The Beetle by Richard Marsh (read e books online free txt) đ
Description
The Beetle was published in 1897, the same year as Draculaâand outsold it six to one that year. Like Dracula, the novel is steeped in the evil mysteries of an ancient horror: in this case, a mysterious ancient Egyptian creature bent on revenge.
The story is told through the sequential points of view of a group of middle-class Victorians who find themselves enmeshed in the creatureâs plot. The creature, in the guise of an Egyptian man, appears in London seeking revenge against a popular member of Parliament. They soon find out that it can shape shift into other things, including women; that it can control minds and use hypnosis; and that it wonât stop at anything to get the revenge it seeks. The heroes are soon caught in a whirlwind of chase scenes, underground laboratories, secret cults, and more as they race to foil the creature.
While The Beetle didnât earn the lasting popularity of Stokerâs counterpart, it remains a strange and unique morsel of Victorian sensationalist fiction.
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- Author: Richard Marsh
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âWere there any signs of a struggle?â
âNoneâ âthere were no signs of anything. Everything was just as I had left it, with the exception of the ring which I trod on in the passage, and which Lessingham has.â
âIf Miss Lindon has returned, it does not look as if she were in the house at present.â
It did notâ âunless silence had such meaning. Atherton had knocked loudly three times without succeeding in attracting the slightest notice from within.
âIt strikes me that this is another case of seeking admission through that hospitable window at the back.â
Atherton led the way to the rear. Lessingham and I followed. There was not even an apology for a yard, still less a gardenâ âthere was not even a fence of any sort, to serve as an enclosure, and to shut off the house from the wilderness of waste land. The kitchen window was open. I asked Sydney if he had left it so.
âI donât knowâ âI dare say we did; I donât fancy that either of us stood on the order of his coming.â
While he spoke, he scrambled over the sill. We followed. When he was in, he shouted at the top of his voice,
âMarjorie! Marjorie! Speak to me, Marjorieâ âit is Iâ âSydney!â
The words echoed through the house. Only silence answered. He led the way to the front room. Suddenly he stopped.
âHollo!â he cried. âThe blindâs down!â I had noticed, when we were outside, that the blind was down at the front room window. âIt was up when I went, that Iâll swear. That someone has been here is pretty plainâ âletâs hope itâs Marjorie.â
He had only taken a step forward into the room when he again stopped short to exclaim.
âMy stars!â âhereâs a sudden clearance!â âWhy, the place is emptyâ âeverythingâs clean gone!â
âWhat do you mean?â âwas it furnished when you left?â
The room was empty enough then.
âFurnished?â âI donât know that it was exactly what youâd call furnishedâ âthe party who ran this establishment had a taste in upholstery which was all his ownâ âbut there was a carpet, and a bed, andâ âand lots of thingsâ âfor the most part, I should have said, distinctly Eastern curiosities. They seem to have evaporated into smokeâ âwhich may be a way which is common enough among Eastern curiosities, though itâs queer to me.â
Atherton was staring about him as if he found it difficult to credit the evidence of his own eyes.
âHow long ago is it since you left?â
He referred to his watch.
âSomething over an hourâ âpossibly an hour and a half; I couldnât swear to the exact moment, but it certainly isnât more.â
âDid you notice any signs of packing up?â
âNot a sign.â Going to the window he drew up the blindâ âspeaking as he did so. âThe queer thing about this business is that when we first got in this blind wouldnât draw up a little bit, so, since it wouldnât go up I pulled it down, roller and all, now it draws up as easily and smoothly as if it had always been the best blind that ever lived.â
Standing at Sydneyâs back I saw that the cabman on his box was signalling to us with his outstretched hand. Sydney perceived him too. He threw up the sash.
âWhatâs the matter with you?â
âExcuse me, sir, but whoâs the old gent?â
âWhat old gent?â
âWhy the old gent peeping through the window of the room upstairs?â
The words were hardly out of the driverâs mouth when Sydney was through the door and flying up the staircase. I followed rather more soberlyâ âhis methods were a little too flighty for me. When I reached the landing, dashing out of the front room he rushed into the one at the backâ âthen through a door at the side. He came out shouting.
âWhatâs the idiot mean!â âwith his old gent! Iâd old gent him if I got him!â âThereâs not a creature about the place!â
He returned into the front roomâ âI at his heels. That certainly was emptyâ âand not only empty, but it showed no traces of recent occupation. The dust lay thick upon the floorâ âthere was that mouldy, earthy smell which is so frequently found in apartments which have been long untenanted.
âAre you sure, Atherton, that there is no one at the back?â
âOf course Iâm sureâ âyou can go and see for yourself if you like; do you think Iâm blind? Jehuâs drunk.â Throwing up the sash he addressed the driver. âWhat do you mean with your old gent at the window?â âwhat window?â
âThat window, sir.â
âGo to!â âyouâre dreaming, man!â âthereâs no one here.â
âBegging your pardon, sir, but there was someone there not a minute ago.â
âImagination, cabmanâ âthe slant of the light on the glassâ âor your eyesightâs defective.â
âExcuse me, sir, but itâs not my imagination, and my eyesightâs as good as any manâs in Englandâ âand as for the slant of the light on the glass, there ainât much glass for the light to slant on. I saw him peeping through that bottom broken pane on your left hand as plainly as I see you. He must be somewhere aboutâ âhe canât have got awayâ âheâs at the back. Ainât there a cupboard nor nothing where he could hide?â
The cabmanâs manner was so extremely earnest that I went myself to see. There was a cupboard on the landing, but the door of that stood wide open, and that obviously was bare. The room behind was small, and, despite the splintered glass in the window frame, stuffy. Fragments of glass kept company with the dust on the floor, together with a choice collection of stones, brickbats, and other missilesâ âwhich not improbably were the cause of their being there. In the corner stood a cupboardâ âbut a momentary examination showed that that was as bare as the other. The door at the side, which Sydney had left wide open, opened on to a closet, and that was empty. I glanced upâ âthere was no trap door which led to the roof. No practicable nook or cranny, in which a living being could lie concealed, was
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