Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature, Science, and Art, fifth series, no. 123, vol. III, May 8, 1886

SPIRITED AWAY.

IN THREE CHAPTERS.—CHAP. II.

I awoke suddenly and with a start, having, while in the act of stretching myself, brought my foot into violent contact with one of the rails of the bed. The pain arising from the blow was so acute as to put sleep out of question for a time, so I sat up in bed and stared about me; not that there was anything to be seen, not even the outlines of the window. Everything was intensely still; some hours had probably elapsed since my coming to bed, and no doubt the inmates of the house had retired long ago. The neighbourhood was a quiet one, apparently some distance removed from any main thoroughfare, as not even the noise of a passing cab or vehicle of any kind broke the silence—nothing, in fact, save the footsteps of some belated pedestrian, or, it might be, those of a policeman going his rounds.

When my foot became somewhat easier, I lay down again; but my brain was in full activity by this time, and I fell to musing over what I had seen of London during my after-dark ramble, and to building castles in the future. I was as wide awake as ever I had been in my life. As I lay thus, the black silence was broken by the faint creaking of a door, apparently that of the room next my own. Was it merely one of those unaccountable noises with which all watchers during the night season are more or less familiar, or was it caused by human agency? It was probably the _cafetier_ or Jean stealing quietly up-stairs to bed. I had no means of even guessing the time, and instead of being asleep for hours, as I had imagined, it might not yet be much past midnight. Burglars would hardly care to visit so poor a domicile; still, it was just as well I had shot the bolt of my door before getting into bed. But, hush! what was that? Footsteps passing my door, and then softly ascending the upper flight of stairs. Some one was certainly moving about the house. But for what purpose? And now, there was the sound of more footsteps following the first. Dead silence for a few moments, and then footsteps again, but so hushed and stealthy, that it was only by holding in my breath and listening with all my might, that I could hear them at all.

What could be the meaning of proceedings so mysterious? While I was still puzzling over this question and debating with myself whether my wisest plan would not be to go to sleep and trouble myself no further in the matter, the door of some room overhead seemed suddenly to be burst open, followed immediately by a heavy trampling of feet, then a loud, sharp, inarticulate cry, a pistol-shot, the sound as it were of a brief struggle, and then nothing but the low stern tones of some one who seemed to be giving orders or instructions, and after that, a minute later, silence again the most profound. But I was out of bed by this time; and groping my way to the door, I pushed back the bolt and turned the handle, expecting, of course, that the door would open without difficulty; but it refused to yield to my efforts, and a moment or two sufficed to convince me that it was fastened from the outside. I pulled at it with all my strength, and then made out that it was held merely by a rope, which, yielding slightly to my efforts, left a space of a couple of inches between the door and the jamb. Planting one foot firmly against the wall, and pulling open the door with one hand as far as I could, I felt in my pocket with the other hand, found my knife, and opened it with my teeth; then, pushing the long sharp blade through the space between the door and the jamb, I cut through the rope that held me prisoner. A moment later, I had bounded up the stairs and had burst into one of the upper rooms, guided by a narrow fringe of light which shone from under the door. The sight that met my gaze was a strange one. The room was of considerable size; and seated on the edge of the bed, and only partially dressed, but bound and gagged, was the _cafetier_, while no great distance away stood a group of five men, in one of whom I at once recognised the stranger with the gold spectacles, although he wore no spectacles now; while another was Jean the waiter. The other three men I had never to my knowledge seen before. In the middle of the floor a revolver lay unheeded.

The eyes of all present turned on me like lightning, as I burst into the room. There was a moment or two of dead silence, then the stranger, whom for the future I will call M. Legros, in order to distinguish him from the others—although he was certainly not a Frenchman—strode towards me with a frown, and demanded by what right I had intruded there.

‘By the right which every man has to intrude when he hears a cry for help and believes there’s villainy afloat.’

‘Ah, bah! you talk like a child,’ he answered. ‘There is no villainy afloat here, young sir—of that you may rest assured. We are neither thieves nor assassins. What we are in nowise concerns you. Since you have chosen to intrude here, where your presence was certainly not required, you have only left one course open to me. You must take the consequences of your folly.’

He spoke a few words rapidly to the three strangers in a language unknown to me, and before I knew what was about to happen, I found myself seized, gagged, bound, and strapped down to a chair, as helpless as a new-born babe.

