The Unspeakable Thing

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXI, Issue XIV, 3 October 1903, Page 941

The Unspeakable Thing

By

HARRIS BURLAND,

Author of “Dacobra,” Etc.

' »' 'HAPTER XXIXy— After this simple act of piety and affection her thoughts turned once more to the living. She ordered the carriage, and told the man, half-groom. halfgardener, to drive her’ down to the station. She intended to take the next (rain to Llanfiliangel, and tell Tredegar the result of her interview with the. sergeant of police. It was now three o’clock in the afternoon, and if she did not catch the 3.35 train, she would not bo able to get back that night. Before the carriage came round to the door, however, there was the sound of wheels on the drive, and a loud ring at the bell. She slipped into the hall and caught the butler as he was on his way to answer the door.

“I cannot see anyone, James,” she said hurriedly. “Say I am not at home,” and she slipped back into the drawingroom. Through the half open door she heard the butler politely arguing with Someone who insisted on coining in. At that moment there was the sound of flie carriage coining round to take her to the station, and she saw that her lie would be patent to the visitor. ‘Aery well,” she heard a feminine voice say decidedly; “I will wait here till Miss Morgan conies out. I must see her. Perhaps you will kindly take in my card.” A few moments later the old man hobbled into the room and handed a card to Mavanwy. She glanced at it, and told the butler to show the lady in. It was Cynthia Cantrip.

The latter entered with a faint flush on her cheek, and a dangerous sparkle in her eyes. “You have a faithful servant,” she said drily. Then she saw Mavanwy’s face, white and drawn with all the suffering’she bad been through, and she noted the black dress, and remembered that this was no time for bitter words. She advanced with outstretched hands, and taking hold of Mavanwy’s cold, white fingers, leant forward and kissed her on the cheek. “•Forgive me, dear,” she said almost tenderly; “I have no wish to intrude on your sorrow. I only heard an hour ago that you had returned. It is natural that I should wish to see you.” “Would you have been very sorry if I had never returned?” said Mavanwy iy a. low voice. “I should have been very sorry.” Cynthia replied. “During the last few days the thought of your death has been very horrible to me. 1 am not a good woman, Mavanwy, but now that Emrys is safe, and has passed out of both outlives. a voice has whispered to me that I have done both you and him a great wrong. Every night I have seen your face, white and still, every night [ have looked on your body, bruised, torn, and broken. And all the time he has stood by your side, and there was that in his eyes that will haunt me to the day of my death. I do not like you, Mavanwy. I could never be much troubled about your happiness. But I cannot bear that he should go through life in misery. I did my best to tempt him from you. I have failed. He will never love me. 1 had almost made up my mind, although I thought you to be dead, that I would never see him again. Men like Emrys do not love more than once, and he would love you, even if you were in your grave. The news of your return to life has only confirmed the resolution. I did not know I was so weak. But somehow the pity of it all has touched my heart. I seem to have come into your lives both to help and to destroy you. I am only a woman after all. I might have been all good or all evil. As it is I have been both. I wish now to blot out the evil. Perhaps this is only a passing qualm of consciousness. Tomorrow 1 may desire to blot out the good. But to-day I have come to give you buck your lover. YOU must trace

him at any cost. I have money here with me,” and pulling out a thick packet of banknotes, she held them out to Mavanwy.

“What do you mean?” gasped Mavanwy. there was a knock at the door and the butler entered.

“There is only just time to cateh the train, Miss,” he said. “It does not matter,” she answered. “Tell Williams I will drive all the way to Llanfihangel.” The man left the room. “What do you mean, Cynthia?” she repeated eagerly. “I mean,” Cynthia replied slowly, “that I release you from your oath, and that you can marry Emrys Tredegar as soon as you ean find her.”

Mavanwy looked at the speaker in astonishment, then she moved towards her, and throwing her arms about her neck, buried her face on her shoulder and burst into tears. Cynthia frowned, and gently disengaged the arms from her neck. Then she took the white face in her two hands and gazed into the tearful eves.

