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The Blanched Soldier

By Anne Franklin,2014-05-23 04:19
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The Blanched Soldier

The Case-Book of Sherlock Holmes

    The Blanched Soldier THE ideas of my friend Watson, though limited, are exceedingly pertinacious. For a long time he

    has worried me to write an experience of my own. Perhaps I have rather invited this persecution,

    since I have often had occasion to point out to him how superficial are his own accounts and to

    accuse him of pandering to popular taste instead of confining himself rigidly to facts and figures.

    “Try it yourself, Holmes!” he has retorted, and I am compelled to admit that, having taken my pen

    in my hand, I do begin to realize that the matter must be presented in such a way as may interest

    the reader. The following case can hardly fail to do so, as it is among the strangest happenings in

    my collection, though it chanced that Watson had no note of it in his collection. Speaking of my

    old friend and biographer, I would take this opportunity to remark that if I burden myself with a

    companion in my various little inquiries it is not done out of sentiment or caprice, but it is that

    Watson has some remarkable characteristics of his own to which in his modesty he has given

    small attention amid his exaggerated estimates of my own performances. A confederate who

    foresees your conclusions and course of action is always dangerous, but one to whom each

    development comes as a perpetual surprise, and to whom the future is always a closed book, is

    indeed an ideal helpmate.

    I find from my notebook that it was in January, 1903, just after the conclusion of the Boer War,

    that I had my visit from Mr. James M. Dodd, a big, fresh, sunburned, upstanding Briton. The good

    Watson had at that time deserted me for a wife, the only selfish action which I can recall in our

    association. I was alone.

    It is my habit to sit with my back to the window and to place my visitors in the opposite chair,

    where the light falls full upon them. Mr. James M. Dodd seemed somewhat at a loss how to begin

    the interview. I did not attempt to help him, for his silence gave me more time for observation. I

    have found it wise to impress clients with a sense of power, and so I gave him some of my

    conclusions.

    “From South Africa, sir, I perceive.” “Yes, sir,” he answered, with some surprise.

    “Imperial Yeomanry, I fancy.” “Exactly.”

    “Middlesex Corps, no doubt.” “That is so. Mr. Holmes, you are a wizard.”

    I smiled at his bewildered expression.

    “When a gentleman of virile appearance enters my room with such tan upon his face as an English

    sun could never give, and with his handkerchief in his sleeve instead of in his pocket, it is not

    difficult to place him. You wear a short beard, which shows that you were not a regular. You have

    the cut of a riding-man. As to Middlesex, your card has already shown me that you are a

    stockbroker from Throgmorton Street. What other regiment would you join?”

    “You see everything.”

    “I see no more than you, but I have trained myself to notice what I see. However, Mr. Dodd, it was

    not to discuss the science of observation that you called upon me this morning. What has been

    happening at Tuxbury Old Park?” “Mr. Holmes– –!”

“My dear sir, there is no mystery. Your letter came with that heading, and as you fixed this

    appointment in very pressing terms it was clear that something sudden and important had

    occurred.”

    “Yes, indeed. But the letter was written in the afternoon, and a good deal has happened since then.

    If Colonel Emsworth had not kicked me out –” “Kicked you out!”

    “Well, that was what it amounted to. He is a hard nail, is Colonel Emsworth. The greatest martinet

    in the Army in his day, and it was a day of rough language, too. I couldn‟t have stuck the colonel if

    it had not been for Godfrey‟s sake.”

    I lit my pipe and leaned back in my chair.

    “Perhaps you will explain what you are talking about.” My client grinned mischievously.

    “I had got into the way of supposing that you knew everything without being told,” said he. “But I

    will give you the facts, and I hope to God that you will be able to tell me what they mean. I‟ve

    been awake all night puzzling my brain, and the more I think the more incredible does it become.

    “When I joined up in January, 1901–just two years agoyoung Godfrey Emsworth had joined the

    same squadron. He was Colonel Emsworth‟s only son– Emsworth, the Crimean V. C.and he had

    the fighting blood in him, so it is no wonder he volunteered. There was not a finer lad in the

    regiment. We formed a friendshipthe sort of friendship which can only be made when one lives the same life and shares the same joys and sorrows. He was my mateand that means a good deal

    in the Army. We took the rough and the smooth together for a year of hard fighting. Then he was

    hit with a bullet from an elephant gun in the action near Diamond Hill outside Pretoria. I got one

    letter from the hospital at Cape Town and one from Southampton. Since then not a wordnot one

    word, Mr. Holmes, for six months and more, and he my closest pal.

