The Beetle (18 page)

'Listen to me, my friend. I am a plain man, and I use plain
speech,—it's a kind of hobby I have. You will give me the
information I require, and that at once, or I will pit my magic
against yours,—in which case I think it extremely probable that
you will come off worst from the encounter.'

I reached out for the lever, and the exhibition of electricity
recommenced. Immediately his tremors were redoubled.

'My lord, I know not of what you talk.'

'None of your lies for me.—Tell me why, at the sight of the thing
on that sheet of paper, Paul Lessingham went green and yellow.'

'Ask him, my lord.'

'Probably, later on, that is what I shall do. In the meantime, I
am asking you. Answer,—or look out for squalls.'

The electrical exhibition was going on. He was glaring at it as if
he wished that it would stop. As if ashamed of his cowardice,
plainly, on a sudden, he made a desperate effort to get the better
of his fears,—and succeeded better than I had expected or
desired. He drew himself up with what, in him, amounted to an air
of dignity.

'I am a child of Isis!'

It struck me that he made this remark, not so much to impress me,
as with a view of elevating his own low spirits,

'Are you?—Then, in that case, I regret that I am unable to
congratulate the lady on her offspring.'

When I said that, a ring came into his voice which I had not heard
before.

'Silence!—You know not of what you speak!—I warn you, as I
warned Paul Lessingham, be careful not to go too far. Be not like
him,—heed my warning.'

'What is it I am being warned against,—the beetle?'

'Yes,—the beetle!'

Were I upon oath, and this statement being made, in the presence
of witnesses, say, in a solicitor's office, I standing in fear of
pains and penalties, I think that, at this point, I should leave
the paper blank. No man likes to own himself a fool, or that he
ever was a fool,—and ever since I have been wondering whether, on
that occasion, that 'child of Isis' did, or did not, play the fool
with me. His performance was realistic enough at the time, heaven
knows. But, as it gets farther and farther away, I ask myself,
more and more confidently, as time effluxes, whether, after all,
it was not clever juggling,—superhumanly clever juggling, if you
will; that, and nothing more. If it was something more, then, with
a vengeance! there is more in heaven and earth than is dreamed of
in our philosophy. The mere possibility opens vistas which the
sane mind fears to contemplate.

Since, then, I am not on oath, and, should I fall short of verbal
accuracy, I do not need to fear the engines of the law, what
seemed to happen was this.

He was standing within about ten feet of where I leaned against
the edge of the table. The light was full on, so that it was
difficult to suppose that I could make a mistake as to what took
place in front of me. As he replied to my mocking allusion to the
beetle by echoing my own words, he vanished,—or, rather, I saw
him taking a different shape before my eyes. His loose draperies
all fell off him, and, as they were in the very act of falling,
there issued, or there seemed to issue out of them, a monstrous
creature of the beetle type,—the man himself was gone. On the
point of size I wish to make myself clear. My impression, when I
saw it first, was that it was as large as the man had been, and
that it was, in some way, standing up on end, the legs towards me.
But, the moment it came in view, it began to dwindle, and that so
rapidly that, in a couple of seconds at most, a little heap of
drapery was lying on the floor, on which was a truly astonishing
example of the coleoptera. It appeared to be a beetle. It was,
perhaps, six or seven inches high, and about a foot in length. Its
scales were of a vivid golden green. I could distinctly see where
the wings were sheathed along the back, and, as they seemed to be
slightly agitated, I looked, every moment, to see them opened, and
the thing take wing.

I was so astonished,—as who would not have been?—that for an
appreciable space of time I was practically in a state of
stupefaction. I could do nothing but stare. I was acquainted with
the legendary transmigrations of Isis, and with the story of the
beetle which issues from the woman's womb through all eternity,
and with the other pretty tales, but this, of which I was an
actual spectator, was something new, even in legends, If the man,
with whom I had just been speaking, was gone, where had he gone
to? If this glittering creature was there, in his stead, whence
had it come?

