Ghost Stories of an Antiquary by Montague Rhodes James (large screen ebook reader txt) 📕
'Is it possible that you found a body?' said the visitor, with an odd feeling of nervousness.
'We did that: but what's more, in every sense of the word, we found two.'
'Good Heavens! Two? Was there anything to show how they got there? Was this thing found with them?'
'It was. Amongst the rags of the clothes that were on one of the bodies. A bad business, whatever the story of it may have been. One body had the arms tight round the other. They must have been there thirty years or more--long enough before we came to this place. You may judge we filled the well up fast enough. Do you make anything of what's cut o
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But lately there has been very little: I think it will die out. There is
nothing in our registers except the entry of the burial, and what I for a
long time took to be the family motto: but last time I looked at it I
noticed that it was added in a later hand and had the initials of one of
our rectors quite late in the seventeenth century, A. C.—Augustine
Crompton. Here it is, you see—_quieta non movere_. I suppose— Well, it
is rather hard to say exactly what I do suppose.’
THE TRACTATE MIDDOTHTowards the end of an autumn afternoon an elderly man with a thin face
and grey Piccadilly weepers pushed open the swing-door leading into the
vestibule of a certain famous library, and addressing himself to an
attendant, stated that he believed he was entitled to use the library,
and inquired if he might take a book out. Yes, if he were on the list of
those to whom that privilege was given. He produced his card—Mr John
Eldred—and, the register being consulted, a favourable answer was given.
‘Now, another point,’ said he. ‘It is a long time since I was here, and I
do not know my way about your building; besides, it is near closing-time,
and it is bad for me to hurry up and down stairs. I have here the title
of the book I want: is there anyone at liberty who could go and find it
for me?’ After a moment’s thought the doorkeeper beckoned to a young man
who was passing. ‘Mr Garrett,’ he said, ‘have you a minute to assist this
gentleman?’ ‘With pleasure,’ was Mr Garrett’s answer. The slip with the
title was handed to him. ‘I think I can put my hand on this; it happens
to be in the class I inspected last quarter, but I’ll just look it up in
the catalogue to make sure. I suppose it is that particular edition that
you require, sir?’ ‘Yes, if you please; that, and no other,’ said Mr
Eldred; ‘I am exceedingly obliged to you.’ ‘Don’t mention it I beg, sir,’
said Mr Garrett, and hurried off.
‘I thought so,’ he said to himself, when his finger, travelling down the
pages of the catalogue, stopped at a particular entry. ‘Talmud: Tractate
Middoth, with the commentary of Nachmanides, Amsterdam, 1707. 11.3.34.
Hebrew class, of course. Not a very difficult job this.’
Mr Eldred, accommodated with a chair in the vestibule, awaited anxiously
the return of his messenger—and his disappointment at seeing an
empty-handed Mr Garrett running down the staircase was very evident. ‘I’m
sorry to disappoint you, sir,’ said the young man, ‘but the book is out.’
‘Oh dear!’ said Mr Eldred, ‘is that so? You are sure there can be no
mistake?’ ‘I don’t think there is much chance of it, sir: but it’s
possible, if you like to wait a minute, that you might meet the very
gentleman that’s got it. He must be leaving the library soon, and I
think I saw him take that particular book out of the shelf.’ ‘Indeed!
You didn’t recognize him, I suppose? Would it be one of the professors or
one of the students?’ ‘I don’t think so: certainly not a professor. I
should have known him; but the light isn’t very good in that part of the
library at this time of day, and I didn’t see his face. I should have
said he was a shortish old gentleman, perhaps a clergyman, in a cloak. If
you could wait, I can easily find out whether he wants the book very
particularly.’
‘No, no,’ said Mr Eldred, ‘I won’t—I can’t wait now, thank you—no. I
must be off. But I’ll call again tomorrow if I may, and perhaps you
could find out who has it.’
‘Certainly, sir, and I’ll have the book ready for you if we—’ But Mr
Eldred was already off, and hurrying more than one would have thought
wholesome for him.
Garrett had a few moments to spare; and, thought he, ‘I’ll go back to
that case and see if I can find the old man. Most likely he could put off
using the book for a few days. I dare say the other one doesn’t want to
keep it for long.’ So off with him to the Hebrew class. But when he got
there it was unoccupied, and the volume marked 11.3.34 was in its place
on the shelf. It was vexatious to Garrett’s self-respect to have
disappointed an inquirer with so little reason: and he would have liked,
had it not been against library rules, to take the book down to the
vestibule then and there, so that it might be ready for Mr Eldred when he
called. However, next morning he would be on the look out for him, and he
begged the doorkeeper to send and let him know when the moment came. As a
matter of fact, he was himself in the vestibule when Mr Eldred arrived,
very soon after the library opened and when hardly anyone besides the
staff were in the building.