    “Well, when the war was over, and we all got back, I wrote to his father and asked where Godfrey

    was. No answer. I waited a bit and then I wrote again. This time I had a reply, short and gruff.

    Godfrey had gone on a voyage round the world, and it was not likely that he would be back for a

    year. That was all.

    “I wasn‟t satisfied, Mr. Holmes. The whole thing seemed to me so damned unnatural. He was a

    good lad, and he would not drop a pal like that. It was not like him. Then, again, I happened to

    know that he was heir to a lot of money, and also that his father and he did not always hit it off too

    well. The old man was sometimes a bully, and young Godfrey had too much spirit to stand it. No, I

    wasn‟t satisfied, and I determined that I would get to the root of the matter. It happened, however,

    that my own affairs needed a lot of straightening out, after two years‟ absence, and so it is only

    this week that I have been able to take up Godfrey‟s case again. But since I have taken it up I mean to drop everything in order to see it through.” Mr. James M. Dodd appeared to be the sort of person whom it would be better to have as a friend

    than as an enemy. His blue eyes were stern and his square jaw had set hard as he spoke.

    “Well, what have you done?” I asked.

    “My first move was to get down to his home, Tuxbury Old Park, near Bedford, and to see for

    myself how the ground lay. I wrote to the mother, thereforeI had had quite enough of the

    curmudgeon of a fatherand I made a clean frontal attack: Godfrey was my chum, I had a great

    deal of interest which I might tell her of our common experiences, I should be in the

    neighbourhood, would there be any objection, et cetera? In reply I had quite an amiable answer

from her and an offer to put me up for the night. That was what took me down on Monday.

    “Tuxbury Old Hall is inaccessible–five miles from anywhere. There was no trap at the station, so I had to walk, carrying my suitcase, and it was nearly dark before I arrived. It is a great wandering

    house, standing in a considerable park. I should judge it was of all sorts of ages and styles, starting

    on a half-timbered Elizabethan foundation and ending in a Victorian portico. Inside it was all

    panelling and tapestry and half-effaced old pictures, a house of shadows and mystery. There was a

    butler, old Ralph, who seemed about the same age as the house, and there was his wife, who might

    have been older. She had been Godfrey‟s nurse, and I had heard him speak of her as second only

    to his mother in his affections, so I was drawn to her in spite of her queer appearance. The mother

    I liked alsoa gentle little white mouse of a woman. It was only the colonel himself whom I

    barred.

    “We had a bit of barney right away, and I should have walked back to the station if I had not felt

    that it might be playing his game for me to do so. I was shown straight into his study, and there I

    found him, a huge, bow-backed man with a smoky skin and a straggling gray beard, seated behind

    his littered desk. A red-veined nose jutted out like a vulture‟s beak, and two fierce gray eyes glared

    at me from under tufted brows. I could understand now why Godfrey seldom spoke of his father.

    “ „Well, sir,‟ said he in a rasping voice, „I should be interested to know the real reasons for this visit.‟

    “I answered that I had explained them in my letter to his wife.

    “ „Yes, yes, you said that you had known Godfrey in Africa. We have, of course, only your word

    for that.‟

    “ „I have his letters to me in my pocket.‟ “ „Kindly let me see them.‟

    “He glanced at the two which I handed him, and then he tossed them back.

    “ „Well, what then?‟ he asked.

    “ „I was fond of your son Godfrey, sir. Many ties and memories united us. Is it not natural that I

    should wonder at his sudden silence and should wish to know what has become of him?‟

    “ „I have some recollections, sir, that I had already corresponded with you and had told you what

    had become of him. He has gone upon a voyage round the world. His health was in a poor way

    after his African experiences, and both his mother and I were of opinion that complete rest and

    change were needed. Kindly pass that explanation on to any other friends who may be interested

    in the matter.‟

    “ „Certainly,‟ I answered. „But perhaps you would have the goodness to let me have the name of

    the steamer and of the line by which he sailed, together with the date. I have no doubt that I should

    be able to get a letter through to him.‟

    “My request seemed both to puzzle and to irritate my host. His great eyebrows came down over his eyes, and he tapped his fingers impatiently on the table. He looked up at last with the

    expression of one who has seen his adversary make a dangerous move at chess, and has decided

    how to meet it.