“You silly child,” she said. “Why should you cry. Look at me. There is no tear in my eyes. And yet—l think my heart is broken.” And turning away from Mavanwy, she walked over to the door, and laid her hand on the knob. Then she came back and held out the notes. Mavanwy shook her head. “I don’t want them,” she said in a trembling voice. “Emrys is in England still. He came back to look for me when he saw the news. He it was who killed that horrible monster and saved me from death. He is within a few miles of here. I am told by the police that his acquittal is assured.”

“Emrys here!” said Cynthia. “Then you have fooled me—you have—no, no. I don’t mean what 1 say. I am glad that he is here. I shall leave Garth tonight. Now that Walroyd is dead there is no need for my father to stay. We ean go up by the night mail. But Emrys here! Tell me all that has happened. You owe me that at least.” “I owe you everything,” she said, taking Cynthia’s hand and pressing it to her lips. “May I drive you back to Garth. I must be at Llanfihangel before it is dark.” Cynthia glanced at the clock. “You will not do it if you go round through Garth,” she said. “I will come with you to Llanfihangel. I should like to see Emrys onee more. I know it is foolish of me to do so. but we women are fools sometimes. You have much happiness before you, Mavanwy. I have much sorrow. I should like to come -with you —just for the last time.” “You shall certainly come,” said Mavanwy. “He would like you to come. You have been a good friend to him. Oh, Cynthia, if it was not for—if only things had been otherwise, we should all three be happy to-day—all three be friends.” “Let us go,” Cynthia said hoarsely, moving towards the door. “We have only just time to get to Llanfihangel—before it is dark.” Mavanwy followed her from the room and they both stepped into the victoria Which was waiting at the door. Cynthia sent her own trap, hired from the Tredegar Arms, back to Garth, and instructed the man to tell her father that, she would not be back till late, aim might possibly spend the night with Miss Morgan. As they trotted briskly along the road to Llanfihangel, Mavanwy told Cynthia, all that had happened to her during the last few days. She spoke in a lowvoice so that the man on thq box could not hear, but her story lost nothing of its strangeness and horror by her quiet method of telling it. She remembered Tredegar’s warning, and ran over Watroyd’s narrative in a few hurried words. Cynthia was particularly- fascinated by the account of the hidden treasure, and she tpld Mavanwy how her father

had been employed to dispose of it in London, and that the mere commission ho received on the transaction had made him a wealthy man. When Mavanwy had finished, Cynthia put her fingers to her throat, and drew out the halt of the gold disc which she wore suspended from a thin gold chain. ‘•Take this,” she said, passing the chain over her head. “It is tiie onlything Emrys has ever given me. I have no right to it. I can only hope that when the two halves are onee more in the possession of the same person, ail the sorrow and death connected with the treasure will come to an end.” Mavanwy took it in silence, but there were tears in her eyes, and her ■hand stole gently to Cynthia's lingers. The latter looked away from the girl's face, and seemed to be entirely absorbed by the scenery through which they were passing.

When they reached Llanfihangel they drove to the north end of the parade and told the man to take the horse to the Red Lion and return in an hour's time. Then they descended a Hight of steps from the parade and made their way- along the shingle. It was now long after five o’clock', and the tide was rising. The sun had set-almost to the level of the sea, and a great bank of clouds above it glowed with crimson and gold. The cliffs at this part of the coast towered up almost perpendicularly from a narrow belt of sand dotted with great bouid ers. The walking was easy in comparison with some parts of that rockstrewn shore, but. Mavanwy was so

tired (hat. she could hardly drag her weary limbs across the sand, and more than onee Cynthia had to stop and hold her arm to prevent her from falling. At last they passed round a project-

