daughter would have bestowed
on a more affectionate man.
When, after reflecting on what
Alicia had told me, I began to
call to mind what I had been
able to observe for myself, I
found ample materials to excite
my curiosity in relation to the
doctor, if not my distrust.
I have already
described how I heard the clang
of the heavy
door, on the occasion of my first
visit to the red-brick house.
The next day, when the doctor
again took leave of me in the
hall, I hit on a plan for seeing
the door as well as hearing it.
I dawdled on my way out, till
I heard the clang again; then
pretended to remember some important
message which I had forgotten
to give to the doctor, and with
a look of innocent hurry ran
upstairs to overtake him. The
disguised workman ran after me
with a shout of "Stop!" I was
conveniently deaf to him--reached
the first floor landing--and
arrived at a door which shut
off the whole staircase higher
up; an iron door, as solid as
if it belonged to a banker's
strong-room, and guarded millions
of money. I returned to the hall,
inattentive to the servant's
not over-civil remonstrances,
and, saying that I would wait
till I saw the doctor again,
left the house.
The next day
two pale-looking men, in artisan
costume, came
up to the gate at the same time
as I did, each carrying a long
wooden box under his arm, strongly
bound with iron. I tried to make
them talk while we were waiting
for admission, but neither of
them would go beyond "Yes," or "No";
and both had, to my eyes, some
unmistakably sinister lines in
their faces. The next day the
houskeeping cook came to the
door--a buxom old woman with
a look and a ready smile, and
something in her manner which
suggested that she had not begun
life quite so respectably as
she was now ending it. She seemed
to be decidedly satisfied with
my personal appearance; talked
to me on indifferent matters
with great glibness; but suddenly
became silent and diplomatic
the moment I looked toward the
stair and asked innocently if
she had to go up and down them
often in the course of the day.
As for the doctor himself he
was unapproachable on the subject
of the mysterious upper regions.
If I introduced chemistry in
general into the conversation
he begged me not to spoil his
happy holiday hours with his
daughter and me, by leading him
back to his work-a-day thoughts.
If I referred to his own experiments
in particular he always made
a joke about being afraid of
my chemical knowledge, and of
my wishing to anticipate him
in his discoveries. In brief,
after a week's run of the lower
regions, the upper part of the
red-brick house and the actual
nature of its owner's occupations
still remained impenetrable mysteries
to me, pry, ponder, and question
as I might.
Thinking of this on the river-bank,
in connection with the distressing
scene which I had just had with
Alicia, I found that the mysterious
obstacle at which she had hinted,
the mysterious life led by her
father, and the mysterious top
of the house that had hitherto
defied my curiosity, all three
connected themselves in my mind
as links of the same chain. The
obstacle to my marrying Alicia
was the thing that most troubled
me. If I only found out what
it was, and if I made light of
it (which I was resolved beforehand
to do, let it be what it might),
I should most probably end by
overcoming her scruples, and
taking her away from the ominous
red-brick house in the character
of my wife. But how was I to
make the all-important discovery?
Cudgeling my brains for an
answer to this question, I fell
at last into reasoning upon it,
by a process of natural logic,
something after this fashion:
The mysterious top of the house
is connected with the doctor,
and the doctor is connected with
the obstacle which has made wretchedness
between Alicia and me. If I can
only get to the top of the house,
I may get also to the root of
the obstacle. It is a dangerous
and an uncertain experiment;
but, come what may of it, I will
try and find out, if human ingenuity
can compass the means, what Doctor
Dulcifer's occupation really
is, on the other side of that
iron door.
Having come to this resolution
(and deriving, let me add, parenthetically,
great consolation from it), the
next subject of consideration
was the best method of getting
safely into the top regions of
the house.
Picking the lock of the iron
door was out of the question,
from the exposed nature of the
situation which that mysterious
iron barrier occupied. My only
possible way to the second floor
lay by the back of the house.
I had looked up at it two or
three times, while walking in
the garden after dinner with
Alicia. What had I brought away
in my memory as the result of
that casual inspection of my
host's back premises? Several
fragments of useful information.
In the first place, one of
the most magnificent vines I
had ever seen grew against the
back wall of the house, trained
carefully on a strong trellis-work.
In the second place, the middle
first-floor back window looked
out on a little stone balcony,
built on the top of the porch
over the garden door. In the
third place, the back windows
of the second floor had been
open, on each occasion when I
had seen them--most probably
to air the house, which could
not be ventilated from the front
during the hot summer weather,
in consequence of the shut-up
condition of all the windows
thereabouts. In the fourth place,
hard by the coach-house in which
Doctor Dulcifer's neat gig was
put up, there was a tool-shed,
in which the gardener kept his
short pruning-ladder. In the
fifth and last place, outside
the stable in which Doctor Dulcifer's
blood mare lived in luxurious
solitude, was a dog-kennel with
a large mastiff chained to it
night and day. If I could only
rid myself of the dog--a gaunt,
half-starved brute, made savage
and mangy by perpetual confinement--I
did not see any reason to despair
of getting in undiscovered at
one of the second-floor windows--provided
I waited until a sufficiently
late hour, and succeeded in scaling
the garden wall at the back of
the house.