I do protest this much, that, after the first shock of surprise
had passed, I retained my presence of mind. I felt as an
investigator might feel, who has stumbled, haphazard, on some
astounding, some epoch-making, discovery. I was conscious that I
should have to make the best use of my mental faculties if I was
to take full advantage of so astonishing an accident. I kept my
glance riveted on the creature, with the idea of photographing it
on my brain. I believe that if it were possible to take a retinal
print—which it someday will be—you would have a perfect picture
of what it was I saw, Beyond doubt it was a lamellicorn, one of
the copridae. With the one exception of its monstrous size, there
were the characteristics in plain view;—the convex body, the
large head, the projecting clypeus. More, its smooth head and
throat seemed to suggest that it was a female. Equally beyond a
doubt, apart from its size, there were unusual features present
too. The eyes were not only unwontedly conspicuous, they gleamed
as if they were lighted by internal flames,—in some indescribable
fashion they reminded me of my vanished visitor. The colouring was
superb, and the creature appeared to have the chameleon-like
faculty of lightening and darkening the shades at will. Its not
least curious feature was its restlessness. It was in a state of
continual agitation; and, as if it resented my inspection, the
more I looked at it the more its agitation grew. As I have said, I
expected every moment to see it take wing and circle through the
air.

All the while I was casting about in my mind as to what means I
could use to effect its capture. I did think of killing it, and,
on the whole, I rather wish that I had at any rate attempted
slaughter,—there were dozens of things, lying ready to my hand,
any one of which would have severely tried its constitution;—but,
on the spur of the moment, the only method of taking it alive
which occurred to me, was to pop over it a big tin canister which
had contained soda-lime. This canister was on the floor to my
left. I moved towards it, as nonchalantly as I could, keeping an
eye on that shining wonder all the time. Directly I moved, its
agitation perceptibly increased,—it was, so to speak, all one
whirr of tremblement; it scintillated, as if its coloured scales
had been so many prisms; it began to unsheath its wings, as if it
had finally decided that it would make use of them. Picking up the
tin, disembarrassing it of its lid, I sprang towards my intended
victim. Its wings opened wide; obviously it was about to rise; but
it was too late. Before it had cleared the ground, the tin was
over it.

It remained over it, however, for an instant only. I had stumbled,
in my haste, and, in my effort to save myself from falling face
foremost on to the floor, I was compelled to remove my hands from
the tin. Before I was able to replace them, the tin was sent
flying, and, while I was still partially recumbent, within
eighteen inches of me, that beetle swelled and swelled, until it
had assumed its former portentous dimensions, when, as it seemed,
it was enveloped by a human shape, and in less time than no time,
there stood in front of me, naked from top to toe, my truly
versatile oriental friend. One startling fact nudity revealed,—
that I had been egregiously mistaken on the question of sex. My
visitor was not a man, but a woman, and, judging from the brief
glimpse which I had of her body, by no means old or ill-shaped
either.

If that transformation was not a bewildering one, then two and two
make five. The most level-headed scientist would temporarily have
lost his mental equipoise on witnessing such a quick change as
that within a span or two of his own nose I was not only witless,
I was breathless too,—I could only gape. And, while I gaped, the
woman, stooping down, picking up her draperies, began to huddle
them on her anyhow,—and, also, to skeddadle towards the door
which led into the yard. When I observed this last manoeuvre, to
some extent I did rise to the requirements of the situation.
Leaping up, I rushed to stay her flight.

'Stop!' I shouted.

But she was too quick for me. Ere I could reach her, she had
opened the door, and was through it,—and, what was more, she had
slammed it in my face. In my excitement, I did some fumbling with
the handle. When, in my turn, I was in the yard, she was out of
sight. I did fancy I saw a dim form disappearing over the wall at
the further side, and I made for it as fast as I knew how. I
clambered on to the wall, looking this way and that, but there was
nothing and no one to be seen. I listened for the sound of
retreating footsteps, but all was still. Apparently I had the
entire neighbourhood to my own sweet self. My visitor had
vanished. Time devoted to pursuit I felt would be time ill-spent.