     „Many people, Mr. Dodd,‟ said he, „would take offence at your infernal pertinacity and would

    think that this insistence had reached the point of damned impertinence.‟

    “ „You must put it down, sir, to my real love for your son.‟ “ „Exactly. I have already made every allowance upon that score. I must ask you, however, to drop

    these inquiries. Every family has its own inner knowledge and its own motives, which cannot

always be made clear to outsiders, however well-intentioned. My wife is anxious to hear

    something of Godfrey‟s past which you are in a position to tell her, but I would ask you to let the

    present and the future alone. Such inquiries serve no useful purpose, sir, and place us in a delicate

    and difficult position.‟

    “So I came to a dead end, Mr. Holmes. There was no getting past it. I could only pretend to accept the situation and register a vow inwardly that I would never rest until my friend‟s fate had been

    cleared up. It was a dull evening. We dined quietly, the three of us, in a gloomy, faded old room.

    The lady questioned me eagerly about her son, but the old man seemed morose and depressed. I

    was so bored by the whole proceeding that I made an excuse as soon as I decently could and

    retired to my bedroom. It was a large, bare room on the ground floor, as gloomy as the rest of the

    house, but after a year of sleeping upon the veldt, Mr. Holmes, one is not too particular about

    one‟s quarters. I opened the curtains and looked out into the garden, remarking that it was a fine

    night with a bright half-moon. Then I sat down by the roaring fire with the lamp on a table beside

    me, and endeavoured to distract my mind with a novel. I was interrupted, however, by Ralph, the

    old butler, who came in with a fresh supply of coals.

    “ „I thought you might run short in the night-time, sir. It is bitter weather and these rooms are cold.‟

    “He hesitated before leaving the room, and when I looked round he was standing facing me with a

    wistful look upon his wrinkled face.

    “ „Beg your pardon, sir, but I could not help hearing what you said of young Master Godfrey at dinner. You know, sir, that my wife nursed him, and so I may say I am his foster-father. It‟s natural

    we should take an interest. And you say he carried himself well, sir?‟

    “ „There was no braver man in the regiment. He pulled me out once from under the rifles of the Boers, or maybe I should not be here.‟ “The old butler rubbed his skinny hands. “ „Yes, sir, yes, that is Master Godfrey all over. He was always courageous. There‟s not a tree in

    the park, sir, that he has not climbed. Nothing would stop him. He was a fine boyand oh, sir, he

    was a fine man.‟

    “I sprang to my feet.

    “ „Look here!‟ I cried. „You say he was. You speak as if he were dead. What is all this mystery?

    What has become of Godfrey Emsworth?‟ “I gripped the old man by the shoulder, but he shrank away.

    “ „I don‟t know what you mean, sir. Ask the master about Master Godfrey. He knows. It is not for

    me to interfere.‟

    “He was leaving the room, but I held his arm. “ „Listen,‟ I said. „You are going to answer one question before you leave if I have to hold you all

    night. Is Godfrey dead?‟

    “He could not face my eyes. He was like a man hypnotized. The answer was dragged from his lips.

    It was a terrible and unexpected one.

    “ „I wish to God he was!‟ he cried, and, tearing himself free, he dashed from the room.

    “You will think, Mr. Holmes, that I returned to my chair in no very happy state of mind. The old

    man‟s words seemed to me to bear only one interpretation. Clearly my poor friend had become

    involved in some criminal or, at the least, disreputable transaction which touched the family

    honour. That stern old man had sent his son away and hidden him from the world lest some

scandal should come to light. Godfrey was a reckless fellow. He was easily influenced by those

    around him. No doubt he had fallen into bad hands and been misled to his ruin. It was a piteous

    business, if it was indeed so, but even now it was my duty to hunt him out and see if I could aid

    him. I was anxiously pondering the matter when I looked up, and there was Godfrey Emsworth

    standing before me.” My client had paused as one in deep emotion.

    “Pray continue,” I said. “Your problem presents some very unusual features.”

    “He was outside the window, Mr. Holmes, with his face pressed against the glass. I have told you

    that I looked out at the night. When I did so I left the curtains partly open. His figure was framed

    in this gap. The window came down to the ground and I could see the whole length of it, but it

    was his face which held my gaze. He was deadly palenever have I seen a man so white. I reckon

    ghosts may look like that; but his eyes met mine, and they were the eyes of a living man. He

    sprang back when he saw that I was looking at him, and he vanished into the darkness.