‘I’m very sorry,’ he said; ‘it’s not often that I make such a stupid
mistake, but I did feel sure that the old gentleman I saw took out that
very book and kept it in his hand without opening it, just as people do,
you know, sir, when they mean to take a book out of the library and not
merely refer to it. But, however, I’ll run up now at once and get it for
you this time.’
And here intervened a pause. Mr Eldred paced the entry, read all the
notices, consulted his watch, sat and gazed up the staircase, did all
that a very impatient man could, until some twenty minutes had run out.
At last he addressed himself to the doorkeeper and inquired if it was a
very long way to that part of the library to which Mr Garrett had gone.
‘Well, I was thinking it was funny, sir: he’s a quick man as a rule, but
to be sure he might have been sent for by the librarian, but even so I
think he’d have mentioned to him that you was waiting. I’ll just speak
him up on the toob and see.’ And to the tube he addressed himself. As he
absorbed the reply to his question his face changed, and he made one or
two supplementary inquiries which were shortly answered. Then he came
forward to his counter and spoke in a lower tone. ‘I’m sorry to hear,
sir, that something seems to have ‘appened a little awkward. Mr Garrett
has been took poorly, it appears, and the librarian sent him ‘ome in a
cab the other way. Something of an attack, by what I can hear.’ ‘What,
really? Do you mean that someone has injured him?’ ‘No, sir, not violence
‘ere, but, as I should judge, attacked with an attack, what you might
term it, of illness. Not a strong constitootion, Mr Garrett. But as to
your book, sir, perhaps you might be able to find it for yourself. It’s
too bad you should be disappointed this way twice over—’ ‘Er—well, but
I’m so sorry that Mr Garrett should have been taken ill in this way while
he was obliging me. I think I must leave the book, and call and inquire
after him. You can give me his address, I suppose.’ That was easily done:
Mr Garrett, it appeared, lodged in rooms not far from the station. ‘And
one other question. Did you happen to notice if an old gentleman, perhaps
a clergyman, in a—yes—in a black cloak, left the library after I did
yesterday. I think he may have been a—I think, that is, that he may be
staying—or rather that I may have known him.’
‘Not in a black cloak, sir; no. There were only two gentlemen left later
than what you done, sir, both of them youngish men. There was Mr Carter
took out a music-book and one of the prefessors with a couple o’ novels.
That’s the lot, sir; and then I went off to me tea, and glad to get it.
Thank you, sir, much obliged.’
*
Mr Eldred, still a prey to anxiety, betook himself in a cab to Mr
Garrett’s address, but the young man was not yet in a condition to
receive visitors. He was better, but his landlady considered that he must
have had a severe shock. She thought most likely from what the doctor
said that he would be able to see Mr Eldred tomorrow. Mr Eldred returned
to his hotel at dusk and spent, I fear, but a dull evening.
On the next day he was able to see Mr Garrett. When in health Mr Garrett
was a cheerful and pleasant-looking young man. Now he was a very white
and shaky being, propped up in an arm-chair by the fire, and inclined to
shiver and keep an eye on the door. If however, there were visitors whom
he was not prepared to welcome, Mr Eldred was not among them. ‘It really
is I who owe you an apology, and I was despairing of being able to pay
it, for I didn’t know your address. But I am very glad you have called. I
do dislike and regret giving all this trouble, but you know I could not
have foreseen this—this attack which I had.’
‘Of course not; but now, I am something of a doctor. You’ll excuse my
asking; you have had, I am sure, good advice. Was it a fall you had?’
‘No. I did fall on the floor—but not from any height. It was, really, a
shock.’
‘You mean something startled you. Was it anything you thought you saw?’
‘Not much thinking in the case, I’m afraid. Yes, it was something I
saw. You remember when you called the first time at the library?’
‘Yes, of course. Well, now, let me beg you not to try to describe it—it
will not be good for you to recall it, I’m sure.’
‘But indeed it would be a relief to me to tell anyone like yourself: you
might be able to explain it away. It was just when I was going into the
class where your book is—’
‘Indeed, Mr Garrett, I insist; besides, my watch tells me I have but very
little time left in which to get my things together and take the train.
No—not another word—it would be more distressing to you than you
imagine, perhaps. Now there is just one thing I want to say. I feel that
I am really indirectly responsible for this illness of yours, and I think
I ought to defray the expense which it has—eh?’
But this offer was quite distinctly declined. Mr Eldred, not pressing it,
left almost at once: not, however, before Mr Garrett had insisted upon
his taking a note of the class-mark of the Tractate Middoth, which, as he
said, Mr Eldred could at leisure get for himself. But Mr Eldred did not
reappear at the library.
*
William Garrett had another visitor that day in the person of a
contemporary and colleague from the library, one George Earle. Earle had
been one of those who found Garrett lying insensible on the floor just
inside the ‘class’ or cubicle (opening upon the central alley of a
spacious gallery) in which the Hebrew books were placed, and Earle had
naturally been very anxious about his friend’s condition. So as soon as
library hours were over he appeared at the lodgings. ‘Well,’ he said
(after other conversation), ‘I’ve no notion what it was that put
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