ing point of the cliff and came in view of the place where Tredegar was hid-

ing. No one looking at it from where they stood would have supposed that behind the heap of rock lay the entrance to mile after mile of subterranean passages. Even those who crept between the rocks would find themselves faced with a groat bank of shingle, and would merely suppose that the small cavern over their heads was a hollow scraped out in the base of the cliff by the ceaseless action of the sea. It was small wonder that no one had even discovered the steps leading to the long passages that lay beyond the barrier of pebbles. The two women made their way towards the place, and when they were twenty yards away from it Mavanwy, called Entry's name loudly, three times. She did not care who heard it now. There was no reply, and the only sound was the splash of the waves against some large boulders that lay half covered by the sea, and the plaintive cries of some seagulls that hovered about tho cliffs a hundred feet above her head. “lie is asleep.” she said softly. ‘lit must be worn out. I will go and wake him.” Mavanwy went close up to the rocks and peered through an opening. She could see the bank of shingle beyond, but the place was empty. She called out to Cynthia, who canto forward and stood by her side. “He is not here,” Mavanwy said. “Where ean lie have gone. Ah, perhaps he is beyond the shingle. it would be darker- there, a better place to sleep in, and it would not be so damp—see. the stiktes are still we* with tho last tide.” She slipped throagli the opening between the rocks, and Cynthia followed her. The latter shivered as she entered

the Tittle eavern. It seemed very dark and cold. She thought it very unlikely that anyone would go to sleep in such a place, especially a man who had had rheumatic fever. •He is probably, as you say, asleep on the other side of these stones.” she said. “You had better eall out to him.” Mavanwy went across to the shingle, and elimbed up the bank till she reached the opening Tredegar had made. She leant over into the dimly Jighted cave beyond, and called his name. Her voice echoed down the long passage, but no one replied. She began to be alarmed though she re-as=ured herself by remembering that it would take more than the sound of a girl’s voice to wake a man who had been for three days without sleep. Then both the women heard the faint sound of footsteps in the distance, and a look of eager expectation crossed their faces. The sounds were faint and muffled. Then suddenly they heard a long rasping cough, and the sound seemed quite close to them, though the footsteps appeared to be a long way off. They had entirely misjudged the distanee. The person who had approached so close to them must have worn felt slippers or else walked on his bare feet. They both started. Then they leant over the bank of shingle and into the twilight beyond. “Emrys,” Mavanwy cried. “It is all right, Emrys! I have such news for you—such splendid news.” She stopped No one answered, but she could hear the sound of breathing. “Why don’t you answer, Emrys?” she continued nervously, and with a tone of vexation in her voiee. Then suddenly something moved on the other side of the shingle, a loud yell of rage broke the silence, two great hairy arms shot out from the gap above the stones, two great hands grasped the two women, and a horrible yellow mass of hair was thrust out into the light. The light of reason had once more vanished from the eyes. James Heatherbutt had relapsed again into insanity. He drew the shrieking women towards him, and glared into their white faces. And it was thus, after an interval of ten years, that husband and wife were fated to meet again. CHAPTER XXX. “ONE OE >THE THREE MUST DIE; BIT WHICH?” Neither of the two recognised each other. Cynthia could discern nothing of her husband s features in the bruised and horrible face before her, while Heatherbutt’s madness clouded his brain and' blotted out all recollection of the past. The light, moreover, was dim, and t ynthia’s back was towards it. The madman drew the shrieking women over the top of the bank of shingle, and Hung them down on the floor of the cave beyond. Their voices echoed through the long passage, but could scarcely be hard from the shore, owing to the intervening rocks and pebbles. They were no mere idle cries of terror, but uttered as loudly as possible in the hope that they might reach Tredegar's ears. Mavanwy knew that he could not be far off. “Stop that screeching!” growled lleatiierbutt; and they slopped from sheer astonishment at the sound of his voiee. Cynthia had never seen the monster before, but she had understood from Mavanwy’s story -that it was dumb. Mavanvy herself was as overcome with horror as Tredegar had been when he first heard a human voice . rving ■ from those bestial lips. Then a quick flash of hope illuminated her mind. If the thing could speak, it was human, and might be moved to pity. "Where is Mr. Tredegar?” she said, faintly. "1 expected to find him here.” IteatherbiHt laughed wildly, and pointed into the darkness of the passage. Mavanwy’s heart grew cold, for there was the ring of madness in that horrible laugh, and she realised that she could expect no pity from a homicidal maniac. Then a horrible thought struck her. “Where is hoi” she cried, piteously. “Oh, Cynthia, he is dead —he has been killed!” She struggled to her feet, and laid her hands on a piece of sharp rock, prepared to tight for her life. Heatherbutt laughed, and rubbed his hands together with glee. She hurled the lump