    “There was something shocking about the man, Mr. Holmes. It wasn‟t merely that ghastly face

    glimmering as white as cheese in the darkness. It was more subtle than thatsomething slinking,

    something furtive, something guilty something very unlike the frank, manly lad that I had known.

    It left a feeling of horror in my mind.

    “But when a man has been soldiering for a year or two with brother Boer as a playmate, he keeps

    his nerve and acts quickly. Godfrey had hardly vanished before I was at the window. There was an

    awkward catch, and I was some little time before I could throw it up. Then I nipped through and

    ran down the garden path in the direction that I thought he might have taken.

    “It was a long path and the light was not very good, but it seemed to me something was moving

    ahead of me. I ran on and called his name, but it was no use. When I got to the end of the path

    there were several others branching in different directions to various outhouses. I stood hesitating,

    and as I did so I heard distinctly the sound of a closing door. It was not behind me in the house,

    but ahead of me, somewhere in the darkness. That was enough, Mr. Holmes, to assure me that

    what I had seen was not a vision. Godfrey had run away from me, and he had shut a door behind

    him. Of that I was certain.

    “There was nothing more I could do, and I spent an uneasy night turning the matter over in my

    mind and trying to find some theory which would cover the facts. Next day I found the colonel

    rather more conciliatory, and as his wife remarked that there were some places of interest in the

    neighbourhood, it gave me an opening to ask whether my presence for one more night would

    incommode them. A somewhat grudging acquiescence from the old man gave me a clear day in

    which to make my observations. I was already perfectly convinced that Godfrey was in hiding

    somewhere near, but where and why remained to be solved.

    “The house was so large and so rambling that a regiment might be hid away in it and no one the

    wiser. If the secret lay there it was difficult for me to penetrate it. But the door which I had heard

    close was certainly not in the house. I must explore the garden and see what I could find. There

    was no difficulty in the way, for the old people were busy in their own fashion and left me to my

    own devices.

    “There were several small outhouses, but at the end of the garden there was a detached building of

    some size–large enough for a gardener‟s or a gamekeeper‟s residence. Could this be the place whence the sound of that shutting door had come? I approached it in a careless fashion as though I

    were strolling aimlessly round the grounds. As I did so, a small, brisk, bearded man in a black coat

and bowler hatnot at all the gardener typecame out of the door. To my surprise, he locked it

    after him and put the key in his pocket. Then he looked at me with some surprise on his face.

    “ „Are you a visitor here?‟ he asked.

    “I explained that I was and that I was a friend of Godfrey‟s.

    “ „What a pity that he should be away on his travels, for he would have so liked to see me,‟ I

    continued.

    “ „Quite so. Exactly,‟ said he with a rather guilty air. „No doubt you will renew your visit at some

    more propitious time.‟ He passed on, but when I turned I observed that he was standing watching

    me, half-concealed by the laurels at the far end of the garden.

    “I had a good look at the little house as I passed it, but the windows were heavily curtained, and,

    so far as one could see, it was empty. I might spoil my own game and even be ordered off the

    premises if I were too audacious, for I was still conscious that I was being watched. Therefore, I

    strolled back to the house and waited for night before I went on with my inquiry. When all was

    dark and quiet I slipped out of my window and made my way as silently as possible to the

    mysterious lodge.

    “I have said that it was heavily curtained, but now I found that the windows were shuttered as well.

    Some light, however, was breaking through one of them, so I concentrated my attention upon this.

    I was in luck, for the curtain had not been quite closed, and there was a crack in the shutter, so that

    I could see the inside of the room. It was a cheery place enough, a bright lamp and a blazing fire.

    Opposite to me was seated the little man whom I had seen in the morning. He was smoking a pipe

    and reading a paper.” “What paper?” I asked. My client seemed annoyed at the interruption of his narrative.

    “Can it matter?” he asked. “It is most essential.” “I really took no notice.” “Possibly you observed whether it was a broad-leafed paper or of that smaller type which one

    associates with weeklies.” “Now that you mention it, it was not large. It might have been the Spectator. However, I had little

    thought to spare upon such details, for a second man was seated with his back to the window, and

    I could swear that this second man was Godfrey. I could not see his face, but I knew the familiar

    slope of his shoulders. He was leaning upon his elbow in an attitude of great melancholy, his body

    turned towards the fire. I was hesitating as to what I should do when there was a sharp tap on my

    shoulder, and there was Colonel Emsworth beside me.

