Best Horror Stories - [17]

The heavy gate had swung into place behind him, but he heard it dash open again before his pursuer. As he rushed madly and wildly through the night, he could hear a swift, dry patter behind him, and could see, as he threw back a glance, that this horror was bounding like a tiger at his heels, with blazing eyes and one stringy arm out-thrown. Thank God, the door was ajar. He could see the thin bar of light which shot from the lamp in the hall. Nearer yet sounded the clatter from behind. He heard a hoarse gurgling at his very shoulder. With a shriek he flung himself against the door, slammed and bolted it behind him, and sank half-fainting on to the hall chair.

‘My goodness, Smith, what’s the matter?’ asked Peterson, appearing at the door of his study.

‘Give me some brandy!’

Peterson disappeared, and came rushing out again with a glass and a decanter.

‘You need it,’ he said, as his visitor drank off what he poured out for him. ‘Why, man, you are as white as cheese.’

Smith laid down his glass, rose up, and took a deep breath.

‘I am my own man again now,’ said he. ‘I was never so unmanned before. But, with your leave, Peterson, I will sleep here to-night, for I don’t think I could face that road again except by daylight. It’s weak, I know, but I can’t help it.’

Peterson looked at his visitor with a very questioning eye.

‘Of course you shall sleep here if you wish. I’ll tell Mrs. Burney to make up the spare bed. Where are you off to now?’

‘Come up with me to the window that overlooks the door. I want you to see what I have seen.’ They went up to the window of the upper hall whence they could look down upon the approach to the house. The drive and the fields on either side lay quiet and still, bathed in the peaceful moonlight.

‘Well, really, Smith,’ remarked Peterson, ‘it is well that I know you to be an abstemious man. What in the world can have frightened you?’

‘I’ll tell you presently. But where can it have gone? Ah, now look, look! See the curve of the road just beyond your gate.’

‘Yes, I see; you needn’t pinch my arm off. I saw someone pass. I should say a man, rather thin, apparently, and tall, very tall. But what of him? And what of yourself? You are still shaking like an aspen leaf.’

‘I have been within hand-grip of the devil, that’s all. But come down to your study, and I shall tell you the whole story.’

He did so. Under the cheery lamplight, with a glass of wine on the table beside him, and the portly form and florid face of his friend in front, he narrated, in their order, all the events, great and small, which had formed so singular a chain, from the night on which he had found Bellingham fainting in front of the mummy case until his horrid experience of an hour ago.

‘There now,’ he said as he concluded, ‘that’s the whole black business. It is monstrous and incredible, but it is true.’ Dr. Plumptree Peterson sat for some time in silence with a very puzzled expression upon his face.

‘I never heard of such a thing in my life, never!’ he said at last. ‘You have told me the facts. Now tell me your inferences.’

‘You can draw your own.’

‘But I should like to hear yours. You have thought over the matter, and I have not.’

‘Well, it must be a little vague in detail, but the main points seem to me to be clear enough. This fellow Bellingham, in his Eastern studies, has got hold of some infernal secret by which a mummy – or possibly only this particular mummy – can be temporarily brought to life. He was trying this disgusting business on the night when he fainted. No doubt the sight of the creature moving had shaken his nerve, even though he had expected it. Having done it, he naturally thought him that he might use the creature as an agent. It has intelligence and it has strength. For some purpose he took Lee into his confidence; but Lee, like a decent Christian, would have nothing to do with such a business. Then they had a row, and Lee vowed that he would tell his sister of Bellingham’s true character. Bellingham’s game was to prevent him, and he nearly managed it, by setting this creature of his on his track. He had already tried its powers upon another man – Norton – towards whom he had a grudge. It is the merest chance that he has not two murders upon his soul. Then, when I taxed him with the matter, he had the strongest reasons for wishing to get me out of the way before I could convey my knowledge to anyone else. He got his chance when I went out, for he knew my habits, and where I was bound for. I have had a narrow shave, Peterson, and it is mere luck that you didn’t find me on your doorstep in the morning. I’m not a nervous man as a rule, and I never thought to have the fear of death put upon me as it was tonight.’

Now, I have quite made up my mind what I shall do. And first of all, may I use your paper and pens for an hour?’

‘Most certainly. You will find all you want upon that side table.’

Abercrombie Smith sat down before a sheet of foolscap, and for an hour, and then for a second hour his pen travelled swiftly over it. Page after page was finished and tossed aside while his friend leaned back in his arm-chair, looking across at him with patient curiosity. At last, with an exclamation of satisfaction, Smith sprang to his feet, gathered his papers into order, and laid the last one upon Peterson’s desk.