‘I am somewhat grieved to have to treat you thus,’ said M. Legros to me as soon as I had in some measure recovered my breath; ‘but your own rashness has put it out of my power to do otherwise. I may, however, tell you this for your comfort: no harm shall befall you, provided you obey implicitly the orders that may be imposed upon you. But should you make the slightest effort to escape before the time comes when I shall be prepared to bid you adieu, or should you endeavour to attract the attention of any one, you may rest assured that that moment will be the last of your life. I pray you to take my words in all seriousness. We are here to do a certain thing, and not a dozen lives will be allowed to stand in the way of our doing it.’

His tones were low, but very stern; his keen steel-gray eyes seemed to pierce me through. I never saw a face on which determination and strength of will were more clearly impressed. He was evidently a man who, whether for good or ill, would keep his word.

I glanced at Karavich. He was deathly pale, but his eyes glowed in their cavernous orbits with a sort of gloomy fire, and there was nothing of dismay or craven fear in the deep-seated gaze he bent now and again on his captors. Who and what was he? What was his crime? What had he done that he should be thus seized and gagged in the middle of the night in his own house and in the heart of London? Then, too, who and what were Legros and his confederates? I almost forgot my own predicament for a little while in asking myself these and similar questions.

Legros and the others were talking in tones that were scarcely raised above a whisper. When thus conversing among themselves both then and afterwards, they employed a language with which I had no acquaintance. It may have been Russian, or Polish, or Hungarian. I have little doubt it was one of the three, but which one I did not know then, and I do not know to this day. Suddenly, Legros, after glancing at his watch, held up a warning finger, and silence at once fell on the group. They all stood as if listening for some expected sound. A minute later it came—the slow, heavy tramp of some one passing down the street. Could it be the night policeman going his rounds? Just as the man, whoever he might be, was passing, Legros glanced at the window, and my eyes involuntarily followed the direction of his. The window was shaded with heavy curtains, now closely drawn; the room was dimly lighted by a single candle only; from the street, even if the night had been a clear one, the house must have seemed wrapped in darkness. The silence in the room remained unbroken till the last faint echoes of the footsteps outside had died away.

As if this were a signal that had been waited for, all now became activity. Jean fetched my coat, boots, and other articles from my bedroom; the bonds that fastened me were unloosed, and I was told to at once complete my toilet. A similar process took place with regard to Karavich; but whereas, when he was fully dressed, his arms were at once strapped down again, in my case, by Legros’ orders, the bonds were dispensed with. Both of us, however, were still gagged. Presently, a noise of wheels was faintly audible, which momentarily grew louder and more distinct. A long dark cloak, the collar of which effectually muffled the lower part of his face, was hastily thrown over Karavich’s shoulders, while a wide-brimmed soft felt hat was placed on his head. This done, he was conducted by two of the men from the room, and I heard all three descend the stairs. By this time, the vehicle, whatever it might be, the noise of which we had heard, had drawn up opposite the house. Half a minute later, we heard it drive away, and presently all sound of it was lost in the distance.

Had Karavich been forced away in it? And if so, why, and whither was he being taken? But scarcely had I time to formulate these queries in my mind, before the noise of approaching wheels became audible for the second time. A cloak, similar to that in which the _cafetier_ had been enveloped, was now thrown over my shoulders, and the collar turned up round my face. After a few whispered words of warning from Legros, I was told to follow him down-stairs as noiselessly as possible, which I proceeded to do, the fourth man bringing up the rear. By this time the second vehicle had drawn up opposite the door. The lower part of the house and the shop were in utter darkness. Legros took me by the hand and guided me the way I was to go. Some one—Jean, I take it to have been—stood by the outer door, and opened it silently as we drew near; and so, without a word, we three passed out into the street. The fog had thinned somewhat, but not to any great extent. The light of a lamp on the opposite side of the street showed like a faint blurred point of flame seen from afar. A vehicle, which by that dim light had all the appearance of an ordinary London four-wheeled cab, with a man seated on the box, was drawn up close to the kerb. So much I was enabled to see, but no more. I was hurried at once into the vehicle; Legros and the other man got in after me; the door was shut without noise; the windows were drawn up; Jean, whom we left behind, said something to the driver; and a moment later, we were being driven rapidly away.