    “ „This way, sir!‟ said he in a low voice. He walked in silence to the house, and I followed him

    into my own bedroom. He had picked up a time-table in the hall.

    “ „There is a train to London at 8:30,‟ said he. „The trap will be at the door at eight.‟

    “He was white with rage, and, indeed, I felt myself in so difficult a position that I could only

    stammer out a few incoherent apologies in which I tried to excuse myself by urging my anxiety

    for my friend.

    “ „The matter will not bear discussion,‟ said he abruptly. „You have made a most damnable

    intrusion into the privacy of our family. You were here as a guest and you have become a spy. I

    have nothing more to say, sir, save that I have no wish ever to see you again.‟

    “At this I lost my temper, Mr. Holmes, and I spoke with some warmth.

“ „I have seen your son, and I am convinced that for some reason of your own you are concealing

    him from the world. I have no idea what your motives are in cutting him off in this fashion, but I

    am sure that he is no longer a free agent. I warn you, Colonel Emsworth, that until I am assured as

    to the safety and well-being of my friend I shall never desist in my efforts to get to the bottom of

    the mystery, and I shall certainly not allow myself to be intimidated by anything which you may

    say or do.‟

    “The old fellow looked diabolical, and I really thought he was about to attack me. I have said that

    he was a gaunt, fierce old giant, and though I am no weakling I might have been hard put to it to

    hold my own against him. However, after a long glare of rage he turned upon his heel and walked

    out of the room. For my part, I took the appointed train in the morning, with the full intention of

    coming straight to you and asking for your advice and assistance at the appointment for which I

    had already written.” Such was the problem which my visitor laid before me. It presented, as the astute reader will have

    already perceived, few difficulties in its solution, for a very limited choice of alternatives must get

    to the root of the matter. Still, elementary as it was, there were points of interest and novelty about

    it which may excuse my placing it upon record. I now proceeded, using my familiar method of

    logical analysis, to narrow down the possible solutions.

    “The servants,” I asked; “how many were in the house?”

    “To the best of my belief there were only the old butler and his wife. They seemed to live in the

    simplest fashion.” “There was no servant, then, in the detached house?”

    “None, unless the little man with the beard acted as such. He seemed, however, to be quite a

    superior person.” “That seems very suggestive. Had you any indication that food was conveyed from the one house

    to the other?”

    “Now that you mention it, I did see old Ralph carrying a basket down the garden walk and going

    in the direction of this house. The idea of food did not occur to me at the moment.”

    “Did you make any local inquiries?”

    “Yes, I did. I spoke to the station-master and also to the innkeeper in the village. I simply asked if

    they knew anything of my old comrade, Godfrey Emsworth. Both of them assured me that he had

    gone for a voyage round the world. He had come home and then had almost at once started off

    again. The story was evidently universally accepted.”

    “You said nothing of your suspicions?”

    “Nothing.”

    “That was very wise. The matter should certainly be inquired into. I will go back with you to

    Tuxbury Old Park.” “To-day?”

    It happened that at the moment I was clearing up the case which my friend Watson has described

    as that of the Abbey School, in which the Duke of Greyminster was so deeply involved. I had also

    a commission from the Sultan of Turkey which called for immediate action, as political

    consequences of the gravest kind might arise from its neglect. Therefore it was not until the

    beginning of the next week, as my diary records, that I was able to start forth on my mission to

    Bedfordshire in company with Mr. James M. Dodd. As we drove to Euston we picked up a grave

    and taciturn gentleman of iron-gray aspect, with whom I had made the necessary arrangements.

“This is an old friend,” said I to Dodd. “It is possible that his presence may be entirely

    unnecessary, and, on the other hand, it may be essential. It is not necessary at the present stage to

    go further into the matter.” The narratives of Watson have accustomed the reader, no doubt, to the fact that I do not waste

    words or disclose my thoughts while a case is actually under consideration. Dodd seemed

    surprised, but nothing more was said, and the three of us continued our journey together. In the

    train I asked Dodd one more question which I wished our companion to hear.

