The Beetle by Richard Marsh (read e books online free txt) 📕

“My dear Lindon, I cannot tell you how grateful I am to you for your suggestion, but I can only repeat that⁠—unfortunately, anything of the kind is out of the question.”

“I don’t see why.”

“Perhaps not.”

“You⁠—you’re a pretty lot, upon my word!”

“I’m afraid we are.”

“I⁠—I want you to tell her that Lessingham is a damned scoundrel.”

“I see.⁠—But I would suggest that if I am to use the influence with which you credit me to the best advantage, or to preserve a shred of it, I had hardly better state the fact quite so bluntly as that.”

“I don’t care how you state it⁠—state it as you like. Only⁠—only I want you to soak her mind with a loathing of the fellow; I⁠—I⁠—I want you to paint him in his true colours; in⁠—in⁠—in fact, I⁠—I want you to choke him off.”

While he still struggled with his words, and with the perspiration on his brow, Edwards entered. I turned to him.

“What is it?”

“Miss Lindon, sir, wishes to see you particularly, and at once.”

At that moment I found the announcement a trifle perplexing⁠—it delighted Lindon. He began to stutter and to stammer.

“T-the very thing!⁠—c-couldn’t have been better!⁠—show her in here! H-hide me somewhere⁠—I don’t care where⁠—behind that screen! Y-you use your influence with her;⁠—g-give her a good talking to;⁠—t-tell her what I’ve told you; and at⁠—at the critical moment I’ll come in, and then⁠—then if we can’t manage her between us, it’ll be a wonder.”

The proposition staggered me.

“But, my dear Mr. Lindon, I fear that I cannot⁠—”

He cut me short.

“Here she comes!”

Ere I could stop him he was behind the screen⁠—I had not seen him move with such agility before!⁠—and before I could expostulate Marjorie was in the room. Something which was in her bearing, in her face, in her eyes, quickened the beating of my pulses⁠—she looked as if something had come into her life, and taken the joy clean out of it.

“Sydney!” she cried, “I’m so glad that I can see you!”

She might be⁠—but, at that moment, I could scarcely assert that I was a sharer of her joy.

“I told you that if trouble overtook me I should come to you, and⁠—I’m in trouble now. Such strange trouble.”

So was I⁠—and in perplexity as well. An idea occurred to me⁠—I would outwit her eavesdropping father.

“Come with me into the house⁠—tell me all about it there.”

She refused to budge.

“No⁠—I will tell you all about it here.” She looked about her⁠—as it struck me queerly. “This is just the sort of place in which to unfold a tale like mine. It looks uncanny.”

“But⁠—”

“ ‘But me no buts!’ Sydney, don’t torture me⁠—let me stop here where I am⁠—don’t you see I’m haunted?”

She had seated herself. Now she stood up, holding her hands out in front of her in a state of extraordinary agitation, her manner as wild as her words.

“Why are you staring at me like that? Do you think I’m mad?⁠—I wonder if I’m going mad.⁠—Sydney, do people suddenly go mad? You’re a bit of everything, you’re a bit of a doctor too, feel my pulse⁠—there it is!⁠—tell me if I’m ill!”

I felt her pulse⁠—it did not need its swift beating to inform me that fever of some sort was in her veins. I gave her something in a glass. She held it up to the level of her eyes.

“What’s this?”

“It’s a decoction of my own. You might not think it, but my brain sometimes gets into a whirl. I use it as a sedative. It will do you good.”

She drained the glass.

“It’s done me good already⁠—I believe it has; that’s being something like a doctor.⁠—Well, Sydney, the storm has almost burst. Last night papa forbade me to speak to Paul Lessingham⁠—by way of a prelude.”

“Exactly. Mr. Lindon⁠—”

“Yes, Mr. Lindon⁠—that’s papa. I fancy we almost quarrelled. I know papa said some surprising things⁠—but it’s a way he has⁠—he’s apt to say surprising things. He’s the best father in the world, but⁠—it’s not in his nature to like a really clever person; your good high dried old Tory never can;⁠—I’ve always thought that that’s why he’s so fond of you.”

“Thank you, I presume that is the reason, though it had not occurred to me before.”

Since her entry, I had, to the best of my ability, been turning the position over in my mind. I came to the conclusion that, all things considered, her father had probably as much right to be a sharer of his daughter’s confidence as I had, even from the vantage of the screen⁠—and that for him to hear a few home truths proceeding from her lips might serve to clear the air. From such a clearance the lady would not be likely to come off worst. I had not the faintest inkling of what was the actual purport of her visit.

She started off, as it seemed to me, at a tangent.

“Did I tell you last night about what took place yesterday morning⁠—about the adventure of my finding the man?”

“Not a word.”

“I believe I meant to⁠—I’m half disposed to think he’s brought me trouble. Isn’t there some superstition about evil befalling whoever shelters a homeless stranger?”

“We’ll hope not, for humanity’s sake.”

“I fancy there is⁠—I feel sure there is.⁠—Anyhow, listen to my story. Yesterday morning, before breakfast⁠—to be accurate, between eight and nine, I looked out of the window, and I saw a crowd in the street. I sent Peter out to see what was the matter. He came back and said there was a man in a fit. I went out to look at the man in the fit. I found, lying on the ground, in the centre of the crowd, a man who, but for the tattered remnants of what had apparently once been a cloak, would have been stark naked. He was covered with dust, and dirt, and blood⁠—a dreadful sight. As you know, I have had my smattering of instruction in First Aid to the Injured, and that kind of thing, so,