Revenge!. Barr Robert
compromise was possible.
The case came to trial, and the verdict was entirely in favour of Bernard Heaton.
The pallor of death spread over the sallow face of David Allen, as he realised that he was once again a man without a penny or a foot of land. He left the court with bowed head, speaking no word to those who had defended him. Heaton hurried after him, overtaking him on the pavement.
"I knew this had to be the result," he said to the defeated man. "No other outcome was possible. I have no desire to cast you penniless into the street. What you refused to me I shall be glad to offer you. I will make the annuity a thousand pounds."
Allen, trembling, darted one look of malignant hate at his cousin.
"You successful scoundrel!" he cried. "You and your villainous confederate Grey. I tell you–"
The blood rushed to his mouth; he fell upon the pavement and died. One and the same day had robbed him of his land and his life.
Bernard Heaton deeply regretted the tragic issue, but went on with his researches at the Hall, keeping much to himself. Lawyer Grey, who had won renown by his conduct of the celebrated case, was almost his only friend. To him Heaton partially disclosed his hopes, told what he had learned during those years he had been lost to the world in India, and claimed that if he succeeded in combining the occultism of the East with the science of the West, he would make for himself a name of imperishable renown.
The lawyer, a practical man of the world, tried to persuade Heaton to abandon his particular line of research, but without success.
"No good can come of it," said Grey. "India has spoiled you. Men who dabble too much in that sort of thing go mad. The brain is a delicate instrument. Do not trifle with it."
"Nevertheless," persisted Heaton, "the great discoveries of the twentieth century are going to be in that line, just as the great discoveries of the nineteenth century have been in the direction of electricity."
"The cases are not parallel. Electricity is a tangible substance."
"Is it? Then tell me what it is composed of? We all know how it is generated, and we know partly what it will do, but what is it?"
"I shall have to charge you six-and-eightpence for answering that question," the lawyer had said with a laugh. "At any rate there is a good deal to be discovered about electricity yet. Turn your attention to that and leave this Indian nonsense alone."
Yet, astonishing as it may seem, Bernard Heaton, to his undoing, succeeded, after many futile attempts, several times narrowly escaping death. Inventors and discoverers have to risk their lives as often as soldiers, with less chance of worldly glory.
First his invisible excursions were confined to the house and his own grounds, then he went further afield, and to his intense astonishment one day he met the spirit of the man who hated him.
"Ah," said David Allen, "you did not live long to enjoy your ill-gotten gains."
"You are as wrong in this sphere of existence as you were in the other.
I am not dead."
"Then why are you here and in this shape?"
"I suppose there is no harm in telling you. What I wanted to discover, at the time you would not give me a hearing, was how to separate the spirit from its servant, the body—that is, temporarily and not finally. My body is at this moment lying apparently asleep in a locked room in my house—one of the rooms I begged from you. In an hour or two I shall return and take possession of it."
"And how do you take possession of it and quit it?"
Heaton, pleased to notice the absence of that rancour which had formerly been Allen's most prominent characteristic, and feeling that any information given to a disembodied spirit was safe as far as the world was concerned, launched out on the subject that possessed his whole mind.
"It is very interesting," said Allen, when he had finished.
And so they parted.
David Allen at once proceeded to the Hall, which he had not seen since the day he left it to attend the trial. He passed quickly through the familiar apartments until he entered the locked room on the first floor of the south wing. There on the bed lay the body of Heaton, most of the colour gone from the face, but breathing regularly, if almost imperceptibly, like a mechanical wax-figure.
If a watcher had been in the room, he would have seen the colour slowly return to the face and the sleeper gradually awaken, at last rising from the bed.
Allen, in the body of Heaton, at first felt very uncomfortable, as a man does who puts on an ill-fitting suit of clothes. The limitations caused by the wearing of a body also discommoded him. He looked carefully around the room. It was plainly furnished. A desk in the corner he found contained the MS. of a book prepared for the printer, all executed with the neat accuracy of a scientific man. Above the desk, pasted against the wall, was a sheet of paper headed:
"What to do if I am found here apparently dead." Underneath were plainly written instructions. It was evident that Heaton had taken no one into his confidence.
It is well if you go in for revenge to make it as complete as possible. Allen gathered up the MS., placed it in the grate, and set a match to it. Thus he at once destroyed his enemy's chances of posthumous renown, and also removed evidence that might, in certain contingencies, prove Heaton's insanity.
Unlocking the door, he proceeded down the stairs, where he met a servant who told him luncheon was ready. He noticed that the servant was one whom he had discharged, so he came to the conclusion that Heaton had taken back all the old retainers who had applied to him when the result of the trial became public. Before lunch was over he saw that some of his own servants were also there still.
"Send the gamekeeper to me," said Allen to the servant.
Brown came in, who had been on the estate for twenty years continuously, with the exception of the few months after Allen had packed him off.
"What pistols have I, Brown?"
"Well, sir, there's the old Squire's duelling pistols, rather out of date, sir; then your own pair and that American revolver."
"Is the revolver in working order?"
"Oh yes, sir."
"Then bring it to me and some cartridges."
When Brown returned with the revolver his master took it and examined it.
"Be careful, sir," said Brown, anxiously. "You know it's a self-cocker, sir."
"A what?"
"A self-cocking revolver, sir"—trying to repress his astonishment at the question his master asked about a weapon with which he should have been familiar.
"Show me what you mean," said Allen, handing back the revolver.
Brown explained that the mere pulling of the trigger fired the weapon.
"Now shoot at the end window—never mind the glass. Don't stand gaping at me, do as I tell you."
Brown fired the revolver, and a diamond pane snapped out of the window.
"How many times will that shoot without reloading?"
"Seven times, sir."
"Very good. Put in a cartridge for the one you fired and leave the revolver with me. Find out when there is a train to town, and let me know."
It will be remembered that the dining-room incident was used at the trial, but without effect, as going to show that Bernard Heaton was insane. Brown also testified that there was something queer about his master that day.
David Allen found all the money he needed in the pockets of Bernard Heaton. He caught his train, and took a cab from the station directly to the law offices of Messrs. Grey, Leason and Grey, anxious to catch the lawyer before he left for the day.
The clerk sent up word that Mr. Heaton wished to see the senior Mr.
Grey for a few moments. Allen was asked to walk up.
"You know the way, sir," said the clerk.
Allen