As I returned across the yard, Woodville, who still was taking his
rest under the open canopy of heaven, sat up. Seemingly my
approach had roused him out of slumber. At sight of me he rubbed
his eyes, and yawned, and blinked.

'I say,' he remarked, not at all unreasonably, 'where am I?'

'You're on holy—or on haunted ground,—hang me if I quite know
which!—but that's where you are, my boy.'

'By Jove!—I am feeling queer!—I have got a headache, don't you
know.'

'I shouldn't be in the least surprised at anything you have, or
haven't,—I'm beyond surprise. It's a drop of whisky you are
wanting,—and what I'm wanting too,—only, for goodness sake, drop
me none of your drops! Mine is a case for a bottle at the least.'

I put my arm through his, and went with him into the laboratory.
And, when we were in, I shut, and locked, and barred the door.

Dora Grayling stood in the doorway.

'I told your servant he need not trouble to show me in,—and I've
come without my aunt. I hope I'm not intruding.'

She was—confoundedly; and it was on the tip of my tongue to tell
her so. She came into the room, with twinkling eyes, looking
radiantly happy,—that sort of look which makes even a plain young
woman prepossessing.

'Am I intruding?—I believe I am.'

She held out her hand, while she was still a dozen feet away, and
when I did not at once dash forward to make a clutch at it, she
shook her head and made a little mouth at me.

'What's the matter with you?—Aren't you well?'

I was not well,—I was very far from well. I was as unwell as I
could be without being positively ill, and any person of common
discernment would have perceived it at a glance. At the same time
I was not going to admit anything of the kind to her.

'Thank you,—I am perfectly well.'

'Then, if I were you, I would endeavour to become imperfectly
well; a little imperfection in that direction might make you
appear to more advantage.'

'I am afraid that that I am not one of those persons who ever do
appear to much advantage,—did I not tell you so last night?'

'I believe you did say something of the kind,—it's very good of
you to remember. Have you forgotten something else which you said
to me last night?'

'You can hardly expect me to keep fresh in my memory all the
follies of which my tongue is guilty.'

'Thank you.—That is quite enough.—Good-day.'

She turned as if to go.

'Miss Grayling!'

'Mr Atherton?'

'What's the matter?—What have I been saying now?'

'Last night you invited me to come and see you this morning,—is
that one of the follies of which your tongue was guilty?'

The engagement had escaped my recollection—it is a fact—and my
face betrayed me.

'You had forgotten?' Her cheeks flamed; her eyes sparkled. 'You
must pardon my stupidity for not having understood that the
imitation was of that general kind which is never meant to be
acted on.'

She was half way to the door before I stopped her,—I had to take
her by the shoulder to do it.

'Miss Grayling!—You are hard on me.'

'I suppose I am.—Is anything harder than to be intruded on by an
undesired, and unexpected, guest?'

'Now you are harder still.—If you knew what I have gone through
since our conversation of last night, in your strength you would
be merciful.'

'Indeed?—What have you gone through?'

I hesitated. What I actually had gone through I certainly did not
propose to tell her. Other reasons apart I did not desire to seem
madder than I admittedly am,—and I lacked sufficient plausibility
to enable me to concoct, on the spur of the moment, a plain tale
of the doings of my midnight visitor which would have suggested
that the narrator was perfectly sane. So I fenced,—or tried to.

'For one thing,—I have had no sleep.'

I had not,—not one single wink. When I did get between the
sheets, 'all night I lay in agony,' I suffered from that worst
form of nightmare,—the nightmare of the man who is wide awake.
There was continually before my fevered eyes the strange figure of
that Nameless Thing. I had often smiled at tales of haunted folk,
—here was I one of them. My feelings were not rendered more
agreeable by a strengthening conviction that if I had only
retained the normal attitude of a scientific observer I should, in
all probability, have solved the mystery of my oriental friend,
and that his example of the genus of copridae might have been
pinned,—by a very large pin!—on a piece—a monstrous piece!—of
cork. It was, galling to reflect that he and I had played together
a game of bluff,—a game at which civilisation was once more
proved to be a failure.