    “You say that you saw your friend‟s face quite clearly at the window, so clearly that you are sure

    of his identity?”

    “I have no doubt about it whatever. His nose was pressed against the glass. The lamplight shone

    full upon him.”

    “It could not have been someone resembling him?”

    “No, no, it was he.”

    “But you say he was changed?” “Only in colour. His face was–how shall I describe it?it was of a fishbelly whiteness. It was

    bleached.”

    “Was it equally pale all over?” “I think not. It was his brow which I saw so clearly as it was pressed against the window.”

    “Did you call to him?”

    “I was too startled and horrified for the moment. Then I pursued him, as I have told you, but

    without result.”

    My case was practically complete, and there was only one small incident needed to round it off.

    When, after a considerable drive, we arrived at the strange old rambling house which my client

    had described, it was Ralph, the elderly butler, who opened the door. I had requisitioned the

    carriage for the day and had asked my elderly friend to remain within it unless we should summon

    him. Ralph, a little wrinkled old fellow, was in the conventional costume of black coat and

    pepper-and-salt trousers, with only one curious variant. He wore brown leather gloves, which at

    sight of us he instantly shuffled off, laying them down on the hall-table as we passed in. I have, as

    my friend Watson may have remarked, an abnormally acute set of senses, and a faint but incisive

    scent was apparent. It seemed to centre on the hall-table. I turned, placed my hat there, knocked it

    off, stooped to pick it up, and contrived to bring my nose within a foot of the gloves. Yes, it was

    undoubtedly from them that the curious tarry odour was oozing. I passed on into the study with

    my case complete. Alas, that I should have to show my hand so when I tell my own story! It was

    by concealing such links in the chain that Watson was enabled to produce his meretricious finales.

    Colonel Emsworth was not in his room, but he came quickly enough on receipt of Ralph‟s

    message. We heard his quick, heavy step in the passage. The door was flung open and he rushed in

    with bristling beard and twisted features, as terrible an old man as ever I have seen. He held our

    cards in his hand, and he tore them up and stamped on the fragments.

    “Have I not told you, you infernal busybody, that you are warned off the premises? Never dare to

    show your damned face here again. If you enter again without my leave I shall be within my rights

    if I use violence. I‟ll shoot you, sir! By God, I will! As to you, sir,” turning upon me, “I extend the

    same warning to you. I am familiar with your ignoble profession, but you must take your reputed

    talents to some other field. There is no opening for them here.”

    “I cannot leave here,” said my client firmly, “until I hear from Godfrey‟s own lips that he is under

no restraint.”

    Our involuntary host rang the bell.

    “Ralph,” he said, “telephone down to the county police and ask the inspector to send up two

    constables. Tell him there are burglars in the house.”

    “One moment,” said I. “You must be aware, Mr. Dodd, that Colonel Emsworth is within his rights and that we have no legal status within his house. On the other hand, he should recognize that your

    action is prompted entirely by solicitude for his son. I venture to hope that if I were allowed to

    have five minutes‟ conversation with Colonel Emsworth I could certainly alter his view of the

    matter.”

    “I am not so easily altered,” said the old soldier. “Ralph, do what I have told you. What the devil

    are you waiting for? Ring up the police!”

    “Nothing of the sort,” I said, putting my back to the door. “Any police interference would bring

    about the very catastrophe which you dread.” I took out my notebook and scribbled one word

    upon a loose sheet. “That,” said I as I handed it to Colonel Emsworth, “is what has brought us

    here.”

    He stared at the writing with a face from which every expression save amazement had vanished.

    “How do you know?” he gasped, sitting down heavily in his chair. “It is my business to know things. That is my trade.”

    He sat in deep thought, his gaunt hand tugging at his straggling beard. Then he made a gesture of

    resignation.

    “Well, if you wish to see Godfrey, you shall. It is no doing of mine, but you have forced my hand.

    Ralph, tell Mr. Godfrey and Mr. Kent that in five minutes we shall be with them.”

    At the end of that time we passed down the garden path and found ourselves in front of the

    mystery house at the end. A small bearded man stood at the door with a look of considerable

    astonishment upon his face.

    “This is very sudden, Colonel Emsworth,” said he. “This will disarrange all our plans.”

    “I can‟t help it, Mr. Kent. Our hands have been forced. Can Mr. Godfrey see us?”

