Round the Fire Stories

“Exactly—a creaking hinge,

if ever there was one. Your inheritance maybe a long way off. Dear me, how awkwardly situated you are!”

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

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

I was not sorry that my visit was drawing to a close, for it isunpleasant to feel that there is one person in the house who eagerlydesires your departure. Mrs. King’s sallow face and forbidding eyes hadbecome more and more hateful to me. She was no longer actively rude—herfear of her husband prevented her—but she pushed her insane jealousy tothe extent of ignoring me, never addressing me, and in every way makingmy stay at Greylands as uncomfortable as she could. So offensive was hermanner during that last day, that I should certainly have left had itnot been for that interview with my host in the evening which would, Ihoped, retrieve my broken fortunes.

It was very late when it occurred, for my relative, who had beenreceiving even more telegrams than usual during the day, went off to hisstudy after dinner, and only emerged when the household had retired tobed. I heard him go round locking the doors, as his custom was of anight, and finally he joined me in the billiard-room. His stout figurewas wrapped in a dressing-gown, and he wore a pair of red Turkishslippers without any heels. Settling down into an arm-chair, he brewedhimself a glass of grog, in which I could not help noticing that thewhisky considerably predominated over the water.

“My word!” said he, “what a night!”

It was, indeed. The wind was howling and screaming round the house, andthe latticed windows rattled and shook as if they were coming in. Theglow of the yellow lamps and the flavour of our cigars seemed thebrighter and more fragrant for the contrast.

“Now, my boy,” said my host, “we have the house and the night toourselves. Let me have an idea of how your affairs stand, and I will seewhat 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 mytradesmen 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, Iflatter myself, a very business-like statement of my ownun-business-like ways and lamentable position. I was depressed, however,to notice that my companion’s eyes were vacant and his attentionelsewhere. When he did occasionally throw out a remark, it was soentirely perfunctory and pointless, that I was sure he had not in theleast followed my remarks. Every now and then he roused himself and puton 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 lasthe 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 mehave a note of the amount. I’ll understand it when I see it in black andwhite.”

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 strikingin the hall.”

The tinging of the chiming clock broke through the deep roar of thegale. 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 windexcites 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 thedoor at the farther end. All was dark in the stone corridor, but astable 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 beastwas in its cage.

“Come in!” said my relative, and opened the door.

A deep growling as we entered showed that the storm had really excitedthe creature. In the flickering light of the lantern, we saw it, a hugeblack mass, coiled in the corner of its den and throwing a squat,uncouth shadow upon the whitewashed wall. Its tail switched angrilyamong the straw.

“Poor Tommy is not in the best of tempers,” said Everard King, holdingup 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 betterhumour. 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 aninstant, won’t you?” He passed out, and the door shut with a sharpmetallic click behind him.

That hard crisp sound made my heart stand still. A sudden wave of terrorpassed over me. A vague perception of some monstrous treachery turned mecold. 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. “You’vegot the light all right.”

“Yes, but I don’t care about being locked in alone like this.”

“Don’t you?” I heard his hearty, chuckling laugh. “You won’t be alonelong.”

“Let me out, sir!” I repeated angrily. “I tell you I don’t allowpractical jokes of this sort.”

“Practical is the word,” said he, with another hateful chuckle. And thensuddenly I heard, amidst the roar of the storm, the creak and whine ofthe winch-handle turning, and the rattle of the grating as it passedthrough the slot. Great God, he was letting loose the Brazilian cat!