Life without Alicia being not
worth having, I determined to
risk the thing that very night.
Going back at once to the town
of Barkingham, I provided myself
with a short bit of rope, a little
bull's-eye lantern, a small screwdriver,
and a nice bit of beef chemically
adapted for the soothing of troublesome
dogs. I then dressed, disposed
of these things neatly in my
coat pockets, and went to the
doctor's to dinner. In one respect,
Fortune favored my audacity.
It was the sultriest day of the
whole season--surely they could
not think of shutting up the
second-floor back windows to-night!
Alicia was
pale and silent. The lovely
brown eyes, when they
looked at me, said as plainly
as in words, "We have been crying
a great deal, Frank, since we
saw you last." The little white
fingers gave mine a significant
squeeze--and that was all the
reference that passed between
us to what happened in the morning.
She sat through the dinner bravely;
but, when the dessert came, left
us for the night, with a few
shy, hurried words about the
excessive heat of the weather
being too much for her. I rose
to open the door, and exchanged
a last meaning look with her,
as she bowed and went by me.
Little did I think that I should
have to live upon nothing but
the remembrance of that look
for many weary days that were
yet to come.
The doctor was in excellent
spirits, and almost oppressively
hospitable. We sat sociably chatting
over our claret till past eight
o'clock. Then my host turned
to his desk to write a letter
before the post want out; and
I strolled away to smoke a cigar
in the garden.
Second-floor back windows all
open, atmosphere as sultry as
ever, gardener's pruning-ladder
quite safe in the tool-shed,
savage mastiff in his kennel
crunching his bones for supper.
Good. The dog will not be visited
again tonight: I may throw my
medicated bit of beef at once
into his kennel. I acted on the
idea immediately; the dog seized
his piece of beef; I heard a
snap, a wheeze, a choke, and
a groan--and there was the mastiff
disposed of, inside the kennel,
where nobody could find out that
he was dead till the time came
for feeding him the next morning.
I went back to the doctor;
we had a social glass of cold
brandy-and-water together; I
lighted another cigar, and took
my leave. My host being too respectable
a man not to keep early country
hours, I went away, as usual,
about ten. The mysterious man-servant
locked the gate behind me. I
sauntered on the road back to
Barkingham for about five minutes,
then struck off sharp for the
plantation, lighted my lantern
with the help of my cigar and
a brimstone match of that barbarous
period, shut down the slide again,
and made for the garden wall.
It was formidably high, and
garnished horribly with broken
bottles; but it was also old,
and when I came to pick at the
mortar with my screw-driver,
I found it reasonably rotten
with age and damp.
I removed four bricks to make
footholes in different positions
up the wall. It was desperately
hard and long work, easy as it
may sound in description--especially
when I had to hold on by the
top of the wall, with my flat
opera hat (as we used to call
it in those days) laid, as a
guard, between my hand and the
glass, while I cleared a way
through the sharp bottle-ends
for my other hand and my knees.
This done, my great difficulty
was vanquished; and I had only
to drop luxuriously into a flower-bed
on the other side of the wall.
Perfect stillness in the garden:
no sign of a light anywhere at
the back of the house: first-floor
windows all shut: second-floor
windows still open. I fetched
the pruning-ladder; put it against
the side of the porch; tied one
end of my bit of rope to the
top round of it; took the other
end in my mouth, and prepared
to climb to the balcony over
the porch by the thick vine branches
and the trellis-work.
No man who has had any real
experience of life can have failed
to observe how amazingly close,
in critical situations, the grotesque
and the terrible, the comic and
the serious, contrive to tread
on each other's heels. At such
times, the last thing we ought
properly to think of comes into
our heads, or the least consistent
event that could possibly be
expected to happen does actually
occur. When I put my life in
danger on that memorable night,
by putting my foot on the trellis-work,
I absolutely thought of the never-dying
Lady Malkinshaw plunged in refreshing
slumber, and of the frantic exclamations
Mr. Batterbury would utter if
he saw what her ladyship's grandson
was doing with his precious life
and limbs at that critical moment.
I am no hero--I was fully aware
of the danger to which I was
exposing myself; and yet I protest
that I caught myself laughing
under my breath, with the most
outrageous inconsistency, at
the instant when I began the
ascent of the trellis-work.