of stone at hint, and it glanced harmlessly off his arm. Mavanwy sank to the ground, her feeble strength was exhausted, and she lay helples*, with her face buried in her hands. HeatUerbutt sprang towards her, and picking up some pieces of cord, began to bind her hand and foot. He did not notice that Cynthia had drawn something from her hat, and was silently dragging herself over the rocky floor towards him. Then he heard a faint sound behind him, and, . turning quickly round, received five inches of a stout steel hatpin, driven with all the strength of a desperate woman, in the upper part of his arm. Another second, and he would have been too late, and the long weapon would have pierced him through the back to the heart. He sprang to his feet with a yell of pain, and lifting np the wretched woman with the other hand, hurled her down to the rock with so much force that she lost consciousness. Then he began to pull out the pin from him arm, yelling horribly. For the point had turned on a bone, and it made a fearful wound as he dragged it out through the quivering flesh. Heatherbutt’s returning madness was now goaded to a wild frenzy, which saw the whole world through a mist of blood, and which only heard a voiee calling out to him to slay and spare not. The blood trickled down from his arm. and he sucked the wound savagely with his lips, till there was a crimson froth on his great toothless jaws. He sprang forward with crooked fingers as though he was about to tear the two women to pieces. Then he suddenly restrained himself, and. stooping down, he bound Cvnthia's hands and feet.

When he had accomplished this, he sat down and regarded his two victims with a grin of satisfaction, licking his lips as he saw their prostrate bodies on the ground. Three days ago he would have battered the life out of them in less than a minute. But he had only partially lost the reason that had been restored to him. Previously he had been a mere wild beast that killed because its natural instinct was to do so. Now he was more than half human—a man with a monomania, with the lust of killing in his heart, and sufficient method in his madness to kill in a way that would give him the most pleasure. And so, instead of falling upon his two victims and destroying them as quickly as possible, as a lion or a tiger might have done, he sat down and contemplated them thoughtfully, trying to think out how he could make them stiffer before death released them from their agony. “Emrys! Emrys!” murmured Mavanwv.

Heatherbutt laughed. In all respects but one he was now a sane man, and he understood everything that was said to him.

“Either he is talking or he is pursuing, or he is on a journey or peradventure he sleepeth, and must lie awaked,” he eried out mockingly, calling to mind a verse of the Bible which xvas familiar to him in the days of his childhood.

Mavanwy shuddered. It was terrible to hear such words from those lips. She saw that the man still had his wits about him.

“Have pity!” she cried feebly. “We have never done you anv harm. Where is he? Oh, Emrys, come quickly! Emrys! Emrys!” and she raised her voiee to a scream.

Heatherbutt laughed again. Then he rose to his feet and leant over the barrier of rocks behind him.

“Emrys!” he yelled, mimicking her voiee. “Come quickly! Emrys! Emrys!” Then he crawled up the pile of broken slate, and disappeared in the darkness bevond.

Ten minutes afterwards Mavanwy heard the sound of something heavy being dragged over the ground, and ’ then Heatherbutt's face appeared over the heap of rock. “He has answered you,” he said, with a ghastly grin. Mavanwy grew cold as death, and stared at the evil face with parted dips and a look or horror in her eyes.