    “Yes, he is waiting inside.” He turned and led us into a large, plainly furnished front room. A man

    was standing with his back to the fire, and at the sight of him my client sprang forward with

    outstretched hand.

    “Why, Godfrey, old man, this is fine!”

    But the other waved him back.

    “Don‟t touch me, Jimmie. Keep your distance. Yes, you may well stare! I don‟t quite look the

    smart Lance-Corporal Emsworth, of B Squadron, do I?” His appearance was certainly extraordinary. One could see that he had indeed been a handsome

    man with clear-cut features sunburned by an African sun, but mottled in patches over this darker

    surface were curious whitish patches which had bleached his skin.

    “That‟s why I don‟t court visitors,” said he. “I don‟t mind you, Jimmie, but I could have done

    without your friend. I suppose there is some good reason for it, but you have me at a

    disadvantage.”

    “I wanted to be sure that all was well with you, Godfrey. I saw you that night when you looked

    into my window, and I could not let the matter rest till I had cleared things up.” “Old Ralph told me you were there, and I couldn‟t help taking a peep at you. I hoped you would

    not have seen me, and I had to run to my burrow when I heard the window go up.”

“But what in heaven‟s name is the matter?”

    “Well, it‟s not a long story to tell,” said he, lighting a cigarette. “You remember that morning fight at Buffelsspruit, outside Pretoria, on the Eastern railway line? You heard I was hit?”

    “Yes, I heard that, but I never got particulars.”

    “Three of us got separated from the others. It was very broken country, you may remember. There was Simpsonthe fellow we called Baldy Simpson and Anderson, and I. We were clearing

    brother Boer, but he lay low and got the three of us. The other two were killed. I got an elephant bullet through my shoulder. I stuck on to my horse, however, and he galloped several miles before I fainted and rolled off the saddle.

    “When I came to myself it was nightfall, and I raised myself up, feeling very weak and ill. To my surprise there was a house close beside me, a fairly large house with a broad stoep and many windows. It was deadly cold. You remember the kind of numb cold which used to come at evening, a deadly, sickening sort of cold, very different from a crisp healthy frost. Well, I was chilled to the bone, and my only hope seemed to lie in reaching that house. I staggered to my feet and dragged myself along, hardly conscious of what I did. I have a dim memory of slowly ascending the steps, entering a wide-opened door, passing into a large room which contained several beds, and throwing myself down with a gasp of satisfaction upon one of them. It was unmade, but that troubled me not at all. I drew the clothes over my shivering body and in a moment I was in a deep sleep.

    “It was morning when I wakened, and it seemed to me that instead of coming out into a world of sanity I had emerged into some extraordinary nightmare. The African sun flooded through the big, curtainless windows, and every detail of the great, bare, whitewashed dormitory stood out hard and clear. In front of me was standing a small, dwarf-like man with a huge, bulbous head, who was jabbering excitedly in Dutch, waving two horrible hands which looked to me like brown sponges. Behind him stood a group of people who seemed to be intensely amused by the situation, but a chill came over me as I looked at them. Not one of them was a normal human being. Every one was twisted or swollen or disfigured in some strange way. The laughter of these strange monstrosities was a dreadful thing to hear.

    “It seemed that none of them could speak English, but the situation wanted clearing up, for the creature with the big head was growing furiously angry, and, uttering wild-beast cries, he had laid his deformed hands upon me and was dragging me out of bed, regardless of the fresh flow of blood from my wound. The little monster was as strong as a bull, and I don‟t know what he might

    have done to me had not an elderly man who was clearly in authority been attracted to the room by the hubbub. He said a few stern words in Dutch, and my persecutor shrank away. Then he turned upon me, gazing at me in the utmost amazement.

    “ „How in the world did you come here?‟ he asked in amazement. „Wait a bit! I see that you are tired out and that wounded shoulder of yours wants looking after. I am a doctor, and I‟ll soon have you tied up. But, man alive! you are in far greater danger here than ever you were on the battlefield. You are in the Leper Hospital, and you have slept in a leper‟s bed.‟

    “Need I tell you more, Jimmie? It seems that in view of the approaching battle all these poor creatures had been evacuated the day before. Then, as the British advanced, they had been brought back by this, their medical superintendent, who assured me that, though he believed he was immune to the disease, he would none the less never have dared to do what I had done. He put me in a private room, treated me kindly, and within a week or so I was removed to the general

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