I reached the balcony over
the porch in safety, depending
more upon the tough vine branches
than the trellis-work during
my ascent. My next employment
was to pull up the pruning-ladder,
as softly as possible, by the
rope which I held attached to
it. This done, I put the ladder
against the house wall, listened,
measured the distance to the
open second-floor window with
my eye, listened again--and,
finding all quiet, began my second
and last ascent. The ladder was
comfortably long, and I was conveniently
tall; my hand was on the window-sill--I
mounted another two rounds--and
my eyes were level with the interior
of the room.
Suppose any one should be sleeping
there!
I listened
at the window attentively before
I ventured on taking my
lantern out of my coatpocket.
The night was so quite and airless
that there was not the faintest
rustle among the leaves in the
garden beneath me to distract
my attention. I listened. The
breathing of the lightest of
sleepers must have reached my
ear, through that intense stillness,
if the room had been a bedroom,
and the bed were occupied. I
heard nothing but the quick beat
of my own heart. The minutes
of suspense were passing heavily--I
laid my other hand over the window-sill,
then a moment of doubt came--doubt
whether I should carry the adventure
any further. I mastered my hesitation
directly--it was too late for
second thoughts. "Now for it!" I
whispered to myself, and got
in at the window.
To wait, listening again, in
the darkness of that unknown
region, was more than I had courage
for. The moment I was down on
the floor, I pulled the lantern
out of my pocket and raised the
shade.
So far, so good--I found myself
in a dirty lumber-room. Large
pans, some of them cracked and
more of them broken; empty boxes
bound with iron, of the same
sort as those I had seen the
workmen bringing in at the front
gate; old coal sacks; a packing-case
full of coke; and a huge, cracked,
mouldy blacksmith's bellows--these
were the principal objects that
I observed in the lumber-room.
The one door leading out of it
was open, as I had expected it
would be, in order to let the
air through the back window into
the house. I took off my shoes,
and stole into the passage. My
first impulse, the moment I looked
along it, was to shut down my
lantern-shade, and listen again.
Still I heard nothing; but
at the far end of the passage
I saw a bright light pouring
through the half-opened door
of one of the mysterious front
rooms.
I crept softly toward it. A
decidedly chemical smell began
to steal into my nostrils--and,
listening again, I thought I
heard above me, and in some distant
room, a noise like the low growl
of a large furnace, muffled in
some peculiar manner. Should
I retrace my steps in that direction?
No--not till I had seen something
of the room with the bright light,
outside of which I was now standing.
I bent forward softly; looking
by little and little further
and further through the opening
of the door, until my head and
shoulders were fairly inside
the room, and my eyes had convinced
me that no living soul, sleeping
or waking, was in any part of
it at that particular moment.
Impelled by a fatal curiosity,
I entered immediately, and began
to look about me with eager eyes.
I saw iron ladles, pans full
of white sand, files with white
metal left glittering in their
teeth, molds of plaster of Paris,
bags containing the same material
in powder, a powerful machine
with the name and use of which
I was theoretically not unacquainted,
white metal in a partially-fused
state, bottles of aquafortis,
dies scattered over a dresser,
crucibles, sandpaper, bars of
metal, and edged tools in plenty,
of the strangest construction.
I was not at all a scrupulous
man, as the reader knows by this
time; but when I looked at these
objects, and thought of Alicia,
I could not for the life of me
help shuddering. There was not
the least doubt about it, even
after the little I had seen:
the important chemical pursuits
to which Doctor Dulcifer was
devoting himself, meant, in plain
English and in one word--Coining.
Did Alicia know what I knew
now, or did she only suspect
it?
Whichever way I answered that
question in my own mind, I could
be no longer at any loss for
an explanation of her behavior
in the meadow by the stream,
or of that unnaturally gloomy,
downcast look which overspread
her face when her father's pursuits
were the subject of conversation.
Did I falter in my resolution
to marry her, now that I had
discovered what the obstacle
was which had made mystery and
wretchedness between us? Certainly
not. I was above all prejudices.
I was the least particular of
mankind. I had no family affection
in my way--and, greatest fact
of all, I was in love. Under
those circumstances what Rogue
of any spirit would have faltered?
After the first shock of the
discovery was over, my resolution
to be Alicia's husband was settled
more firmly than ever.
There was a little round table
in a corner of the room furthest
from the door, which I had not
yet examined. A feverish longing
to look at everything within
my reach--to penetrate to the
innermost recesses of the labyrinth
in which I had involved myself--consumed
me. I went to the table, and
saw upon it, ranged symmetrically
side by side, four objects which
looked like thick rulers wrapped
up in silver paper. I opened
the paper at the end of one of
the rulers, and found that it
was composed of half-crowns.
I had closed the paper again,
and was just raising my head
from the table over which it
had been bent, when my right
cheek came in contact with something
hard and cold. I started back--looked
up--and confronted Doctor Dulcifer,
holding a pistol at my right
temple.
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