“He is dead!”, she shrieked. “He is dead!” t

And she tried to struggle to her feet, but fell backwards, and eried out the name of her lover.

Again Heatherbutt laughed. Then he began to remove the rocks from the barrier one by one, till he had made a large opening. Then he crawled through, halflifting, half-dragging something after him. He laid his burden close to Mavanwy. It was Emrys Tredegar, and his eyes

■were wide open. He was alive, but his hands and feet were bound, and his mouth was gagged with a handkerchief. “Emrys! Emrys!” cried Mavanwy. “Thank God you are alive!” In the dim light she could hardly see his face, but she heard the creak of the straining cords that bound his hands, and saw the flashing of his eyes. If only she could free him they would all be saved. He would tear this inhuman monster limb from limb.’ The meeting appeared to amuse Heatherbutt. He dragged Tredegar to the wall and set him with his back against it. Then he arranged the other two in a similar position at distances of two yards apart. He was like a child playing with three dolls. Then he sat down in front of them and rubbed his hands together. The blood was still running from the wound in his arm. Cynthia gave a sigh, and opened her eyes. At the sight of Tredegar she gave a cry of surprise. She had been placed between him and Mavanwy. She leant over towards him, but could not get near enough to whisper in his ear. Then she faced Heatherbutt with flashing eyes. “t\ hat is all this foolery,” she said. “Do you know that the police are now on your track, that they are coming here this evening to find Emrys Tredegar? They were only half an hour behind us.” “So much the more need for haste,” Heatherbutt answered. “I will not detain you longer than I can help. It will be very pleasant for me to gee you all die. But I have decided to spare one of you. Do you think you can decide among yourselves which one it will be?” The three prisoners looked at each other and then on the ground before them. Tredegar was unable to speak, but he indicated by a motion of his bound hands that he at any rate would not take advantage of Heatherbutt’s offer. “You can kill me,” said Cynthia, casting a loving look at Tredegar. “You can kill me!” Mavanwy was silent. Of a truth the madman’s offer had been most devilishly devised. None of the three would eare to lire when the other two were dead. For life would mean nothing to either Mavanwy or Tredegar if one of them were killed, and Cynthia, who might have found a savage pleasure in seeing the death of the man who had scorned her love, or of the woman who had been her successful rival, had only one thought uppermost in her mind—■ that her own life was worthless, and ought to be the first to be taken. But Tredegar alone grasped the real terror of the situation, namely, that Cynthia was Heatherbutt’s wife, but his lips were sealed. “Come, hurry up,” snarled Heather-

butt, stretching out his muscular arms as though he longed to seize something by the throat. They were still all three silent. He chuckled. This was worth a dozen deaths any day of the week. He was sufficiently sane to appreciate the difficulties of the situation. He noted the look of love in both women’s eves as they glanced at Tredegar, and he saw that Tredegar only gazed at one of them. “I will decide for you,” he cried. “The man shall die, and you, pointing to Mavanwy, shall be the next.” He had some hazy recollection that Tredegar was his enemy, and he longed to ctoke the lift out of him. Besides, in hi* animal cunning he realised that if he let the man go, his own life would not be worth a moment’s purchase. “No,” cried Cynthia. “You have offered us our choice. Let fate decide. We will draw lots. Hold three pieces of stick, or cord, or anything in your hand. We will draw them. The one who draws the longest shall live. The one who draws the shortest shall die first. That is fair.” Heatherbutt was silent. His brain was trying to grasp Cynthia’s words. Then he broke into a laugh and clapped his hands. “A great game,” he cried, “a great game.” Then he groped about among the shingle and found three thin little pieces of stick, dry and brittle as touchwood. He laid them on his palm, and looked at them. They were all of different lengths. But he did not show them to his three victims. Then he placed his hands behind his back, and held out one great hairy fist, from which three short, ends of stick protruded. Tredegar was the first to draw, then Cynthia, and then Mavanwy took the last piece. In the twilight none of them could see the length that the other held awkwardly in their fettered hands. Then Mavanwy thought she heard a little snap on her left, so faint that it was scarcely audible. Heatherbutt looked at their faces and grinned. He had purposely not shown them the pieces before they drew. They were still in uncertainty as to their fate. “Hold them up,” he said, and they held up the twigs between two fingers. He went to each and examined the fatal pieces of wood. Mavanwy’s was the longest, Tredegar’s the next in length, and Cynthia’s the shortest of alt But neither Tredegar, nor Mavanwy, nor Heatherbutt knew that half of Cynthia’s piece had been snapped off and lay upon the ground by her side. Heatherbutt took Cynthia up in his arms. She uttered the single word “Good-bye” and looked Tredegar straight in the eyes. Mavanwy fainted. Trede-

