The Beetle Richard Marsh (most romantic novels TXT) 📖

you did mine; if not, you will open one. How⁠—that is your affair, not mine. You will practise the arts of a thief to steal into his house.”

The monstrosity of his suggestion fought against the spell which he again was casting upon me, and forced me into speech⁠—endowed me with the power to show that there still was in me something of a man; though every second the strands of my manhood, as it seemed, were slipping faster through the fingers which were strained to clutch them.

“I will not.”

He was silent. He looked at me. The pupils of his eyes dilated⁠—until they seemed all pupil.

“You will.⁠—Do you hear?⁠—I say you will.”

“I am not a thief, I am an honest man⁠—why should I do this thing?”

“Because I bid you.”

“Have mercy!”

“On whom⁠—on you, or on Paul Lessingham?⁠—Who, at any time, has shown mercy unto me, that I should show mercy unto any?”

He stopped, and then again went on⁠—reiterating his former incredible suggestion with an emphasis which seemed to eat its way into my brain.

“You will practise the arts of a thief to steal into his house; and, being in, will listen. If all be still, you will make your way to the room he calls his study.”

“How shall I find it? I know nothing of his house.”

The question was wrung from me; I felt that the sweat was standing in great drops upon my brow.

“I will show it you.”

“Shall you go with me?”

“Ay⁠—I shall go with you. All the time I shall be with you. You will not see me, but I shall be there. Be not afraid.”

His claim to supernatural powers, for what he said amounted to nothing less, was, on the face of it, preposterous, but, then, I was in no condition to even hint at its absurdity. He continued.

“When you have gained the study, you will go to a certain drawer, which is in a certain bureau, in a corner of the room⁠—I see it now; when you are there you shall see it too⁠—and you will open it.”

“Should it be locked?”

“You still will open it.”

“But how shall I open it if it is locked?”

“By those arts in which a thief is skilled. I say to you again that that is your affair, not mine.”

I made no attempt to answer him. Even supposing that he forced me, by the wicked, and unconscionable exercise of what, I presumed, were the hypnotic powers with which nature had to such a dangerous degree endowed him, to carry the adventure to a certain stage, since he could hardly, at an instant’s notice, endow me with the knack of picking locks, should the drawer he alluded to be locked⁠—which might Providence permit!⁠—nothing serious might issue from it after all. He read my thoughts.

“You will open it⁠—though it be doubly and trebly locked, I say that you will open it.⁠—In it you will find⁠—” he hesitated, as if to reflect⁠—“some letters; it may be two or three⁠—I know not just how many⁠—they are bound about by a silken ribbon. You will take them out of the drawer, and, having taken them, you will make the best of your way out of the house, and bear them back to me.”

“And should anyone come upon me while engaged in these nefarious proceedings⁠—for instance, should I encounter Mr. Lessingham himself, what then?”

“Paul Lessingham?⁠—You need have no fear if you encounter him.”

“I need have no fear!⁠—If he finds me, in his own house, at dead of night, committing burglary!”

“You need have no fear of him.”

“On your account, or on my own?⁠—At least he will have me haled to gaol.”

“I say you need have no fear of him. I say what I mean.”

“How, then, shall I escape his righteous vengeance? He is not the man to suffer a midnight robber to escape him scatheless⁠—shall I have to kill him?”

“You will not touch him with a finger⁠—nor will he touch you.”

“By what spell shall I prevent him?”

“By the spell of two words.”

“What words are they?”

“Should Paul Lessingham chance to come upon you, and find you in his house, a thief, and should seek to stay you from whatever it is you may be at, you will not flinch nor flee from him, but you will stand still, and you will say⁠—”

Something in the crescendo accents of his voice, something weird and ominous, caused my heart to press against my ribs, so that when he stopped, in my eagerness I cried out,

“What?”

“The beetle!”

As the words came from him in a kind of screech, the lamp went out, and the place was all in darkness, and I knew, so that the knowledge filled me with a sense of loathing, that with me, in the room, was the evil presence of the night before. Two bright specks gleamed in front of me; something flopped from off the bed on to the ground; the thing was coming towards me across the floor. It came slowly on, and on, and on. I stood still, speechless in the sickness of my horror. Until, on my bare feet, it touched me with slimy feelers, and my terror lest it should creep up my naked body lent me voice, and I fell shrieking like a soul in agony.

It may be that my shrieking drove it from me. At least, it went. I knew it went. And all was still. Until, on a sudden, the lamp flamed out again, and there, lying, as before, in bed, glaring at me with his baleful eyes, was the being whom, in my folly, or in my wisdom⁠—whichever it was!⁠—I was beginning to credit with the possession of unhallowed, unlawful powers.

“You will say that to him; those two words; they only; no more. And you will see what you will see. But Paul Lessingham is a man of resolution. Should he still persist in interference, or seek to hinder you, you will say those two words again. You need do no more. Twice will suffice, I promise you.⁠—Now go.⁠—Draw up the blind; open the window;