I was utterly at a loss to know the time; but judging by the solitude of the streets and the infrequency with which we encountered any other vehicles, it must have been still very early in the morning. Even if the night had been a perfectly clear one, there was nothing in our appearance to attract the notice of the most suspicious of policemen. A cab containing two or three occupants at an early hour in the morning in London streets, is too common an object to call for a second glance from any one who may encounter it.

We were a silent party. None of us spoke after we entered the vehicle. My companions lay back with folded arms and their hats drawn over their brows. Whether they were asleep or awake, it was impossible for me to determine. My thoughts had ample time to busy themselves with any number of perplexing problems before our drive came to an end, which it did, as nearly as I could judge, in about an hour’s time. We had got off the paved streets some time before this, and were now driving over an ordinary macadamised road. Suddenly we drew up, and the same moment my two companions became on the alert.

‘Pardon me,’ said M. Legros as he drew a silk muffler from one of his pockets, ‘but it is necessary that I should blindfold you for a few minutes.’ Then he added: ‘Do implicitly as you are told; have confidence in me, and no harm shall befall you.’

Some one outside had apparently opened a pair of gates by this time; we went through, passed forward a little way farther at a walking pace, and then came to a final stand. Before this, the deft fingers of M. Legros had effectually bandaged my eyes. The carriage-door was now opened, and one of my companions giving me his hand, helped me to alight, and then led me forward. There was an ascent of three or four steps, and then I felt that I had passed out of the cold night-air into the warmer atmosphere of a house. A minute later, my eyes were unbandaged, and, better still, the gag was removed from my mouth.

I found myself in a large and elegantly furnished room, lighted by a lamp on the centre table, and by candles in the girandoles over the chimney-piece. A wood-fire burned cheerfully in the grate. Standing with his back to it, and watching my look of amazement with an amused, cynical smile, was M. Legros. We were alone.

‘I hope you feel none the worse for your little journey?’ he said. ‘We shall have a longer one to take presently, so I think the best thing we can do is to make due preparation for it.’

‘Another journey!’ I stammered. ‘Where to, this time?’

‘That you will learn when the proper time arrives,’ he answered dryly.

‘And Karavich—will he accompany us?’ I asked.

‘Ah, bah! why trouble yourself about Karavich?’ he demanded, with a contraction of his brows. ‘He is nothing to you, nor you to him.’ Then a moment later he added, almost as if speaking to himself: ‘But yes; _ce cher_ Karavich will accompany us certainly. We cannot afford to leave _him_ behind.’

At this juncture, a servant appeared with a tray containing a cold chicken together with other comestibles. This was supplemented by a second tray on which were coffee, wines, and liqueurs. ‘Come,’ said Legros with a smile, as he sat down on a chair which the man had placed for him, ‘let us make ourselves what you English call jolly.’

‘Jolly!’ I ejaculated with a miserable attempt at a laugh. ‘I’m likely to feel jolly under such circumstances as these!’

‘Why not?’ he demanded blandly. ‘Ah, _mon enfant_, when you have lived as long as I have, you will have learnt that the truest philosophy is to enjoy the present while you can, and leave the future to take care of itself. Sit, and let me assist you to a wing of this fowl; or what say you to this mayonnaise? It looks as if it might tempt an anchorite.’

‘I am not hungry; I cannot eat.’

‘Foolish boy! Remember you have a long cold journey before you. Try, at least, a couple of these caviare sandwiches.’

I shook my head. ‘I will take a cup of coffee, nothing more.’

M. Legros pulled the ends of his moustache, but made no further attempt to persuade me; so, while I sat and sipped my coffee, he went on with his supper—if supper it could be called. He was a quick eater, and in a few minutes he rose and pushed back his chair.

After the servant left the room, except for the opening or shutting of a distant door once or twice, no sounds from without were audible. I neither heard nor saw anything either of Karavich or the others. But scarcely had M. Legros risen from the table, when once more we heard the noise of wheels—the noise as of some heavy vehicle, which, after being driven slowly up to the house, came to a halt. In the hush which followed, one could hear the pawing of the horses on the gravel and the champing of their bits. I noticed that my companion was listening as intently as I was. ‘I must ask you to remain here till I rejoin you,’ he said presently. ‘I shall not be more than a few minutes away;’ and with that he smiled, nodded, and left the room.