gar placed his bound hands to the gag that had silenced him, and tore at it with his fingers till the knot at the back of his neck seemed to be cutting through his spine. Inarticulate sounds broke from his throat. Then he tried to struggle to his feet. But it was all over in a second. There was no cry, no moan, not a sound, but a faint snap, such as Cynthia herself had made as she broke the twig in her white fingers. Heatherbutt laid the dead body on the ground, and laughed long and loudly. Then all of a sudden the laughter died away in his throat and he pressed his hands to his forehead, and staggered blindly towards Tredegar. The latter had succeeded in forcing the bandage from his mouth. The corner of his lip was split, and the blood ran down his face. He managed to get to his feet, and leant against the wall panting, and with his great arms uplifted to strike the shaggy figure that was coming towards him, and ward off the fingers that he knew would be soon at his throat.

But Heatherbutt suddenly stopped in his advance, and stared wildly round the eavern. Tredegar watched his face, and saw the madness die from the eyes, like the last spark from a glowing ember. This was the moment of his revenge, and he resolved to spare the madman nothing of the horror of the situation. The dead body of Cynthia called for vengeance.

“Where am I?” said Heatherbutt faintly, “and why do you stand there with your hands like that!” "My hands are bound,” Tredegar replied, slowly. “You were kind enough to bind them while I slept. You have just done the foulest deed of your vile life. Look behind you.” Heatherbutt looked and saw the limp form of Cynthia Cantrip. He bent down and stared into the wide open eyes. Then he grasped the body and lifted it up so that the light which came over the top of the shingle fell full on the face. The past came back upon him like a wave of fire, scorching all the blood from his body, and stiffening the muscles till it seemed as though they had been dried nto strips of bone. "My wife,” he muttered in a trembling voice. "My wife—my wife!” "Your wife,” replied Tredegar, glancing at Mavanwy, who was still unconscious. Heatherbutt laid the body tenderly on the ground. “My wife,” he cried, in a voice of anguish, staggering back from the silent form. Then he sank upon his knees, and began to crawl towards it, blubbering like a whipped child, and only muttering the words, “My wife! Cynthia, my wife! my dear wife! my dear wife!” When he reached the side of the dead woman he touched the hair with his fingers and remained silent for quite five minutes, passing his hand over the face and peering into the eyes. Then he bent his head down, and made as though he would kiss the lips. But it seemed as though a sheet of glass lay between them and his own horrible mouth. He could draw no nearer to them.

Then suddenly he rose to his feet with a terrible cry of anguish, and seizing his own throat with his muscular fingers, he literally tore it apart, holding open the gaping flesh, till the blood streamed down his arms, and he rolled over, and fell with a crash to the ground. There was the sound of voices outside, and the footsteps of men on the sand. Tredegar staggered over to the dead body of the woman who had done so much for him, and stooping down kissed her reverently on the forehead, and thanked God in his heart that she had died without knowing the awful history of her husband’s life. [The End.] ~