I had plenty of food for thought during his absence; but those readers who have followed me thus far will scarcely need to be enlightened as to the tenor of my reflections. They were anything but comforting. Scant time was, however, afforded me for perplexed broodings. Presently, a distant door seemed to open, and then came the half-hushed sound of the footsteps of several people advancing along the corridor into which the door of my room opened, then passing the door itself, and then being gradually lost in the distance. The men, whoever they might be, walked slowly and carefully and as though they were carrying some heavy burden. A few moments later, I could distinguish the voices of several people talking in low tones outside the house. My curiosity overmastered my prudence. The room had two windows, both of them having venetian blinds, now closely shut, and, in addition, long heavy curtains that reached the ground. Crossing quickly to one of the windows, I stepped behind the curtain, and then cautiously raising one of the laths of the blind a little way, I peered through the crevice. The sight which met my eyes was one that might well make the blood of a braver man than I profess to be run cold. The fog had cleared away, and by the aid of the starlight, I could just make out what seemed to me the outlines of a hearse, with a pair of horses, standing a few yards away in the courtyard or space of ground which fronted the house. While I was still staring at this grim apparition, a couple of men carrying lighted lanterns appeared on the scene; then I saw clearly that the object I had been gazing at was indeed a hearse, but denuded of its plumes. But scarcely had I time to note this, when a procession of some half-dozen men appeared, walking two and two, and carrying on their shoulders something long, black, and heavy. For one moment I was puzzled, and then the dread certainty flashed upon me that the burden they bent under was a coffin, but not an empty one. When they came within the dim circle of light given out by the lanterns, it became plainly visible. I could bear no more. I let the blind drop, and turned away with a cold sick dread at my heart, such as I had never felt before. Had a murder just been perpetrated under that silent roof, and if so——? A dozen ghastly questions surged through my brain, not one of which I was able to answer. A few minutes later I heard, through my half-dazed senses, the hearse move away a little distance, and a second vehicle drive up and take its place. Then in came M. Legros in his overcoat and hat.

‘All is in readiness for the second stage of our journey,’ he said as he rubbed his chilled hands for a few moments over the fire.

I did not answer him. He looked sharply at me, and as he did so, a cold, dangerous glitter came into his eyes. His gaze travelled to the window, and then back to my face, and then he muttered something under his breath that sounded like a malediction. He was still bending over the grate; but when next his eyes met mine, all trace of annoyance had vanished.

‘You look as white, my friend, as if you had just seen a ghost,’ he remarked with that inscrutable smile of his. ‘You have gone too long without food. However, there’s no time now. Here, drink this,’ he added; and with that he crossed to the table and poured out a small glass of some sort of liqueur. I took it mechanically and drank it. Then Legros handed me the fur-lined cloak and my hat, and then he said: ‘Once more, and I hope for the last time.’ With that he produced the silk muffler and bandaged my eyes; then taking me by the hand, he led me from the room.

HOW TO PROVE A WILL.

IN ENGLAND.

A great change has come over the procedure in proving wills and obtaining administration in England within the last thirty years. Formerly it was a mysterious, difficult, and expensive process, which few people understood; and he who had to undertake such duties was glad to place himself in the hands of a proctor, and, it may be added, was usually glad to get out of them again. The proceeding is now much more simple and intelligible, and when the property is small, is very inexpensive.

Probate, Administration, and the ‘Death Duties,’ as the taxes levied on inheritances have been appropriately named, are no doubt amongst the gloomiest of topics falling to be discussed in the columns of a popular journal. There are very few people of adult years, however, who have not been forced to make acquaintance with these matters in some form or other and at some time or other; and a brief account of the subject, and of the best and cheapest method of proceeding, may not be without value when the pinch of action arrives. To the poor, the knowledge that a legal title to the little properties left by their relatives can be obtained for a few shillings, and with next to no trouble, would seem to be especially desirable. To richer folk, the subject may recommend itself in another fashion. Constituted as men are, it is very certain that the distribution of property amongst survivors forms a not inconsiderable item of the alleviations provided by Mother Nature for the pain of inevitable losses by death, although the generality of us would undoubtedly refuse to indorse the remarkably frank declaration of a hard-hearted modern poet: